Also [Art ] Also [Play] Also [Absurd]: Donna Akrey at Rodman Hall

Donna Akrey’s aesthetic – I hesitate to even use that word, as it’s so loaded, too heavy, for the works at Rodman Hall that Donna invites us to (genuinely) play with, or that might hold us up (a shaped cushion attached to the wall, easing my lower back pain as I lean against it) – is an awareness and an immersion in the moment, unreservedly.

I’m reminded of Salman Rushdie’s assertion – from the mouth of one of his narrators, a photographer – that “realism isn’t a set of rules, it’s an intention.” A directness that eschews rhetoric or hesitation is demanded when you engage with Also Also; the front three rooms are Akrey’s, and their domestic history helps to suggest an ease, and accessibility, with the works. There’s even a station for “collaborating” with the artist, blurring lines between Akrey and ourselves further.

Akrey’s art seems to eschew academic language or prohibitive discourses about interactivity and access and expectations with “art” and the “gallery” that are deterrents – prophylactics, really – to immediacy – to the very ideas of interactivity, even – for the individual viewer (…just like that last sentence, hah, may demonstrate. Sorry, but not really).

Marcie Bronson, the curator of this exhibition (again, perhaps too formal a word: let’s say collaborator. That’s also a nod to Bronson’s ability, as she’s mid wifed the works of Amy Friend and Gunilla Josephson previously) suggested this contradiction. She and Akrey toured visitors through the show and Bronson offered that Akrey’s solo exhibition Also Also is about what we see, how we see and what do we expect to see, in the two rooms (and more, and more on that in a moment) at Rodman.

Another amusing comment; when Akrey said that there’s the idea that she might be “doing this art thing wrong.” I’d proffer that her work is about fun, both facile and deeper, and the enjoyment of the visitor, in a way that relies on their good intentions, “interacting without malice” (quoting Bronson, again). There’s a refusal to be “serious” in many of the works Akrey presents, refusing to have their squareness forced into a round hole of some external theoretical or academic dryness.

The curatorial / artistic / communal statement elaborates further on this desire to evoke a freshness in gallery behaviour: “Akrey is interested in how habit shapes the way we experience and engage with the world around us. Rooted in her astute observation of patterns of communication and consumption, her work humorously intervenes to raise discussion about social and environmental issues, often responding directly to a particular site or community.” She further sums up her approach: “I imagine the absurd as real, because sometimes the real is so absurd.”

When Akrey spoke of the ideas that inspire Middle Ground, with reflected light, mirrors and an activity as soothing as its mindless, she reminisced of walking around rooms as a child with a mirror propped under her chin, traipsing about in a manner absurd and untroubled by what “walking” and “looking” is “expected” to be….

There’s a power in enchanting details: the shiny silver elbows of the softish sculpture in the front room, like a person’s bent arm, fabric wrinkling like a sleeve. The brief Fireplace Videos are odd vignettes. Unrelated, non narrative and non committal, they’re moments in time that are being shared with you, looping, and undemanding of any conceptually rigorous looking. They’re similar to those burning yule log X – Mas channels (the first Fireplace video is white sleetsnow spatterflying across a flat aquamarine field, beautifully hypnotic. Another is of the same plant sitting on the fireplace below the flatscreen, more enticing on screen than in life).

As you sit and watch these, you begin to feel like the plants in the work behind you (Plant Life), ebbing and slowly moving (breathing?), one plant to one blocky television. All nine perch on plinths, near the window, like “real” plants might be placed in any homey space. Relaxing, perhaps vegetating (you and the plants), if you will.

Pieces here extend back 15 years, but there’s newer works (one piece is a bit lesser, or a bit different, now, that the Levine Flexhaug show is gone, as it was responsive to that. But as it’s titled ⅓ ⅓ ⅓ , we can just say ⅓ has shifted). Her collaborators include artists like Margaret Flood (with Eclipse), preparateur Matthew Tegel (the previously cited ) and hopefully us, too. A workstation with tools and supplies is provided, with an encouraging tag (listing the workstation and shelves displaying works as by “Akrey and gallery visitors”).

There’s also a site-specific outdoor installation that relies on the cooperation of neighbourhood residents in Rodman’s immediate area. This series of pieces can be best experienced at night: as I left Rodman, the evening of the talk / tour, the soft glows of the tiny box works placed at several houses on St. Paul Crescent were unexpected moments of joy and light. Guideposts without a map, or destination, just a marker to be enjoyed for its simple being.  

In Jorge Luis Borges’s The Book of Imaginary Beasts, he cites the rareness of a child’s first visit to a zoo: how these animals are exotic and unknown wonders, unmediated by any expectations. Later, the child might run to see the majestic lions, and habitual, mediated expectation replaces wonder and awe. There’s an element of that in Also Also: go rub your face against the works in Prop, let the soft bulges massage your back, and consider a gallery that might be a comfortable, welcoming space where there is no misbehaving, just enjoyment. Donna Akrey’s Also Also is at Rodman until April 30th.

All images here are courtesy, and copyright, of the artist.

Levine Flexhaug: “a man without land is nothing”

“I’m gonna get some land one of these days. A man without land is nothing.”
Mordecai Richler, The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz                         

The iconic, familiar nature of Richler’s statement from his fine novel is similar to the “iconic” familiarity of a Levine Flexhaug. Both are more complicated than a superficial reading of either would imply. Both are immediately recognisable to several generations of Canadians, providing shape to personal and public histories, and realities of “Canada”.

That utopic desire (lust, even) forms and deforms Duddy; and in the end it fails him as moral guidance, unsurpisingly. In this vein, the works of Flexhaug – which are finely kitsch in the Arthur Danto manner of evoking emotion over intellect, but with a darker turn on that which I’ll expand later on – invite consideration of Duddy’s grandfather, Simcha Kravitz, more so than Duddy himself. It is, after all, Simcha’s mantra that Duddy recites and enacts, with all the besmirched flaws that are attendant to any dream “made real.”

Equally disconcerting, it’s difficult, sometimes, to respect the contemporary Canadian art scene, as it also demonstrates repeatedly the dissonance between what’s promised and what’s presented.

Granted, I’m a gleeful apostate, arrogantly yelling “fraud” while I tighten my lion’s skin around my girth and everyone prays for my return to the desert (or bar). I’m sure I lack gravitas, as sometimes I’ll read other arts writers, and think ‘[he] talked very well, but he talked nonsense. He talked about art as though it were the most important thing in the world’ (Somerset Maugham). Perhaps I’m matching absurdity to absurdity, hoping they cancel each other, or, in exponential interaction, transcend each other.

The exhibition inspiring such spleeny introspection (both of myself and it, and the art world oeuvre that “we” all navigate like a fish through water, often unaware) is A Sublime Vernacular: The Landscape Paintings of Levine Flexhaug. Curated by Nancy Tousley and Peter White, Vernacular originated at the Grand Prairie Art Gallery (AB). Rodman Hall is the second-to-last stop for this conspicuous – perhaps absurd – outtake from Canadian Art History.

The descriptor: “Vernacular offers the first overview of the extraordinary career of Levine Flexhaug (1918-1974), an itinerant painter who sold thousands of variations of essentially the same landscape painting in national parks, resorts, department stores and bars across western Canada from the late 1930s through the early 1960s….a Flexhaug image represents a Western icon, a silent unspoiled Eden that encapsulates the conventions of sublime landscape painting in a kind of painter’s shorthand, and offers a point of entry for consideration of significant critical questions ranging from issues of taste, originality versus repetition in art, the appeal of landscape and its iconography.”

Before examining Vernacular, another digression concerning art and the worlds it inhabits outside the gallery (especially when the art in question is “owned” literally, or emotionally, by many differing peoples).

Perhaps you saw the AGO exhibition featuring Group of Seven member Lawren Harris, The Idea of North. Less likely, perhaps you also endured the “review” of said exhibition in Canadian Art magazine. It committed the sin of assuming contemporary ethics and “morals” can be applied to a painter from a century earlier with an ignorance broadcasting more about the reviewers than issues regarding Harris’ art or era. It’s similar to damning Mark Twain for his language in Huckleberry Finn, comfortable in a “virtuous” bubble of censorious ahistorical shaming. (I’d add that Huck’s interior struggle, choosing to be a “sinner” rather than “return” the “stolen property” that is his friend Jim, is as incisive – if mirrored – a moral tale as Richler’s Kravitz…).

Harris’ actual paintings – and the historical factors therein, the period in which they and he lived – were irrelevant to CA’s “reviewers.” This gap between words and artworks also appears in the curatorial rhetoric around Vernacular. But the question is whether that’s as fatal an error as what the Canadian Art clique indulged in, or whether it’s a more positive evocation, like Wayne Morgan relating his very personal history with Levine’s work and world, in both his essay and at the talk he gave at Rodman.

Flexhaug’s work is less sublime (of grand beauty evoking wonder and admiration ) than kitsch (lowbrow, mass-produced art / design sampling popular / cultural icons). There’s no irony in its kitschiness: the curators generously dismiss the inherent art world degradation of using that term, but that’s (perhaps) of a similar projection as the CA take on Harris. The curatorial language and rhetoric may fade when confronted with the artworks, or simply fail in a form of deference to the physical works. Its arguable whether Levine could even draw – or paint, if we’re honest. I’m erring on the side of doubt: but we all know that in these glorious days of the post post modern age of anxiety, “art” is whatever the “artist” says it is (looking at you, Abramović).

 

There might be the odd inoffensive piece that’s then degraded through excessive repetition, with replications that in their multitude dilute any external pretence of quality. The three monochromatic birds appear in several ways, in many works. The elk / moose reappears, the bison does too, and the linear childishness of the eyes on the many versions of these “exotic” beasts is either laughable or pathetic.

It’s an odd show: bizarre in a mildly engaging way, where the overall effect is so much more than an individual banal work. Many walls are crammed. A dense clot of landscapes. I want to use the word “glut” over and over, just as Dr. Sharilyn Ingram, in speaking of Flexhaug, kept using the word “churn” to describe his proliferate practice.

The first wall you encounter as you move to the back spaces – so often used as an informal “title” wall that’s an introduction to an exhibition, an adjunct to it – is a flat blue (the “most loved colour”, according to Komar and Melamid – more on them, later) with a single Flexhaug displayed. It’s a rare moment of visual rest. All the other three rooms (and the side alcove) are salon style, with works so tightly packed together so they become one, a linear assemblage of dozens, or hundreds (literally).

Considering the glut (!) of the work, and that it either demands a long visit to attempt to break that barrier of excess, to seek – if you even want to do so – the rare markers of individuality in this passel of images, this initial piece is a calm anchor.

In fact, it might be a worthy consideration that this wall could rotate with a new piece, every day, every week, allowing each work the spotlight as a singular creation, and standing or failing on its own. The viewer might feel less shell shocked than they do, once they walk down the steps into the exhibition proper.

A Sublimer Vernacular, as presented at Rodman Hall is – this is flippant but not inexact – like Canadian landscape on steroids. It’s the Group of Seven’s bastard cousin (like calendar aesthetics), mass produced and mass displayed, breathtaking (inspiring awe?) in quantity, if not quality, as there are nearly 500 works.

Different gallery spaces at Rodman do have distinctions: one room is earlier works, one room is later works, so the works that are a little more unique are in these rooms (tondos in one room, or others that have an atmospheric quality that is too subtle for a Flexhaug. The room of later works has several larger pieces that are more narrative, with figures, even – humanity never pollutes a Levine, except by implication, with the gaze or other evidence, like cabins. There’s a lightness of tone and hand that is not the standard (scripted?) Flexhaug, but give hints of the rough edges of his formation, and later the slippage of his “style” with age).

But if this artist is so important, as the curators posit, then shouldn’t the presentation proffer more possibility to attend the artworks? Garner a bit more respectful installation that doesn’t just overwhelm en masse and thus suggest a need to hide a poverty of “talent”?

Granted, the dense excess does offer a kind of sublime, a version of “awe”. But I’m unconvinced that Vernacular isn’t just poorly executed simulacra that is so conceptually devoid that it not only invites but demands we supply meaning rather than face the abysmal failure of both the individual works and an art world that seems to offer this “snake oil.”

Vernacular forces meaning from the viewer  as Levine is silent (several people have referred to the artist as the “immortal” Flexhaug: unchanging, static, frozen, like a vampire that bleeds life from others, and is thus animated by others? Utopias are immortal, and thus stagnant, dead spaces – and there’s rarely a person in his landscapes…).

The installation suggests the whole is more than the sum of the parts. All Flexhaug works are any Flexhaug works. Though there’s minor distinctions (the web site has categories that delineate these), there’s rarely any doubt about a work being a Flexhaug, or falling outside the canon.

Flexaug is an archetype – or stereotype – of landscape whose familiarity “breeds contempt” (the talk that Sharilyn Ingram and Wayne Morgan gave about Levine,“Making Art for the Market: Flexhaug in Context”, had the joking subtitle of “my Aunt had one of those.”) That says something about Canada, moving towards our 150th anniversary, with comforting “vernaculars.” Mordecai Richler alluded to this: “If Canada had a soul (a doubtful proposition, Moses thought) then it wasn’t to be found in Batoche or the Plains of Abraham or Fort Walsh or Charlottetown or Parliament Hill, but in The Caboose and thousands of bars like it that knit the country together from Peggy’s Cove, Nova Scotia, to the far side of Vancouver Island.” Flexhaug’s work often hung in places like that, I’ve been told, by several collectors.

One of Richler’s characters also acidly asserts that “not all neglected artists are unjustly neglected.” Apply that as you will: perhaps I share that sentiment still, here, or I’ve begun to use Flexhaug as others have – like the curators – to foster an idea and an investment of my own….

But in approaching this exhibition, a certain cynicism is appropriate: Levine is neither of high quality, nor is he an artist whose lack of “sublime” aesthetics is fully balanced (or justified) by the historical or social relevance of his works in a larger socioeconomic theatre (Jana Sterbak’s Vanitas comes to mind – a literally revolting work that has much to add to a larger conversation about feminism, fashion and consumption).

On a certain level, Levine fills me with despair. I visited a Sublime Vernacular prepared to hate the show, rife with pregnant contempt. I left questioning a variety of things, but not the ability of these works to speak contemporaneously (even if it’s ventriloquism, just the superimposed voices from the curators – or myself, or others bringing their own narratives to fill the vacuum here, and alien to Levine’s intent. Assuming, of course, that he had one, and wasn’t just interested in selling you a cheap facsimile of an unattainable dream, and more power to him….but his work is still the necessary and evocative catalyst for these conversations).

Since it first occurred to me, and my liberal sharing of it with many who’ve seen the show (the Rodman version or others), the Duddy Kravitz / Simcha arc of how a “man without land is nothing” has only become more fixed for me in interpreting Sublime. I truly believe that Flexhaug could have painted a picture that Simcha hung in the back of a cramped shop in the urban dirt that was St. Urbain’s Street. That Eastern ghetto matches the Prairie dust bowl and “Dirty Thirties” that shaped the teenage Levine: another echo of Kravitz, who “sprung…up dirty and sad, spiky also, like grass beside the railroad tracks.”(Kravitz)

These Eden-esque landscapes of Levine evoke an unattainable paradise and play upon the manner in which we dream of a site, a place entirely fantastic that has little to physically (literally) do with the geography, or the lived reality or experience, of our world.

In further conversation with a variety of individuals, how these “magic realist” works fit (or don’t) within a region dominated by the legend and history of Niagara Falls came up repeatedly. To continue to sample from Canadian writers, when I think of Niagara Falls, I think less of how I grew up here, visiting as a child, then of the dysfunctional familial dynamic of Barbara Gowdy’s Falling Angels. The possibly senile, possibly Sibyllic / seeress mother in that novel either drops or throws her child to his death on a trip to the Falls – the only boy child, after three girls whose wars with their alcoholic and angry father comes to a close when he himself climbs over the railing and plunges to his death, or destiny, in the concluding scene at the cataracts.

The works are singularly unpromising: but their repeated failure in the aesthetic field is perhaps fitting, as they evoke failed dreams of a cottage, a place of one’s own, a dream of a retreat and a space of beauty away from our everyday drudge and destitution.

This is base work that appeals to base instincts, but that doesn’t invalidate those sentiments.

I’ll end here by returning to the darker side of Richler’s words, the knowing mockery of Duddy’s idol, Jerry Dingleman, the “Boy Wonder” of Duddy’s grandfather: “But if you had you’d know about these old men. Sitting in their dark cramped ghetto corners they wrote the most mawkish, school-girlish stuff about green fields and sky. Terrible poetry, but touching when you consider the circumstances under which it was written. Your grandfather [Simcha] doesn’t want any land. He wouldn’t know what to with it….Now you’ve frightened him. They want to die in the same suffocating way they lived, bent over a cutting table or a freezing junk yard shack.”

We’ll never have it. Do we even really want it? The pursuit of it has offered more difficulty, as so many attempts to find or create a utopia usually ends badly for those involved. Or do we just want the dream, the painting on the wall?

A final idea from the presentation by Ingram and Morgan was Komar and Melamid’s mid 1990s project about the “most wanted painting” that resulted in images that share more than a passing resemblance to Levine. A reviewer acerbically summed up that project thusly: “I don’t read this as a wicked skewering of bourgeois taste. I see it demonstrating the catastrophic failure of the establishment.”

Our taste fails, as our dreams of Eden do the same: or, worse yet, they were never even real, in the first place. Lack of authenticity only accentuated by excess: like a room full of works that leave you empty and despairing.

A Sublime Vernacular: The Landscape Paintings of Levine Flexhaug is on display at Rodman Hall until the 12th of March.

The images in this piece are Untitled (Mountain lake with deer) (detail), nd. (Collection of Wayne Morgan and Sharilyn J. Ingram) and Untitled (Mountain lake with deer and three birds), nd. (Collection of Greg and Debbie McIntyre, Regina, Saskatchewan).

 

What About Rodman Hall? Complete Chapters

An idea that was suggested to me by several people in the Niagara Region and beyond was to post a complete version of the series I’ve written (so far) for The Sound this past Fall under the umbrella of What About Rodman Hall?
In sitting down to do that, so all the chapters can be read from one page of links, I realized that there’s also opportunity to put a bit of background in play.

All of the coverage with The Sound started with the exhibition at Niagara Artists Centre. My thoughts on that show and some of the ideas and information that were in the air at that time can be read here.

Not long after that show opened, I spoke with the consultant in question, Martin Van Zon, from Interkom Smart Marketing, on the air on CFBU, as part of the ongoing show I produced there, Niagara Voices and Views. That conversation can be heard here.

The first article was a teaser to direct people to The Sound’s website for the longer series, and was the only one from the series to appear in printed form. As the four evenings of consultations happened over two weeks, at the beginning of a month, it made more sense to post the series online, as they could be more relevant, in terms of immediacy of the events, and also for ease of sharing. At this time, too, the Facebook group that would eventually lead to the Rodman Hall Alliance was forming, so online seemed expedient for that, as well.

The second, third, fourth, fifth and the final sixth chapter, all dealing with the Interkom consultations, are at the previous links. The What About Rodman Hall? series will continue and build on these, as more information comes to light.

Along those lines, there will be another update in the first issue of The Sound of 2017, that has some significant information and also offers important ideas about the future of Rodman Hall.

The image above is courtesy Donna Akrey (her solo show opens at Rodman Hall this February).

#trynottocryinpublic revisited / redux

The second half of this BFA Honours Exhibition at Rodman Hall that is all under the umbrella title of #trynottocryinpublic is significantly different than the first: its wider in terms of media, and some of the artists are in their own “rooms”, creating spaces that are more installations than specific works. This is, in some ways, a pleasant surprise, but also not: students can be delightfully diverse. To pick up a thread from my previous thoughts on #trynottocryinpublic, sometimes the framework of art schools limits them more than expands their horizons….

If I was to choose a word to encompass this instalment, it would be “excess.” That’s a word that offers multiple interpretations and several of the artists in this show explore it in different ways. There are four individuals in the back, lower space at Rodman: Jess Wright, Sarah Bryans, Miranda Farrell and Jenn Judson.

Judson’s work is what engages me the most, which is ironic, as what she shows us in the main gallery space is primarily detritus of her performance based works, or props for the same (this is not to say its not done without thought or consideration. The masks that are intrinsic to her works hang along one wall, but one of the hooks is empty, suggesting that the process may be ongoing elsewhere, outside of Rodman’s space).

I would say that Judson’s works (both photographic and sculptural) are the strongest in this show: but unlike the first instalment, its not a clear superiority to the other artists here, but more, perhaps, a dependant one. And, as any reaction to art always incorporates a subjectivity that’s personal (even if by conspicuous absence,  if you attempt to suffocate it by only speaking in institutionally approved voices), her employment of various means by which to allude to her performance series is something of significant interest to me, from my own rare practice that’s been performative as well.

But, before I speak to Judson’s contribution to #trynottocryinpublic, I’ll offer some thoughts on her co exhibitors’s works.

Jess Wright presents two distinct series of “portraits.” The Flower Portraits, with the emphasis on the eyes, the shiny flat surfaces combined with the powerful – if, in one case, doughnut eyed – gazes of her women, are stronger works than what I’ll call the “Girl” series (Girl with Snap-back, Girl with Golden Frame, Girl with Plastic Earing). Wright’s portraits are excessive: sometimes too excessive, sometimes just the right amount of excess, and a hot mess of enthusiastic portrayal of individuals that are perhaps a bit loud, a bit much, but not in the least boring or repetitive. I suggest repeated visits, so you don’t overdose on the hot pinks and pop culture bits and pieces. Small bites of the tasty colours and forms would be best.

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She also has two lovely “bust” portraits that are sitting in an alcove that’s just outside of the lower gallery proper: these two could be considered a third series, but I enjoy them as a separate pair, like a matched set. Perhaps a “marriage” portrait, an updated Arnolfini, but my art history is showing: but they’re different from the other series, and the gold frames seem ideal (with the lovely green fringe on the one). All of Wright’s works show a progression, with different formal techniques explored (but with literal continuity, as with the plastic earings straddling both series).

Miranda Farrell and Sarah Bryans are completely different from this: Farrell creates an environment that is more like a photo album she’s sharing with us, of memories. This is appropriate for a room (she takes over one of the “alcoves” entirely, as Bryans also does) titled Come Home Year. There are times this installation works perfectly, evoking memory and nostalgia: other times it looks too personal to be professional, like I’m walking through a scrapbook that relies on a personal connection instead of being able to evoke one in the viewer.

Several larger photographs, especially with the small, almost toy like houses, mixed with objects that are like placeholders or remnants of memories are intermixed with illustrations that isolate and highlight by the use – or the absence – of colour. I use the term “illustration” here as the family scenes are obviously of importance, and in the black and white suggest either something lost, or something hoped for, or something that is more about what’s in your mind’s eye than existing outside of it, in “reality.”

Sarah Bryans’s work was, perhaps, the weakest in this manifestation of #trynottocryinpublic, for me (though the collaborations between Judson and Wright didn’t work for me, either, and I must admit to confusion that two practices that are so disparate – an excess of object, for Wright, and the object as almost bland signifier of something that isn’t even happening in the gallery, but is “elsewhere” – should try to meet, but that might also be the argument for trying it, too. Collaboration with someone who works just as you do would be pointless, in many contexts….).

Bryans uses the motif of the infant again and again, and in some of the works presented the intervention and documentation of the same is interesting: but “untouched purity and shared potentiality of new forms”, to use her words, is not how I see the baby, and found the motif more confusing and confused in its implications. Even for a critic as subjective as myself, I’m unsure how much I want to project into such a vague symbol: and the baby itself doesn’t have the skill and discipline of execution that would make it more impressive, and more believable, as a dynamic, living symbol.

Perhaps that’s why both Farrell and Bryans are in their own “rooms”: the removed spaces being filled with solely their works hopes for an exponential focusing of their ideas. That works, in some ways, with Farrell, but not so much with Bryans. If all of Wright’s works were in the same small space, they might make me ill, with their colours and forms and eyes, so they benefit from being separated. I don’t know if Judson’s would be benefit – or be stronger, bluntly – if they were “alone” in a similar manner. As I mentioned earlier, the excess / starkness of Judson and Wright seems to augment the other, and perhaps I’m really leaning towards reading the front, immediate space at the back of Rodman Hall as the main show of #trynottocryinpublic, as reading it as a whole makes Farrell and Bryans the lesser of the four. If considered as separate shows, on individual merits, they fare better, or I’m inclined to be more amenable to their presentations.

Returning to the main space: Judson’s works are minimalist. Even the titles suggest that they’re just “after the event.” Untitled (Gas Pumper) or Untitled (Homeowner) are simple and direct. My personal favourites are Untitled (Bus Rider) and Untitled (Church Goer). The latter depicts the kneeling, masked person of the title, with two men behind him / her / them, in a conversation that suggests nothing is amiss. That subtlety is echoed in how the masks, along the longer wall, all hang on simple hooks, save for one exposed hook, suggesting that someone, somewhere, may be wearing it and the performance – or actions / interventions – are still going on, outside the gallery space.

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These images are almost an afterthought: Marina Abramović , the current high priestess of performance art in the West, has stated how “[f]rom the very early stage when I started doing performance art in the ’70s, the general attitude – not just me, but also my colleagues – was that there should not be any documentation, that the performance itself is artwork and there should be no documentation.” (She has, however, profited significantly from various forms of documentation of her works, both with Ulay and beyond. I am reminded of St. Paul’s “the love of money is the root of all evil” being modified so as not to offend, ahem, to “money IS the root of all evil”).

This second instalment of #trynottocryinpublic is much more diverse than the first: its much more confused, so much more “all over the place”, so much more excessive (even Judson’s acts, though quietly alluded to, suggest an excess of action, just not in the white gallery space).

That, in some ways, makes this more successful: there is more, and there’s more failure, but there’s something wonderful about failure, if that failure can be excessive and engaging (my less than enthusiastic comments re: Bryans’ work, for example, are partly due to how I want to see the “baby” installed on Rodman’s lawn, or the MIWSFPA’s lawn, creepycrawling towards someone, all white and slug like….).

Even the collaborations between Judson and Wright, or Wright’s “overthetop” portraits, are not “safe.” Sometimes they seduce, and sometimes they screech. Both are worthy experiences.

#trynottocryinpublic is / was interesting, at times disappointing, at other times exciting. Now, the question is what will all of these BFA Honours Graduates do next…..

 

#trynottocryinpublic / what succeeds, what fails

Painting can display a breathtaking diversity. Now, granted, that can be said about any form of artmaking, and it can be a weakness, as well as a strength. But when one considers a few things (lets call them suppositions) painting is an active site for this debate.

There are painters out there (not karaoke modernists, but others worth your time – I’d recommend Jonathan Forrest’s dimensional paintings) that can make an effective point for how the lineage of Greenberg and Reinhardt is explored in their work. There are painters who are primitives, that have an immediacy and rawness of experience (the late Paul Sisestki’s works), and clearly ne’er the twain shall meet of those aforementioned ideologies.

As for me, I’m all about narrative, all about stories, all about how images can be used to act as a subversive and yet direct form of “history.”

There is an element to this conversation, of pedagogy, too, as its rare to encounter a painter who hasn’t been formed (or deformed) by “art school” in this day. Sometimes that, I suspect, is why I tend to be dismissive of abstraction, in a “contemporary” setting: one has to acknowledge that not all stories have been told, so ignoring narrative is an act of special privilege that ignores the voices that haven’t been allowed to speak.

On another level, our teachers shape us, and sometimes they do what I saw years ago, when I endured a lecture by Ron Shuebrook, and realized all his MFA students started working in so many different media, and all left painting like him. Art school might be about “unlearning” assumption, or it might be about being immersed in a space that makes you unaware that any other ideas might be valid, or of consideration (Full disclosure: I taught for more than a dozen years, in an art department, in studio. However, as I taught primarily at senior levels, in digital media, my classroom incorporated a reading package that always reminded students that there are spaces outside the university…).

And this brings us to the first instalment of #trynottocryinpublic, currently at Rodman Hall in St. Catharines. This first of two exhibitions under the same umbrellas is made up of three artists who are “emerging”, literally from their degree at Brock into the larger art world. Fostered by two very different instructors from the School of Visual Arts at Brock (Donna Szöke and Shawn Serfas), this is part of the BFA Honours course that is a partnership between Rodman and the MIWSFPA.

All three – Liz Hayden, Fraser Brown and Kaia Toop – work in paint. They share the back, lower rooms at Rodman. They will be followed by an exhibition of their “classmates”, as this manifestation of #trynottocryinpublic ends this Saturday, April 9th.

Toop’s work is easily the strongest, and is the work that merits repeated viewings. There’s a playful aspect to her work, but also an unsettling one. Her pieces with flamingos, manatees, zebras and fawns are high points of the entire exhibition. There’s a maturity of execution here. For example, There are improbable things by Toop (the strongest piece in the exhibition) is a scene that’s disturbing on more rigorous looking but that may initially disarm you with its absurdity and inanity.

In improbable things, the factory is reminiscent of a Diego Rivera (his mural at the Detroit Institute of Arts, for example), dark and textured, a space that’s cramped and a bit suffocating as we gaze into it. The flamingos are both bright pink against the dull factory. I’m also reminded of Alice in Wonderland and the games of croquet that used animals as “toys” and “tools” with a blithe cruelty.

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The flamingos float: as does the fawn in a work in a back space, though it seems more frightened and its posture suggests that its almost “turtling”, if I may use cross – fauna language, against harm. The painting to the right of that isolates a stag on a pink blank background, with scraps of what could be newsprint, or other papery detritus, stuck to it. This is repeated in several other works, where the animals seem damaged by some kind of “leftover” (that word appears in each title) of a manufactured, or manufacturing environment…animals in sites of environmental destruction or damage often have been photographed slick with oily wastes, and other dumped garbage. These are more subtle versions of ducks and geese with their necks caught (perhaps terminally) in six pack plastic rings we’ve discarded without thought or consideration.

In conversation, Toop talked about using her own experience working in a factory setting, and the “unnatural” aspect of that, as applies to humans. That will surely add an element of distress to how we read her animals, as they no longer seem to be within these sites by choice but are trapped there. This may be literal, or it may be the same way that most of us are trapped in sites of labour: I’ll resist any Marxist banalities of employment as prison, though I might suggest a recent excellent article in Hyperallergic, and the avoidance of silly banalities in the same “space” we see from an AGYU “artist” who confuses exploitation of labour with a “statement” about it.

In closing, I want to touch on something that bothered me, about this exhibition.

It is the work of BFA Honours students, and as such they are about to leave one framework for potentially others, with different, yet similar, challenges (the title of the show, I was told, is a play on the stresses felt by students in the course, which I commented would only get worse if they chose to continue in the cultural minefields and barbarisms that are Canadian art…).

I haven’t mentioned works by the other two artists in the show: partly this is due to how Toop’s work held my attention easily and repeatedly.

But it is also a consideration of how (as Steve Remus once challenged me) I resist bringing full critical weight against undergraduates, as their pedagogy can be overtly defining, perhaps deafening them to other voices outside the classroom.

In light of that, though, I feel its important to point out that looking at Liz Hayden’s works, I saw – literally – some of the same “wide” brushstrokes I saw in Shawn Serfas’ Inland series. I’ve encountered other works by Fraser Brown, at NAC, and though I wasn’t overly impressed, they struck me as having potential (a phrase I used when I was teaching that can translate as meaning I am very excited to see what you do next). His work in this show is repetitive and, like Hayden’s, seems to take refuge in its medium of execution: to elaborate, as I’ve positioned my thoughts here as being specific to paint, painting is also a medium in the art world that actively resists any conversation, still, about anything other than how it is done.

Granted, we see techno fetishism in many other spaces (I can think of a horrid show that used 3 D printing in a manner that suggested poverty of thought and rigour): but when, for example, one is asked to speak about your work in a manner OTHER than how it was made, there’s still significant resistance among painters to do so. There is also still a fostering of taking refuge more in repetition, an almost mindless praise of “activity”, than in considered making, a counsel to keep “painting” as opposed to exposing yourself to other, more disparate – and perhaps even outright disagreeing – ideas.

Again – there’s a space for this, and a well executed object is a necessity for something to be considered art, for many of us (I waiver, back and forth on this). But in looking at the works of Liz Hayden, I see the hand of her instructor too heavily in her marks and her paint. In Fraser Brown’s work, I see a repetitiveness that becomes excessive and serves to simply make what might have been engaging if disciplined become formulaic and boring.

I don’t say this with rancor, or point it out with malice: but something a student might strive for is a uniqueness of voice, a means and manner by which to find your own place to stand. Perhaps its too soon to ask that of Brown and Hayden: perhaps the strength of Toop’s work serves to highlight the weaknesses in theirs (I once reviewed an exhibition of Jane Ash Poitras’s work that was ill served by being in the same gallery as Rebecca Belmore. The latter has a clarity that further exposed the tepid muddle of the former).

This exhibition closes this Saturday: the next instalment features four artists of the same class, and perhaps in seeing a larger whole, I may see differently. But right now I wonder about pedagogy and practice, and how that is a debate that’s been happening in (and outside of) art schools across the country in a serious way that may, or may not, lead to a shift like we saw back in 1968.

 

A Word 30.10.2015 Donna Szőke / Cloud / Satellite

As some of you may have noticed, the radio shows are a bit more sporadic, hah, than when I was on the prairies: that’s just the way things roll these days, as I’m finding myself occupied by my writing (two pieces are in the current issue of The Sound, one on a previous guest Anna Szaflarski’s work It’s a Man’s Job and another about Bill Burns’ show at Rodman, and I’ll be talking to Bill for a future A Word Niagara) and by my job. However, I am keeping up with putting out conversations of note, and this one is definitely one of those.

Donna Szőke has two exhibitions up right now: Cloud at Rodman Hall and Satellite at the VISA Gallery. We talk about some of the ideas that formed the works as well as the directions the work drove my thoughts and some other gallery goers I spoke with, and you have a chance to hear Donna speak about her works on Thursday, November 12th, at Rodman.

You can listen to us here.

The image I’ve posted below is of her piece Decoy which sits invitingly atop a mantle in one of Rodman’s elaborate rooms) which both enthralls and disgusts me, in person. Look but don’t touch, when you see it

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A Word 24.09.2015 Stuart Reid and Rodman Hall

This week’s episode of the A Word Niagara, coming to you from CFBU 103.7 FM, is a dialogue with Rodman Hall Director / Curator Stuart Reid. This is an enjoyable conversation (I like to see what’s on air as just another segment of the engaging chats we had after Sarindar Dhaliwal’s talk, and after we finished recording this week’s A Word) where we talk about upcoming shows and the unique architecture and history of the site and how that enhances and elaborates what’s presented there – both of my reviews (Magenta, The Sound) of Sarindar Dhaliwal’s excellent exhibition The Radcliffe Line and Other Geographies touched upon this.

Szoke_Decoy Final

We talk about two shows that are opening at Rodman soon and you can listen to us here.

Bill Burns, whose Safety Gear for Small Animals is a favourite of many both within the art world and outside of it, will have an exhibition opening at Rodman the same evening as a solo exhibition by Donna Szoke. The image to the left, Decoy, is from her show. Burns will be presenting Hans-Ulrich Obrist Hear Us, which I think you can tell that both Stuart and I are very much looking forward to seeing…

The project that Stuart talks about, with Camille Turner’s work, is part of the Spare Parts Symposium, and you can learn about that at the preceding link.

Now, if you’re listening to the show / reading this as it goes up, in the week of September 24th, then I’ll also put out that if you catch the next issue of The Sound that comes out in early October, you’ll see some thoughts I have on both the Rodman shows that are upcoming, as well as some thoughts on the show currently in the VISA Gallery at the Marilyn I. Walker School. If you’re reading this on the day I’ve posted, the 25th, go see BABELTECH INDUSTRIES™ presents…THE ASSEMBLY LINE OF BABEL, an exhibit by Eric Schmaltz at NAC tonight. I plan to be there for a little while, later in the evening.

One other thing to mention this weekend in St. Catharines, and that would be Culture Days: everything you need to know about that is here.

 

A Word Niagara 11.09.15 Elizabeth Chitty & Confluence Field Trips

Chitty.header Chitty.screengrabThis week’s episode of the A Word is a conversation between myself and Elizabeth Chitty about her project Confluence Field Trips. This is an ongoing project that will inhabit multiple forms as it progresses from the “walks” to the image / audio contributions to the exhibition.

Elizabeth and I talk about this, and about the ideas that inform it, and as promised, here’s a variety of links that will both provide information that may make you want to get involved and that will help you to do so.

Here’s the page Score, with instructions on how to participate in Confluences, and here’s where you can book a Field Trip, which Elizabeth mentioned on the show. There’s also the Traditional Territory page, for further information. As well, Elizabeth mentioned Richard Pierpoint on the air, and here’s some engaging information about him.

Listen to this week’s episode of the A Word Niagara here.

Since this is going up on a Friday, there’s two other things I want to mention. Firstly, there’s an exhibition that has a reception this Saturday night at NAC, but is up right now for you to see. Just Like A Buggy Whip : New Paintings by Kevin Richardson (the latest thing in obsolescence) is in the front space, and there will be music by Attic Daddy. The show runs until the 18th.

Secondly, Shifting Practices, a Department of Visual Arts Alumni Exhibition, curated by Emma German, is open now and has a reception on the 18th, from 5 – 11 PM. This exhibition is in the Visual Arts Gallery, also listed as 15 Artists’ Common. Shifting Practices  will include work by Sarah Beattie, Candace Couse, Alicia Kuntze, Ben Mosher, Carrie Perreault and Bruce Thompson.
A schedule of artist talks to accompany the exhibition are also posted:
Carrie Perreault & Alicia Kuntze Sept. 21, 3:30pm-4:30pm, Foundation Studio (MW 151), 15 Artists’ Common.
Ben Mosher & Bruce Thompson Sept. 23, 3:30pm-4:30pm, Foundation Studio (MW 151), & site tour, 15 Artists’ Common.
Candace Couse & Sarah Beattie Sept. 25, 3:30pm-4:30pm, Foundation Studio (MW 151), 15 Artists’ Common.
I’ll be checking out that show and perhaps offering some thoughts about it, as well as touching base on some other ideas / concerns that intersect with this exhibition and the larger cultural narrative here.

 

A Word Niagara 04.09.2015

2012043089731202_Sarindar_Dhaliwal-1024x683This week’s episode of The A Word, or as I sometimes call it on air this week, A Word Niagara, is focused on two main sites. Sarindar Dhaliwal’s solo exhibition continues at Rodman Hall, and there’s an upcoming talk by the artist that I mention on the show.

The images to the left are both from The Radcliffe Line & Other Geographies, and I have some words about that show in the current issue of The Sound, but a more in depth piece will be appearing in an upcoming issue of Magenta Magazine as well.

I offer some thoughts and impressions of the show, as well as of Mary Anne Barkhouse’s installation Settlement, outside the gallery.
Dave Gordon’s exhibition just opened at NAC, and I talk a bit about that, as well. Currently, I’m finishing off some thoughts about his show, both in terms of its excellent political timing but also the history of ARCs and the idea of “regionalism” that he spoke of at the opening, and that I talk a bit about on air.

The show can be heard here, and upcoming shows will (hopefully) be conversations with Stuart Reid, the Director / Curator of Rodman Hall and Elizabeth Chitty, whose Confluence Project is already under way.