MTLMilieu

Parallaxe, Jonathan Plante at Galerie Division by Greg Stone

2011-03-02T08:00:00.048-05:00

Galerie Division
1368 Greene Avenue
+1 514 938 3863

When I sit down with artist Jonathan Plante to talk about his new exhibition, we talk about a lot of things. A lot of serious things. We explore the density of European art movements. We discuss technology shifts. The dawn of motion picture. Austerity. Modernity. Perspectives. "But," Mr. Plante cuts in during our conversation, "firstly, this exhibition is a very stupid proposal." And I remember that I took this photo of myself at the gallery, and yeah, I see what he's saying.

The author

"Yeah, I designed those," he tells me. "I made them one by one. At the opening, it was beautiful to see everyone with those big glasses." I wish I had been there to see that. I really do. A swank opening of an art exhibition (in Westmount of all places) and everyone wearing a seven-year-old's robot goggles. Stupid and beautiful. Parallaxe, Mr. Plante's latest exhibit at Galerie Division, was excellent at this kind of juxtaposition; where, stuck to the wall, the serene and the absurd hold hands and watch you react.

Jonathan Plante is a young, Montreal-based artist who has studied mainly here at Concordia, and at De Ateliersin Amsterdam. He's shown at the Musée d'art contemporain de Montréal. He's soft-spoken but enthusiastic about what he does, and articulate about it as well. Parallaxe was shown during the month of February at Galerie Division.

In this exhibition, Mr. Plante's work primarily explores anaglyphs, you know where an image is doubled, layered over itself and shifted slightly, one red and one blue. And, when seen through a pair of red-and-blue glasses, it creates a three dimensional effect on a two dimensional object. You know it. It's sprinkled throughout your childhood like dandelions. In his series titled Famille De Stijl, Mr. Plante uses this ageing but modern medium to present 19th-century portraits. Portraits that just fell into his hands. But, I'll just let him tell the story:

While I was in Amsterdam, I was taking photos outside one day, and there was a woman who saw me taking photos. I don't know how she deduced that I was not a tourist, but she did. And she said, "Are you a photographer," and I said yeah, and she said, I have something to show you. So I followed her and she showed me some photos that she kept from her roommate that died, and they were huge photographs of 19th century portraits, like family portraits. So I thought it was amazing, and we talked a bit, and she said, if you can do something with these, take them. A total stranger.

So take them he did.

Practically, an anaglyph is a very technical object. The two images have to be identical, the lines perfect, the shift precise, to create the most effective three dimensional experience. As you might expect, a computer does the trick nicely. Mr. Plante, on the other hand, uses watercolour. "I started doing these portraits in red and blue in pastels, and it was working. I love this weird thing between the technology and the medium, and the representation of the technology by a traditional medium, and I switched to watercolour because it was even more absurd because watercolour is the most subjective thing, so the two over-lapping portraits are obviously very different." The effect is surreal. When you look at the portraits with red-blue glasses, you certainly don't get the standard three dimensional effect, but a more subtle, skewed, hesitant three dimensional effect (sometimes wearing the glasses upside-down is more convincing). It's ghostly. Which is perfect because Mr. Plante is trying to show how subjective technology can be. He wants to suggest that precision can often be more misleading than uncertainty. That sometimes, the more information you've got in your pocket, the harder it is to find your keys. "If I wanted the three dimensional effect to work, I would have never done it with watercolour. I would have done it with Photoshop, or with photos. This is the most stupid and absurd way to do 3D. Obviously with watercolour it doesn't work, but just enough to know that it does, and it doesn't."

Composition 2 (Famille De Stijl) Watercolour on paper, 24" x 18" 2010. Image courtesy Galerie Division

In calling this series Famille De Stijl, Mr. Plante is referencing the early 20th-century Dutch art movement De Stijl, where the artist takes a subject and removes all the information you need to understand it, resulting in basic primary colours and immensely simplified composition. Mr. Plante did the same thing with these portraits. He stripped them of colour and form and this, argues Mr. Plante, ultimately creates a more substantial rapport between the portraits and the observers. "An abstraction is always something you relate to in time, and at the end, there is an identity to it, you relate to it. And I find the same thing with these portraits. You don't know the person, but with time you relate to the portrait, you create a relationship with that figure. The figure becomes something personal."

Composition 6 (Famille De Stijl) Watercolour on paper, 24" x 18" 2010. Image courtesy Galerie Division

But Parallaxe is more than just these resurrected portraits. Much more. There's Open Widow, a video Mr. Plante put together that is thick in historical art context. In the video, also done using anaglyphs, Mr. Plante himself approaches Marcel Duchamp's masterpiece The Large Glass and opens the window. Mr. Plante explains to me that this gesture was meant to "air out modernity," to allow a new perspective on a definitive modern sculpture. The anaglyph provides a nice tweak on the piece as well. The title refers to sexual aspect of the piece. I won't get into it too much, but the top half of Duchamp's masterpiece houses a lonely bride, the bottom half her nine bachelors. Duchamp left them separated for all of time, until Mr. Plante decided that the window needed to be opened and the bride reunited with her bachelors. It's a declaration of a video; a bold anthemic gesture.

Still from Open Widow Animation Video Edition of 3, 2010. Image courtesy of Galerie Division

And then there’s the one that grew on me. Titled, A Rose is a Rose is a Rose, this sculpture is literally sitting on the floor of the gallery, like it's growing there. Mr. Plante did this sculpture using anaglyphs too, offsetting the blue and red rose. So, ahem, it's a three dimensional sculpture in 3D. You don't get much more absurd than that. Once I realized that, the piece gained massive points with me. And Mr. Plante's explanation helped too. The red rose is obviously a symbol for love. The blue rose, on the other hand, doesn't exist naturally. You have to use dyes or genetic modification to get a blue rose. In other words, it's technology. Or virtuality. It's "unachievable and achievable at the same time," as he puts it.

A Rose Is A Rose
Is A Rose Pigmented clay 28" x 10" x 8" 2010. Image courtesy Galerie Division

Another excellent piece in Parallaxe is Palindrome, a short (quite possibly, endless) video loop of a simple horse running. The piece has its roots in the fabled 19th-century debate over whether or not a horse's feet leave the ground when it's running. Leland Stanford took it upon himself to prove, using then-current photography techniques, that yes, all hooves are off the ground at one point. The discovery did much more than just answer this question; it may have invented motion-pictures. The video Mr. Plante created, using scotch tape, reflects on this story. He took the basic image of the running horse, and reversed the legs. So the body goes one way while the legs go the opposite. "At first it was very scientific. It had nothing to do with art." If Mr. Plante can't contextualize art historically, no one can. "Stanford was deconstructing the movement of the horse. He was trying to get the true, exact movement. As for me, I'm trying to do the opposite. I'm trying to not deconstruct, but reconstruct it... So basically I'm doing an animation with the image that he did, but instead of being scientific and true, I am trying to bring it to total subjectivity... And it's very subtle, but what it says about technology and progress is that it's a moving image, but it's still." Right, a palindrome. Technology can go forwards or backwards, but in the end, you end up right where you began. It's a demanding but poignant critique of progression as static. That technology is basically an oxymoron.

Parallaxe basically refers to vision and perspective. It means the shift of the position of the observer in relation to the thing being observed, which creates a shifting perspective and a shifting vision. It's downright scientific; early astronomy relied on it and it's integral to technology like microscopes, binoculars and computer screens. But, just like the running horse, Mr. Plante plucks this idea from the tree of science and bakes an art-pie with it. "Vision itself is parallax because we have two eyes, we see in stereo. And we have approximately 6 cm between our eyes, which means that our eyes never see the same thing. We have two different images but the brain makes one image. For me, Parallaxe is the space between, the space between the two images, the blue and the red, and the shift that exists. And of course the shift between what you see and what you understand in reality." Parallaxe is an excellently thoughtful exhibit, full of context and humour. If its intent was to shift perspectives on the technologies we rely on for information, then well done Mr. Plante. If its intent was to make me look stupid in upside-down space goggles, it did that. If it was intended to make me laugh, it did that too.

Éric Cardinal: Histoires Improbable, Jocelyn Philibert, Laurent Craste: Abuse, Subvertion at Galerie SAS By Meaghan Thurston

2011-02-28T08:00:00.005-05:00

Galerie SAS
372 Ste Catherine ouest #416
+1 514 878 3409
January 27th to March 5th 2011

One Criticism Sandwich: Hold the Art Babble

"A lot of my work is about not being able to do something well... it tries to locate itself in a place where the appreciation of craft is not a part of the appreciation of the piece", Richard Tuttle (a kick-ass minimalist artist, in case you didn’t know) said in a recent interview.

During the writing of this review of the work of Éric Cardinal, whose show Histoires Improbables is currently at Gallerie SAS, I repeated under my breath Mr. Tuttle's refreshingly frank words — to no avail. Apologies from the outset, it's hard to review a show that you didn't like without descending into a ridiculous discourse of just plain negativity about the works, so I'll start with detailing what was interesting about it.

Ink Drawing: Fungus no. 2 (2011) India ink and pencil, 32 x 44 in

Mr. Cardinal's large scale India ink drawings appear as abstract geometric designs from afar. But, when you get up close an orgy of Disney figures, M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E, and Goofy and maybe even Donald Duck is revealed. I was particularly taken aback by Histoires improbables no. 6.

Histoires improbables no. 6 (2011) India ink, - 32 x 44 in

Which uncannily is almost exactly like the dream I have when I'm about to get sick. In case you don't know what I mean by that, I'll explain. I've had this dream repetitively since a child. Two cartoon characters inaudibly talk at me, and then get into a rolling fist fight as the words, "POW!" and "BANG!" appear above their heads. Next morning, "WHAM!" I've got a cold. But, I digress. M. Cardinal's Histoires exposes that awkward anthropomorphic mouse for what he is — a mutant. Not simply a character in animated cartoons and comic strips, but as virulent and contagious as the common cold. Titles, Fungus no. 2 (once I found some tofu in the back of my fridge growing mould that looked something like this) and Effigies make no effort to hide M. Cardinal's grudge against the never-ending and constant increase of images of the Mouse of Capitalism.

How best to describe Mr. Cardinal's sculpture? 'Mutilated religious kitsch' and 'I definitely thought I saw a dildo in one of them' are two phrases that spring to mind. For all the crafting that went into them, and while normally I'd be interested by the idea of a garden-variety statue of the Jesus sprouting cranial dildos,

Ascension (2010) Polyurethane foam, 100 x 170x 140 cm

for example, is just plain ugly. Etres Dites and Comme une sorte de surgissement, did not help me forgive the former desecration. Don't get me wrong; I'm not crying "Heathen!" because he's made an ugly Jesus sculpture. I myself covet the sculpture of the Virgin Mary I inherited from a friend's grandmother and my house is filled with an appalling number of holograms of the Virgin of Guadalupe (she's my patron saint after all). I know the things are unsightly. Religious iconography occupies a powerful place in the human imagination and the mythologies of self-sacrifice, virtue and piety often go hand in hand with unabashed worship of hideously ugly sculptures of saints and the Virgin Mary. Yet, I have a sneaking suspicion that the theological debate over the logistics of the ascension, that is, the belief that certain special people such as Jesus and Mary ascend directly and bodily into Heaven, will not be helped by M. Cardinal's suggestion that the whole idea is really just thinly veiled penis-envy.

Initially, when trying to 'place' M. Cardinal in some loose art narrative, I thought of Richard Tuttle because upon reading M. Cardinal's artists' statement I thought these two artists might have had more in common. M. Cardinal writes:

Until now my work consisted in a variety of simple and spontaneous gestures done on various types of objects. I was folding, gluing, crumpling, and cutting. If I have long been more interested by objects of quick consumption (towels, plastic utensils, etc.), I now use about anything, any objects at hand might end in one of my sculptures. When I work with a chair, a roll of toilet paper or a ping-pong ball, I am not working with ideas. It is respectively this chair, this roll of toilet paper or this ping-pong ball that I am interested in according to what they have to offer in terms of material qualities. Some objects allow us to fold them and some others to tear them. This is how I tackle the objects and materials that I use.

Alas, M. Cardinal's new sculptures are a far-cry from the spontaneous, 'sculptural drawings' of Richard Tuttle - check this out if my vague description of his work did not suffice:

Whereas Richard Tuttle is the master of making art from "feeble" materials such as paper, rope, string, cloth, wire, twigs, cardboard, bubble wrap, nails, styrofoam and plywood, etc., Éric Cardinal's sculptures are hideous, cheap plastic things. The poverty of their material qualities makes his statement sounds like art babble to me and therefore their commentary on (I assume) Quebec and religion and sex is lost on my fickle eye for beauty.

Luckily, my day was saved by Jocelyn Philibert's digital photography, also showing at SAS. Of the series, Night Set,

Untitled - Sans titre (pont sur la rivière Ouelle à Saint-Onésime d'Ixworth), 2009

and Sans titre (saule pleureur) (2006) were particularly striking. By M. Philibert's lens, trees at night possess a special luminosity He creates each image by piecing together hundreds of pictures of the subject. Whether or not the images are truthful reproductions of the subject is beside the point, the final product is an eerie resemblance to the thing where the real looks like an illusion and the 'authentic natural' is called into question. I'd wager that M. Philibert's attitude to making images of nature is in tune with what Ansel Adams said of the photograph: "beauty comes first." Long before the digital reproduction of images, the relationship of the viewer with the natural world was changed by the photographic lens.

Lastly, a note on the work of Laurent Craste, whose ceramics you'll find nestled in the third and final room of Gallery SAS. His delicate urns, vases and teacups, all of which have been attacked with heavy tools such as axes, crowbars and knives, indicate there is certainly a rebellious spirit at work here. That rebellious spirit is versed in the technical knowledge and know-how of his craft, however.

The outmoded ideas disseminated by bucolic scenes, floral bouquets and exotic trash, are presented and staged to highlight their racist or sexist elements and the conservatism of the object's owners. Therefore the critique of the representation also becomes a critique of the medium

so says M. Craste of his work. Two pieces certainly cut me like a knife. Paire de vases Médicis. Série des scènes pittoresques: Hiroshima et Auschwitz (2010), pink vases, one of which is painted with a scene from the gates to the camps at Birkenau, the other with a scene from the aftermath of Hiroshima. I visited Birkenau this past spring. There was and is nothing bucolic about that place. Even the grass and the flowers left on the rail tracks did nothing to suggest that life ever was or ever will be idyllic in that place. What I found strangely moving when I visited Birkenau were the enormous piles of everyday objects on display: shoes, brushes, cups and saucers. Orphaned objects stored behind glass, lonely reminders of their former owners. I felt that M. Craste's vases perhaps not only stand in as artifacts of war, but as reminders of the cultural plunder of it. During the Holocaust, everyday objects such as china, crystal or silver were lost forever. The monetary value of these kinds of objects is never equal to their worth to individuals and families.

In M. Craste's other works on display, including Iconocraste 0 – IV series, the ceramics take on an humanlike guise. M. Craste casts his ceramics after having stabbed or otherwise abused them, hence they mold to the weapon. Iconocrash 1 looks to be yelling back at its abuser. "These savage porcelain sculptures depict heavy tools smashing into vases, urns and teacups, satisfying the need to rebel against Grandma's china" Stephanie Saunders wrote in Toronto Life in her article where she also wrote that M. Craste was one of the "Ten Artists First Time Buyers Should Invest in Now". I cherish my grandmother's china, and given M. Craste's devotion to the craft of ceramics, I can't imagine he'd take one of his hammers to his family heirlooms. Though, if the mood struck, it'd make for a charged performance piece.

Praise is due to Galerie SAS for taking chances on Quebec artists, even if that means subjecting me to utterly ugly sculpture. No apologies necessary SAS, because when a student, when broke, when looking for a legitimate excuse to raise a glass or five with other art wonks, you're my go-to gallery. Hands down, SAS throws the best darn vernissage in town. I didn't make it to the opening for the Cardinal and Philibert show and while it was nice for a change to visit the gallery without the impetus to cram another bottle of ice-cider in my bag, I bet a glass of wine would have tempered my dislike for Cardinal's sculptures.

Les Sphères Polaires, Bernard Duguay, Pierre Gagnon, Lucion Média by Zeke

2011-02-25T09:00:00.178-05:00

Howdy!

There are 24 (or maybe 25 I haven't been able to get a straight answer from anyone) round objects, hanging out near rue Jeanne Mance until the 27th of February. They're collectively called "Les Sphères Polaires." And I think they are horrible. But just to say they are horrible and dismiss them with a one word review actually makes me look like the jerk and the asshole. So bear with me as I attempt to explain why I think that "Les Sphères Polaires" should be condemned to someplace slightly more "Polaires" like the Gulag Archipelago, and forever be banished from Montreal.

Oooh! A big white ball!

First off: Unless there is a festival of some sort, the area where "Les Sphères Polaires" are located is a business district where the large majority of the people who are near it are near it in between the hours of 9AM and 5PM. During the hours of 9AM and 5PM the sun is out and as a consequence "Les Sphères Polaires" are a bunch of white spheres that do absolutely nothing except take up space. During the daytime they don't do anything, which is a pity. Because the technology exists to do some pretty spectacular light shows during the day, but whomever is the power behind "Les Sphères Polaires" decided that they were only going to "do stuff" at night.

Man, that is some amazing public art!!

At night, by my best guess, during the winter there are perhaps four people who walk from rue Sainte Catherine and rue Jeanne Mance to avenue du President Kennedy and rue Jeanne Mance. All night. Yes, there are the folks who are eating at Brasserie T! who are forced to watch "Les Sphères Polaires" (and thankfully Brasserie T! seems to attract crowds) otherwise the only people who would see "Les Sphères Polaires" would be those four intrepid people who choose to walk from rue Sainte Catherine and rue Jeanne Mance to avenue du President Kennedy and rue Jeanne Mance each night. 'Cause if I can remind you slightly, it is cold in Montreal in the winter, and as a consequence most people stay indoors, drive or take the metro and do not venture outside unless absolutely necessary. Last week it was -30 degrees. Even fewer people ventured outside at night.

Be still my beating heart...

So we have a case of something being touted as quote: art unquote, which should therefore entice people to come see it, but unfortunately being in the position (and place and time) where pretty much nobody goes to see it. Now this would all be fine and dandy if some person had decided that they wanted to show off their mad skills at doing stuff with white spheres on their own dime and time. You know something like Lightning Field, or James Turrell's Roden Crater, or something like that. But the fine folk behind "Les Sphères Polaires" somehow convinced a jury of their peers to let the Quebec and Montreal governments to fund the whole project.

Gotta love that color scheme, someone spent a lot of time figuring that one out.

Now I don't know about you, but if my tax dollars are going to fund art (and I really and truly like the idea that my tax dollars DO go and fund art, after all we are living in Quebec here) I want them to go to art which will be seen by people and is not horrible.

I was discussing "Les Sphères Polaires" with a friend, and she said I shouldn't be so mean, after all they were pretty. I asked her if she thought they were anything more than pretty, and while she initially said yes, when push came to shove, she couldn't come up with another adjective. Now I'm not against pretty things per se, I have no problems with roses, baby seals, sunsets or anything else that can be generically called quote: pretty unquote. But where I do have a problem is if someone tries to convince me that roses, baby seals and sunsets are high art. Quote: pretty unquote, and other adjectives like quote: cute unquote while might be sufficient for other people as far as defining what they like in art, but it doesn't do it for me. Quote: pretty unquote, if you hadn't noticed is a very one-dimensional description, and while we're at it is also fairly personal. Your pretty is not my pretty, and if you're going to push me any further, there ain't no accounting for taste, either, and yours sucks.

Isn't it wonderful how they can get them all the same color at the same time? Technology is so wonderful these days.

But beyond taste and relative ideas of prettiness. The whole project doesn't make sense to anyone! On first glance (which is only what most people give it anyhow) at night the 24 (or 25) spheres appear to change and switch color, occasionally something appears inside that vaguely looks like shadow puppets, all the while there's a vaguely Cirque du Soleil ultra world beat type of music that is playing in the background. What you don't know is that there's a red thing (kind of octagon-shaped, looking like a squished bass drum) with some holes on its side that actually controls everything. How do I know this? Because one night I was one of those four people walking from Sainte Catherine to avenue du President Kennedy and there was this guy who popped up from out of nowhere moving his hands like he was playing some sort of steampunk theremin who spent more than five minutes trying to not only explain to me how "Les Sphères Polaires" worked, but then another five minutes trying to convince me to control them.

That just jumps up at me and screams "wave your hands over me!"

Now, if the fine folk behind "Les Sphères Polaires" realized that they needed someone to explain the nuts and bolts to the four people who go from rue Sainte Catherine to avenue du President Kennedy each night it was only because they must have realized that for the most part people had no idea what the heck was happening, how the heck it was happening or why. And on top of that, they had probably used the word quote: interactivity unquote, multiple times in their grant applications (although, now in going over things, it occurs to me that this might have just been chosen by the folk at Spectra - there are no government logos anywhere). And then suddenly realized that when they went to take pictures for their final report that there were no people in the pictures to demonstrate quote: interactivity unquote.

Shadow Puppets! Wow!

Uh-Oh! That's not good. If you write the word quote: interactivity unquote, in your grant application it is a foregone conclusion that you need to have pictures of people using you art in your final report. If you don't, you're never getting another grant again. From anyone. Ever. So what do you do if what you wanted to happen isn't happening? You hire what here in Quebec is called a quote: animator unquote, or in the rest of the world is called a master-of-ceremonies. It probably would have been better on the grant application, if instead of needing what here in Quebec is called an quote: animator unquote, or in the rest of the world is called a master-of-ceremonies they had just written the words Twitter, Facebook, and Flickr. But they didn't, so we're stuck with what here in Quebec is called an quote: animator unquote, or in the rest of the world is called a master-of-ceremonies. Pity. Although on the plus side I've heard rumors to the effect that they hired either homeless people or folk on welfare, so if you can get over the fact that these quote: animator unquote, (after all we are in Quebec) have to work in minus 30 degree weather, it probably can be considered a positive.

A close up of a hole.

But, don't get me wrong, shadow puppets are cool. In fact I've heard it from a very reliable source that shadow puppets are the next black. But one thing I like when watching shadow puppets - actually like is not the right word - the one thing I demand when watching shadow puppets is a plot, a storyline, or in simpler terms something that has a beginning, middle and an end. If you hadn't noticed "Les Speheres Polaires" are spheres - they don't have a beginning or an end - they do have a middle, but that's about all they have. And only having a middle is fine and dandy until you try to impose some sort of linear structure to your art by projecting shadow puppets. No way, no how, ain't gonna work. Or in even plainer terms don't even think about it.

And for those of you who think that I don't know diddly about shadow puppets, allow me to show you what I think are good (if not great to awesome) shadow puppets. William Kentridge just rocks my world and rocks it hard.

Before I forget, another absolutely horrible thing about "Les Sphères Polaires" is the music. Imagine if you will some type of music slapped with the label world beat. Then dumb it down to world beat music for infants. And then dumb it down further by imagining world beat music being played by infants. No way, no how, world beat music played by infants is going to be anything more than a LOL Cats for the second decade of the 21st century. But because everyone who sees "Les Sphères Polaires" only sees it for an extremely brief time the music played alongside only needs to be like the music played in your favorite mall, banal and dumb. Not quite completely in the background so that you don't consciously hear it, but at the same time definitely not a Lady Gaga song.

I dunno if you've ever seen the Teletubbies, but I have. Not that we have to get into a long discussion about why, suffice it to say, I was doing it with someone else's child. But after much pondering, it occurred to me, that "Les Sphere's Polaires" are exactly like the Teletubbies. Simplistic, designed to keep infants quiet, docile and content. And besides you know that it isn't good for an infant to be watching TV.

Getting fancy in this one, shadows and blue. OMIGOD!!

How exactly are "Les Sphères Polaires" simplistic? Well, if you notice most art uses a bunch of different colors. "Les Sphères Polaires" tends to be only one color at a time, as if having a varied palate would kill them.

How exactly are "Les Sphères Polaires" designed to keep you quiet? well, if you notice they make a lot of noise on their own, and it's cold out. I don't know about you but when it's cold, I don't like shouting (actually I don't like shouting at any temperature). And if someone is going to insist on playing loud noise, I'm not going to feel obliged to be heard over their din. Which means I'm going to be quiet - you on the other hand might react differently.

How exactly do "Les Sphères Polaires" keep you docile? Well if you drink the Kool-Aid and believe the hype that "Les Sphères Polaires" are cutting edge art then obviously you're not going to agitate for other cutting edge art. (yes, I recognize that's a tautology, but bear with me for a moment, ok?) But even if you don't think that "Les Sphères Polaires" are cutting edge art, as soon as you accept that they are art, then you stop asking questions. And to me that's the key point, art should always engage you in ways that make you think. After the initial "Oh cool!" squeal there is nothing substantial, no meat, all fluff, empty calories - I can continue listing the metaphors for as long as you like – but how about I save us both the trouble and stop here?

In case you didn't get the point, I'm repeating it. Technology is so wonderful these days.

Continuing along the line of how banal they are; if you happen to be able to stand watching and having to listen to them for any extended amount of time, you will quickly realize that for the most part the colored lights of "Les Sphères Polaires" are synchronized with the lights that are being used to quote: enhance, unquote the brutal and facade of the Musée d'art contemporain. So somehow, someone, somewhere, decided that the pretty lights within the balls were art, and somehow, someone, somewhere else, decided that the pretty lights on the side of the building were not. I just don't get it. And while I'm at it, who in the heck decided to quote: enhance, unquote the Musée d'art contemporain? The building is just plain ugly. To quote the seminal 1980s band Fishbone, "U-G-L-Y, you ain't got no alibi, you're just ugly." There is no amount of quote: enhancing, unquote, that could turn that sow's ear into a purse. But whomever decided that a ginormous blank wall along rue Jeanne Mance (fer chrisakes' she was one of the founders of Montreal!) was a good idea, should be politely asked to try hanging out there while teaching people about the interactive aspect of "Les Speheres Polaires."

Doesn't that scene just make you want to dive right in?

Because of this massive blank wall that stretches from rue Sainte-Catherine to avenue du President Kennedy and the design of the Place des Festivals there is no integration of "Les Sphères Polaires" with the neighborhood whatsoever (ok, maybe a little, there are five of the balls that hang out in front of the Musée d'art contemporain, but they are so separated from the 19 or 20 others that they might as well be two separate installations. And those five that hang out in front of the Musée d'art contemporain ain't interactive, either). If you're going to be placing art in a neighborhood, one of the prime directives is to make it work with its surroundings. If your art is constantly fighting with its surroundings, the art is not going to win. As far as I can tell the only kind of art that is going to work in that neighborhood is the kind that is high up above ground level. If someone were to place some kinda big (not ginormous, nor humongous, but big) statues on top of the Musée d'art contemporain that then glowered down at the people who ventured to set foot on rue Jeanne Mance. Now that would be kind of cool. Big statues of snowmen. And then if you wanted to make them quote: interactive, unquote. You could set up some type of automatic snowball making machine and then make each one have an arm that was like a catapult. That way pedestrians would have to dodge the snowballs as they crossed Place des Festivals – and on top of that it would also make for some pretty entertaining scenes for the diners at Brasserie T! Plus, it would be easy to do during the day, when most people are in Place des Festivals during the winter. Win, win, win all around, except for those poor tourists who (inadvertently) got hit by a snowball.

But before I get too far ahead of myself and completely set up next year's show. I should get back to "Les Sphères Polaires." And ultimately it is a bad use of technology. Technology should help people do things that they previously couldn't. When used as art, it should make people think. "Les Sphères Polaires" does neither.

Last month I was watering the plants at a friend's house that was in the neighborhood of the Place des Festivals and as a consequence was able to see the balls form a variety of perspectives (her condo is on the 17th floor, so I was able to see them from up high, and as my schedule wasn't that rigorous, sometimes I would water the plants in the morning, sometimes at night, and in order to get to and from her place I would have to literally trip over them, so I got to see them up close as well) and there wasn't a single perspective where they made me think or enabled me to do something that I previously couldn't, except perhaps walk in a straight line from Brasserie T! to the metro, but that wasn't related to any technological advancement what so ever.

To my mind public art, even ephemeral public art needs to have a purpose and/or a reason. And beyond enabling Bernard Duguay and Pierre Gagnon of Lucion Média to make some money I can't think of a single purpose and/or a reason for "Les Sphères Polaires."

By this point we're almost at 2,700 words, either you've gotten my point, or you stopped reading a long time ago. So there really isn't any point me bringing up the wasteful use of energy in order to keep things inflated and making noise, nor is there any point in me talking about how they are supposed to represent immense snow globes but fail miserably nor is there any point in me flogging this horse much longer, I presume you get the idea. But if you want to continue the experience you can listen to what I said about "Les Sphères Polaires" right here.

Play Here

Download: MP3 12MB / FLAC 40MB / Ogg Vorbis 6MB or Stream
Originally broadcast on the Monday Morning After on CKUT 90.3 FM, Montreal.

Believe it or not, Nancy Reagan was right – Just say "no" to "Les Sphères Polaires."

Corps Étranger, Sarah Garzoni, Galerie Art Mûr Part Two: Revenge of the Taxidermist By Greg Stone

2011-02-23T09:00:00.025-05:00

Art Mûr
5826 rue St-Hubert
+1 514 933 0711
January 8th to February 26th

As sure as the tides will change, Sarah Garzoni, artist and taxidermist of the exhibition Corps Étranger, now showing at Galerie Art Mûr, responded to my email an hour after my review of her show was published. So, Part 2: Revenge of the Taxidermist. And since I did all of the talking in Part 1, I'm going to let Ms. Garzoni take the reins on this one: We conducted it in French but I translated it since all of what has been written here has been in English. (However since I am not a professional translator, I have left the French version here for you to read as well – if anyone has a better translation, please let me know.)

Greg Stone: Why did you become interested in taxidermy as an art form?
Comment, pourquoi t'es-tu intéressée à l'art de la taxidermie?

Sarah Garzoni: In general, my work questions the relationships that we have with animals. I think there are a few fields where humans behave paradoxically. I always ask, by what means, throughout history and different cultures, can animals become a god, or even how a simple piece of raw material becomes a functional object, like a leather jacket? By what psychological processes, what criteria, decides whether an animal will become a companion, or will end up on our dinner plates? Since the beginning of time, we have used animal skins, animal fat, flesh, horns, scales and secretions... to produce fragrances (musk, amber)... jewelery, dyes, food... deconstructed, transformed, aestheticized the idea of the living animal out of our minds so that the idea of the animal itself becomes a very abstract concept because of our conventions. Cigarette papers, photographic film, candies made from gelatin... applications and animal derivatives are ubiquitous in our daily lives, and appear well anchored in our habits. Using taxidermy to give these animals their original forms, in effect, industrializing the animal, turns that concept [of the abstract animal] on itself. Taxidermy is an in-between, a transitional equilibrium point where the animal, motionless, has both cultural codes (related to the reification of the animal), and a return to its status of being alive.

For example, in Masquerade (2005), the fur coat becomes the animal itself, since all the elements that allow for identification (head, ears ...) were kept. It's the same for Boudoir (2008): The failure to eliminate certain parts of the animal causes a feeling of discomfort, which emerges from the ambivalence. This principle is based on a Kafkaesque metamorphosis, similar to a hallucination in which objects become incarnate and come to life.

D'une manière générale, mon travail interroge les rapports que l'on entretient avec l'animal. Je pense que rares sont les domaines où le comportement de l'homme parait aussi paradoxal : Je me demande toujours quels sont les mécanismes qui, à travers l'histoire ou les différentes cultures, vont mener l'animal au rang d'un dieu, ou bien d'une simple matière première qui deviendra un objet fonctionnel comme une veste de cuir? Par quel processus psychique, sur quels critères, choisie t-on de faire qu'un animal deviendra un compagnon ou finira dans notre assiette? De tous temps, on a utilisé sa peau, ses graisses, sa chair, ses cornes, ses écailles ses sécrétions... pour produire des parfums (musc, ambre...), des bijoux, des colorants, des aliments… Ainsi, déstructuré, transformé, esthetisé, la trace du vivant est très loin de nos esprits, et l'idée de l'animal devient alors une notion bien abstraite au vue de nos habitudes. Papiers de cigarettes, pellicules photos, bonbons de gélatine... les applications et dérivés d'origines animales inscrits en filigranes dans notre quotidien sont omniprésents, et semblent bien ancrés dans nos moeurs. En redonnant leurs formes originelles à ces animaux grâce à la taxidermie, le processus qui va de l'animal vers l'objet dans l'industrialisation, se retourne ici sur lui-même. Il s'agit d'un entre-deux, d'un point d'équilibre transitoire où l'animal, figé, présente à la fois des codes culturels (liés à sa réification), et un retour à son statut d'être vivant.

Par exemple, dans Mascarade (2005), le manteau de fourrure redevient l'animal lui même, puisque tous les éléments qui permet de l'identifier (tête, oreilles…) ont été conservés. Il en va de même pour Boudoir (2008) : Le fait de ne pas éliminer certaines parties de l'animal, provoque un sentiment de gêne, une inquiétante étrangeté, qui se dégage de ces ambivalences. Ce principe est basé sur une métamorphose Kafkaïenne, de l'ordre de l'hallucination, dans lequel les objets s'incarneraient, reprendraient vie.

GS: In general, how did you obtain the animals used in Corps Étranger?
En general, comment as-tu obtenu les animaux que tu as utilise pour Corps étranger?

SG: For the most part, the animals for Corps Étranger were carefully selected from farms, just as we choose bacon. It was part of the process. It would have been ambiguous for me to use only the leftovers from the food industry. I wanted to go through with my reasoning, remain consistent. My goal is obviously not to offend, or to look like some moralist, but simply to raise questions.

Pour la plupart, les animaux pour Corps Etranger ont été consciencieusement choisis dans des élevages, exactement comme l'on choisirai du bacon, cela faisait partie de la démarche. Il aurait été ambiguë de ma part de n'utiliser que des restes de l'industrie alimentaire. Je voulais aller jusqu'au bout de mon raisonnement, rester cohérente. Mon but n'est évidement pas de choquer, ou de porter un regard moraliste sur certaines pratiques mais simplement de susciter des questionnements.

GS: Have you received any messages or comments from animal rights groups?
As-tu reçu des messages ou commentaires des groupes des droits des animaux?

SG: No, not yet. However, I have had 'skin deep' reactions. Notably during a school tour at one of my shows: a father was very shocked that we exposed this kind of thing to children. Although I find some TV programs or images you see on the internet much more violent, I think his reaction was very interesting: No one is shocked at the sight of a leather armchair, but if it still has the head of the animal, it is scandalous, indecent... On the other hand, since taxidermy is a treated skin and "tanned," and covers a certain volume, mimicking an animal form (although now often made of polyurethane), then what about wearing a leather or fur coat? Couldn't we then be considered a kind of "walking piece of taxidermy?"

But more importantly, what about the numbers killed industrially? Which for the most part is hidden from society. They kill nearly a billion animals annually in France alone.² Should we also hide McDonald's Restaurants from children out of fear that they might figure out the changes that their hamburger went through to become a hamburger? But again, animal sacrifice seems more legitimate, more "natural." Yet, as Jacques Derrida reminds us: "the consumption of meat has never been a biological necessity. We do not eat meat simply because you need protein - protein can be found elsewhere. It is the consumption of the animal, as in the death penalty elsewhere, that is a sacrificial structure, and therefore there is something "cultural" associated with archaic structures that persist which we must analyze.³

Which is more important, creating functional objects or just creating?

It is precisely this kind of problem that interests me. Just like Jean-Baptiste Jeangène Vilmer wrote, for whom 'art reveals, reveals a suffering already existing, it shows what we prefer forcing, in our everyday moral schizophrenia'.¹ For him traditional taxidermy is a "trauma," a subversive taxidermy, through its staging confronts the viewer with a reality which has been carefully hidden, it plays the role of revealer.

Non, jamais pour l'instant. En revanche j'ai eu des réactions "très épidermiques". Notamment à l'occasion d'une visite guidée d'une école lors d'une de mes expositions : Un père à été très choqué que l'on fasse visiter ce genre d'expositions à des enfants. Bien que je trouve beaucoup plus violents certains programmes TV, ou images véhiculées par le net, je pense que cette réaction est très intéressante : Si nul n'est choqué à la vue d'un fauteuil de cuir, en revanche, si celui-ci présente encore la tête de l'animal, cela est scandaleux, indécent… D'autre part, en partant du postulat qu'une taxidermie est une peau traitée et "tannée", qui recouvre un certain volume, imitant une forme animale (bien souvent aujourd'hui en mousse polyuréthane), que dire alors du fait de porter un manteau de cuir ou de fourrure : Ne serions nous donc, finalement, pas si loin de sortes de "taxidermies ambulantes"?

Mais surtout, que penser de la cadence industrielle, qui loin de nos yeux, abat près d'un milliard d'animaux par an et ce rien qu'en France?² Faudrait-il aussi cacher aux enfants tous les Mac Donald's, de peur qu'ils ne devinent tout le chemin qu'il a fallut à leur hamburger pour qu'il ne devienne hamburger… Mais là encore, le sacrifice animal parait plus légitime, plus "naturel". Pourtant, comme nous le rappelle Jacques Derrida : "la consommation de la viande n'a jamais été une nécessité biologique. On ne mange pas de la viande simplement parce qu'on a besoin de protéines — et les protéines peuvent être trouvées ailleurs. Il y a dans la consommation de l'animal, comme dans la peine de mort d'ailleurs, une structure sacrificielle, et donc un phénomène « culturel » lié à des structures archaïques qui persistent et qu'il faut analyser.³

L'art du palais serait il plus important que l'art de créer?

C'est précisément ce genre de problématique qui m'intéresse. Cela rejoint le propos de Jean- Baptiste Jeangène Vilmer pour qui, " l'art dévoile, révèle une souffrance déjà existante, il montre ce que l'on préfère refouler, dans notre schizophrénie morale quotidienne".¹ Pour lui, alors que la taxidermie traditionnelle efface le "trauma", la "taxidermie sabotée " (botched texidermy), à travers la mise en scène, confronte le spectateur à la réalité, à ce qui a été jusqu'ici soigneusement caché. Il joue donc le rôle d'un révélateur.

GS: Will you continue to use taxidermy as an artistic medium?
Est-ce que tu vas continuer à utiliser la taxidermie comme un médium artistique?

SG: Not necessarily, I would not want to fall into a routine. Taxidermy has proved to be the form that has best served my purpose, but I think there are many mediums that could allow me to fulfil my artistic process. I think for example as tools, scientific devices are not so far from my thoughts.

Pas nécessairement, je ne voudrai pas tomber dans une sorte de recette. Ici la taxidermie s'est avérée être la forme qui servait au mieux mon propos, mais je pense qu'il y a beaucoup de médiums qui pourraient me permettre de nourrir ma démarche. Je pense par exemple à des outils, des dispositifs scientifiques qui finalement ne sont pas si loin de mes préoccupations.

Footnotes:
1 Jean-Baptiste Jeangène Vilmer : Animaux dans l'art contemporain : La question éthique Jeu. Revue de théâtre, Mars 2009
2 Florence Burgat, l'Animal dans les pratiques de consommation
3 Jacques Derrida, l'Animal que donc je suis

Bunk Bed City, Dean Baldwin at Le Centre Clark by Jessica Surendorff

2011-02-21T09:00:00.073-05:00

Le Centre Clark
5455, avenue De Gaspe
+1 514.288.4972
January 20 - February 26, 2011

I feel like a total pain-in-the-ass since I arrived at the gallery fifteen minutes after opening, and admin is still setting up. I ask the admin, Corinne, if it's okay to come in? 'Yes, we're open', she tells me as she hits a button an an old cassette player, and Nat King Cole's Smile begins to play from the speakers. Nice.

Once again I am a 'lone wolf' in the gallery... not a sole in sight, but I can tell straight away that a lot has been going on at Centre Clark. Dean Baldwin's installation Bunk Bed City looks exactly like what it is supposed to represent: the kitchen and dorm rooms of a summer camp. It looks as if someone has been living in the installation, and Corinne tells me it's because Mr. Baldwin invites people to join in social gatherings in the gallery. I take a closer look at the gas cooker and I can see spots of oily residue from last Thursday's dinner. (Which was titled 'Hopeless Romantics Society: A Heart Surgery, A Ceremony, A Meal').

Installation view of Bunk Bed City by Dean Baldwin at Centre Clark. Photo by Dean Baldwin

At the entry to the space is a large circular sign inscribed with the installation's name Bunk Bed City. Behind this big satellite dish-like plaque, hides Mr. Baldwin's creation. How should one tackle this installation, I wonder? I'll be boring, I think, I will go clock-wise.

The first section I encounter is the side of the kitchen, and I peer into a space reminiscent of my childhood. This place reminds me of holiday beach houses I used to go to as a kid - each time a group would stay at the house they would leave items behind. Over time, the collection of 'forgotten and unwanted things' would accumulate to a point where there is almost no space left for anything new. But no one as the heart to throw any of these things out - it's just a summer holiday house after all...

This feeling is exactly what Mr. Baldwin aims to evoke with his art work; this one in particular being reminiscent of a summer camp. The installation, made from recycled materials and found objects, has a yucky but cozy feel at the same time. The lack of windows means very little natural light enters from the front foyer of Centre Clark, and the low halogen lighting adds to this closed in and cozy atmosphere.

Installation view of Bunk Bed City by Dean Baldwin at Centre Clark. Photo by Jessica Surendorff

Visitors to the Bunk Bed City could loose hours snooping around the space; and I feel a kind of voyeuristic enjoyment from taking in all the little bits and pieces in the installation. Hanging plants with withering leaves; a Royal Doulton tea-cup on top of a little wall-nut dispensing machine; a pair of blue striped Adidas shoes under a bed... I then take a closer look at the cassette tape collection that's between the coffee urn and the fridge. Along with the Nat King Cole that is playing there is a mish-mash (especially from 80s and 90s), of Simply Red, Stevie Wonder, Counting Crows, The Eurythmics, etc. To top it off there is a compilation of the Star Wars Trilogy soundtracks.

Along the 'roof' in the kitchen is a string of lights, made from globes inside little teacups, which throws some light onto this rather dim space. Even though this installation is cluttered, the colour palette gives it uniformity. Subdued tones of mustard yellow, lime green, burnt out orange are interspersed with punches of red, like the ancient Cola-Cola drinks fridge.

The textural element of the installation is created with the use of steel and plastic kitchenware, glass jars and bottles, and the various off-cuts of wood Mr. Baldwin has used in the building materials. The textures and colour-theme is continued throughout the rest of the space, into the bunk beds surrounding the kitchen. As I am taking note of the construction, I look up and see two pastries have been nailed to the ceiling.

Installation view of Bunk Bed City by Dean Baldwin at Centre Clark. Photo by Jessica Surendorff

On the kitchen counter, naturally, is an assortment of food; picked out to match the colour-palette. Tomatoes, courgettes, ginger, oranges and pineapples. I wonder how long the food has been here for, but things are looking pretty good. No mold in sight. But - that would be an interesting aspect for the theme of this installation. Many a time I have been to a camp and have been pleased with a discovery; "Wow, somebody forgot their Frisbee and cricket set!", and other times no-so-pleased, "Hmmm, somebody left an apple in the bottom drawer for who-knows how long". Next to the assorted fruits and vegetables; is a bowl of shiitake mushrooms marinating in red wine and herbs. I'm guessing it's been sitting here for two days, so the wine is at least still wine and hasn't become vinegar. (I later find out that rotting food is something that Mr. Baldwin likes to explore in his work, with one of his photography studies being Food I Left In The Fridge Too Long). It's time for me to leave the kitchen and explore the rest of the space.

Food I Left In The Fridge Too Long by Dean Baldwin courtesy Katharine Mulherin Contemporary Art Projects

Around the edge of the gallery Mr. Baldwin has set up the actual bunk bed aspect of Bunk Bed City. Something about this section seems static and airless, but perhaps this just in contrast to the kitchen, which has such obvious signs of recent activity. But for all I know, people may have been crashing on these bunks after a few drinks at one of the evening events. (Although, resting on the hard base bunks don't look too comfy..) Never the less, Mr. Baldwin achieves what he set out to do and that is evoke feelings and memories of the dorms at a summer camp. A game of Twister, some puzzles and a set of skis are stacked and crammed together above one of the beds; an old worn leather suitcase sits on top of another. I notice there has been a subtle change in colour, with a move towards more cool tones of green and blue. The base of each bed has been covered with textile; with each having a different print. The beds also have curtains or wooden blinds added for a bit of 'privacy'. The retro lamps and light fittings that Mr. Baldwin has used to give a source of light to each bunk and adds a nice touch to the otherwise dark corners of the space.

Situated between two of the bunks is what looks like a performance area. In front of gold voile curtains (decorated with bows and faux-sequined material) is the performance space. Today, it looks like some strange operating table. Atop of the simmering gold tablecloth is a pile of celery and artichokes, a couple of surgery masks and a silver platter. In the centre of the platter lie scalpels and blades. This 'operating table' is a clear indication of what took place at the event on Thursday evening: Vegetable dissection. Perhaps there is some metaphor between heart-surgery and the dicing and slicing of the artichoke hearts? Mr. Baldwin is know for turning his work into a social spectacle; using the artistic environment as a space for people to not only view his work but participate in his work (e.g. turning the installation into a party). For the remainder of February, Centre Clark hosts bi-weekly events at Bunk Bed City, where Mr. Balwdin invites guests to join in cooking, drinking, games, karaoke, films and of course - the destruction of the installation, set to take place on February 26th 2011.

Installation view of Bunk Bed City by Dean Baldwin at Centre Clark. Photo by Jessica Surendorff

Apart from the voyeuristic aspect of being able to 'snoop' through the installation, and discover the interesting and humorous bits and pieces in the space - one of the great things about Mr. Baldwin's work is its dynamism. The next time I go to the space, the installation will be different. Perhaps nothing too drastic, but things will have moved. I like this idea that the installation is not 'perfect', and only mean to be viewed one certain way. When Mr. Baldwin invites people to the space, their presence means that it is not only the artist that determines the aesthetics of the space... the general public too. The idea of community and interaction between artists and the public is one of the defining points of Centre Clark. Not only is this place a gallery, but also has a work-space with specialized woodworking equipment open to the public. Centre Clark also offers their professional level technical support to the community. Be sure to drop by Centre Clark to check out this installation, or even join in one of the evening events for some cocktails or karaoke. (Art and alcohol: a great combination).

"Out Thinking In Circles, In Circles Thinking Out" at Galerie Push by Michael A. Armstrong

2011-02-18T09:00:00.090-05:00

Galerie Push
372 Sainte Catherine ouest, #425
+1 514 544-9079

Standing Outside of Circles; Spending Time Thinking In

By: Michael A. Armstrong

Comfortably nestled on the fourth floor of Montreal's Belgo building located at 372 Rue Sainte Catherine, Galerie Push and its recent exhibition "Out Thinking in Circles, in Circles Thinking Out" has what it takes to draw in any art fan in. But that's the easy part. Curated by Kyle Beal - a Montreal based artist represented by Galerie Push, "Out Thinking in Circles, in Circles Thinking Out" was as a thoughtful addition to Montreal's Belgo, delivering a thematically cohesive collection that pushed intellectual buttons without staying heady. Unapologetically living up to its founding mandate, Galerie Push delivered an attractive dose of art, transforming an otherwise sterile 20x20ft room into a conceptual playground, proving what a wealth of talent, a sharp mind and a keen eye are capable of.

Lucy Pullen – "Hole"

The Belgo is a pretty unassuming building, with a main entrance on Ste. Catherine street that is sandwiched between its in-house coffee stop Café Crème and Souvenirs Jannat. What lies beyond the doors of the Belgo has emerged as something of a hub for Montreal's contemporary artists' scene. Galeries D'Art Contemporain du Belgo hosts a diverse mixture of more than 30 state subsidized artist run centres and privately operated galleries, with Galerie Push standing as a flagship for the next generation of emerging Canadian artists to showcase their work here in Montreal.

An effort of entrepreneurship, operating an art gallery must at the end of the day pay the bills. Founding director of Galerie Push, Megan Bradley however, compromises none of her credibility simply for the sake of selling art. A challenge she's admitted to being an unfortunate factor fellow members of her profession routinely face. "It's tricky," she's noted in past interviews, "you have to be very selective and you have to pick things you really think exemplify what your gallery is all about, but you have to also think about how it's going to be perceived in the marketplace." Yet, despite the very real pressures operators of gallery space face to showcase what might be – politely - deemed as "sellable art," Ms. Bradley remains keenly aware of the importance her role at Push, dismissing, quaintly I might add, the politics of profitability, mere moments after bringing it up herself in our conversation.

While art does have to sell, she never loses sight that art still needs to be "art." There is a comforting absence of elitism that a statement like that might otherwise initially elicit; in fact, far from it. Rather than seeing her position in the art circuit with any sense of power - that say a struggling student of the arts might otherwise perceive in such a role, Ms. Bradley views her position instead with a sense of purpose and dedication; attuned to showcasing the work of emerging artists in as many forms they are able to present, and she, able to accommodate. A genre, she admits is pretty broad, but also one that keeps her proactive and immersed. Keeping an eye on the pulse of Montreal's art scene is one thing, keeping the other on what is present and prescient, regardless of where it came is a different challenge altogether. Especially for the owner of a gallery in an arts scene that I, an outsider, bravely ventured to guess was "insular," a description that left her nodding in agreement.

"Obviously I want to be able to support artists who are directly in my community; you're always more inclined to work with those around you; those who you know and care about" she said, then clarifying further, saying that... " ultimately what's important for the gallery to be able to distinguish itself is to have a really strong grouping of emerging, contemporary, mostly Canadian artists. That to me will be stronger than any ties I have here; with Montreal or otherwise. It's just not my mandate." This perspective may come to the chagrin of some proud Quebecois, but I found her rationale compelling. "[Artists] feed off each other artistically... by bringing an artist here from elsewhere... [and having] works that can be displayed side by side. It's the best of both worlds" she states, describing the bounty that occurs when artistic circles overlap and resulting in an exchange where both camps stand to benefit.

Whether she knew it or not, it seemed as though she was describing her role in Montreal, better than if I asked her to do so directly. For Ms. Bradley, art trumps tribe but the diversity of the in-bound artistic talent Montreal hosts, in the end, makes the tribe stronger and their perspectives fresher. Building on the premise that the work shown at Push be representative of the gallery Ms. Bradley seeks to run, she remains focused to deliver on that promise by displaying works by artists that are sometimes quirky, often daring but always new.

This review wasn't initially meant to be a biographical affair, but I'm not sure I'd be able to speak to the kind of gallery Ms. Bradley runs without touching on the virtues she brings to the table. It's part of Push's success. She's a thoughtful and well-spoken member of Montreal's next generation of smart, young professionals, who approaches her role as operator of Galerie Push with a sense of responsibility and purpose. Truth be told, I admire her courage. It takes guts to venture out of the guarded gates of theory and into the jungle of practice, but doing so fresh out of school and on her own terms make her success all the more inspiring.

The collection of multi-disciplinary works by six artists, which were on display in "Out Thinking in Circles, in Circles Thinking Out" stand vibrantly individually but are enjoyed in full effect when seen as a collection. With Kyle Beal presenting his vision in his ode to the circle - the spiral and all things circular - we'd be taking for granted Megan Bradley's role at the helm of Push, who makes possible a project like "Out Thinking in Circles, in Circles Thinking Out" possible, let alone have it come to embody what Galerie Push can be all about.

In a conversation Megan Bradley shared with Kyle Beal - a Calgary based artist who's recently made waves by playing with language and irony in his art, Mr. Beal indicated that he was flirting with the idea of curating his first exhibit. Working together on his recent Galerie Push debut "Surveying the Danger Field," it just so happened - to their pleasant surprise - that Push had just the vacancy to fill. Enticed by Mr. Beal's proposal that called for bringing together "the simplicity of basic forms; to act as a ground for which things can get complicated" he chose works that purposefully "perplex you a bit so [that] you keep look[ing] at it... offer[ing] a kind of resistance." Mr. Beal selected for inspiration in this project the circle, a form "so common as to be nearly invisible" - forms that dominate the exhibit but don't oppress it.

Mr. Beal's exhibition begins, or at least it should, with a quick viewing of his exhibition text. Drawing you in on a cognitive level, spiral text spins outwardly from the center, featuring the fundamental place of circles in human instinct, rhetoric, and symbolism. It's a text that's counter-intuitively easier to read than one might find at first glance. From Jan Somson of the Max Planck Institute for Biological Cybernetics speaking to humanity's bewildering tendency to wander in circles when lost, to quoting a lyric by the American 60's rock band staple The Byrds, Mr. Beal draws on the traditional meaning of the circle both metaphorically and literally. It's basic place in nature, the cosmos and our daily lives. Imploring us to join him in his journey to rediscover the place of the circle, Mr. Beal uses his own suggestions as a base but provides the space for us to draw our own connections and conclusions.

Galerie Push – Kris Lindskoog "13 Untitled works"

Kris Lindskoog's set of 13 "Untitled" paintings dominates the southern wall of the exhibit, carefully arranged in an irregular 6x3 configuration, it draws your eyes to the set as a whole at first, then forcing you to scale your focus on each piece individually. In a visual grouping he explicitly directed Ms. Bradley to assemble, over the phone no less, your vision is immediately anchored to the empty center of the grid, rotating out, and taking in each of the thirteen works; one by one. Using watered down acrylic paint and the occasional of iridescent spray, Mr. Lindskoog entices the viewer to come find your own circles. For this he provides plenty to work with. The works span from spheres of color to what look like eclipses, almost Venn diagrams of watercolor inspired simplicity. These pieces are partnered with what Ms. Bradley described as "semi-photographic" pieces, where hues of color blend and at once convey the descent of night or the glorious arrival of sunrise.

Galerie Push – Kris Lindskoog "Untitled"

By fusing the complimentary and opposing colors, Mr. Lindskoog pulls your perspective to controlled constellations of iridescent flecks of paint or to shades that dominate and bleed from the edges of the painting, to the middle - always drawing your eyes to the work's epicenter, wherever it may lie. The sum of his "Untitled" works are drawn and painted on a single piece of paper, Mr. Lindskoog's framed illustrations present a perfect place to begin our exploration of the sphere. Progressing to Push's western wall we encounter three photographic prints by David Prince, an American artist, whose subject is what appears to be a nest, situated in the urban environment of what looks like San Diego or Los Angeles, California. What I initially assumed to be a nest, made out of brown sticks, I later came to find - only after my conversation with Megan Bradley - that it actually isn't made up of sticks at all.

David Prince – 53 Street Cleaning bristles"

Mr. Prince assembles the 53 piece "nest" according to precise instructions that come with every set- consisting of broken bristles from a public street sweeping vehicle, adding a completely new twist to my original impression. The safety and sense of normalcy we might associate symbolically with a nest – of the most natural of homes and source of protection from the world outside it - is at once, totally turned upside-down. The "sticks" become instantly recognizable metal blades, with broad sections of the exposed metal rusting into shades of warm sienna and mahogany browns. What appeared at first to be a series of natural subjects in atypical, urban environments instead turn foreign, cold and themselves unnatural.

Galerie Push - David Prince"53 Street Cleaning Bristles"

The "nest," officially titled "53 Street Sweeper Bristles" was also modestly featured at the sill of Push's window overlooking the highly urbanized view of Montreal's downtown. These are but one set of Mr. Prince's work on display at Push, his other being a 43"x42" pencil drawing titled "One Hundred," taking its place to the right of Ms. Bradley's sequestered desk space. It's a simple work made up of what seems to be the work of an unshakable virtue of patience, as well as one hundred pencil drawn rings. Viewed in perspective, it instantly triggers the image of a severed tree trunk, revealing its rings, each representing one year in its life. I dare you to find imperfections and eraser marks; I know I tried!

David Prince - "One Hundred Rings," courtesy David Price

Between Mr. Prince's photographic prints and Shawna McLeod's homage to the disco-ball, we're presented with a TV screen playing a twelve-minute loop of video titled "Tricks in a Cesna." It's an easily dismissible film at first glance with aerial footage from an aircraft mid-air, but attention paid to details pays dividends; not withstanding its breathtaking views of lush islands, full of green, on British Columbia's western coast. Midway though the video Ms. Pullen instructs the pilot to cut the engine above Vancouver Island at 50,000 feet. What results is a dizzying suspension of weight presented by zero gravity, before the plane naturally begins to turn, ever slowly, into increasingly larger arcs in its downwardly spiraling descent, demonstrating how it stays true to Mr. Beal's original theme. Another of Ms. Pullen's work is featured prominently in Galerie Push and is hanging in the center of the room. Titled "Hole," Ms. Pullen fashioned the piece out of a single strip of wooden ash, manipulating with steam, the result is what appears to be part-möbius strip, part-figure eight, instilling in the viewer the circular signs of the infinity.

What came to be my favorite work in Mr. Beal's exhibition is the impressive pair of Shawna McLeod's "Disco Confetti" pieces. Featuring two separate works, both painted in acrylic on wooden panels, one on exposed wood and the other on a softened teal base, Ms. McLeod's "Disco Confetti" is a colorful, controlled explosion of paint. Seeming to be revolving and itself in motion, brilliant multi-colored panels of confetti seem to just lift off the orb, imbuing the painting instantly with a sense of dynamism and movement. The one artist in the collection with whom Megan Bradley has worked with in the past, Ms. McLeod's delicate and striking strokes of color won't fail to impress.

Galerie Push – Shawna McLeod "Disco Confetti 1"

Galerie Push – Shawna McLeod "Disco Confetti 2"

To the right of Ms. McLeod's work is the subtle addition of Robert Hengeveld, whose artwork I had totally taken for granted. Consisting of what looks to be a generic coffee cup taken to-go, it looked like the one of Galerie Push's guests didn't quite find the trash can and left it there. A second glance reveals the small box that the cup is resting on is actually plugged into a nearby outlet, the sleeve on the cup quietly running laps around the circumference of the cup -and most unsuspecting visitors. Mr. Hengeveld's work takes items that are both identifiable and overlooked, leading us to believe we know what they are. Only then does he turn that notion on its head, and I gotta say, I totally fell for it. I'm not sure that feel so bad about it now though, at least because that's precisely the point.

Robert Hengeveld – "Paper Cup"

The final work on display in "Circles" is Amélie Guérin's treatment of Galerie Push's east wall. Featuring the framed "Portrait of a Slow Movement" prominently in the center, it is surrounded by a series of black holes, which appear to be eating away at the integrity of Push's –sometimes- painfully white walls. Ms. Guérin, a Quebec City native who currently lives in Montreal, maintains a playful sense of "transforming the mundane" to "reinvent the wheel." Her works are often humorous and according to her, "transform the ordinary into something creative (or) deceptive." "Portrait of a Slow Movement" is no exception to this rule.

Featuring a blurry photo of what looks to be a group of people engaged in Tai-Chi exercises, when you pay closer attention, the viewer should notice an eminently present smiley face. Taking advantage of the already blurry nature of the photo, Ms. Guérin constructs the face with staggered cutout copies of same photo it's affixed to, making the face appear to blend in, even though it doesn't. It's not supposed to. The result is a subtly humorous and at once perplexing piece. When viewed together with Ms. Guérin's treatment of the wall, it transforms the other-worldliness conjured by the photo and the face, to strangely fit and make sense.

Amelie Guerin – "Portrait of a Slow Movement"

Kyle Beal's attention to basic elements conceptually is inescapable, a major factor in why "Out Thinking in Circles, in Circles Thinking Out" works so well as a collection. It is minimalist in concept but uses the opportunity to maximize every piece's redefinition of it. The exhibit would have been compelling to both the average passersby on the street and serves as an overt reminder to previous visitors of what makes Galerie Push such a unique fixture in Montreal's art scene.

French Fourch, Charmant & Courtois Fundraiser, The Paper Apartment Gallery by Jessica Surendorff

2011-02-16T09:00:00.054-05:00

The Paper Apartment Gallery
3655 blvd. St -Laurent
+1 514-850-9127
29 January 2011

The Paper Apartment Gallery is above L Corridor (a hard to find but very tasty Caribbean restaurant on blvd. St Laurent) amongst some loft apartments. This space is home to curator and textile artist, Courtenay Mayes, whose bedroom takes up at most, one tenth of the loft in a little corner. Her dedication to her art is evident straight away.

Ms. Mayes opens up her home, giving local and international artists a chance to showcase their work which might otherwise not have the opportunity to be in the public sector. Tonight’s show is a collaboration between publishing house French Fourch and artistic collective Charmant & Courtois. The aim of the show tonight is to raise money for an upcoming publication that the two collectives are working on. Considering the installation was put together rather last minute, the boys have pulled it off quite well.

Towards the back of the loft, two of the guys from French Fourch and four of the members of Charmant & Courtois are setting up eleven ancient computer monitors and screens (by ancient, I mean circa 1997). The French Fourch team has been growing rapidly, now having 22 members in the collective (including the six founding core members). I ask Sylvain Martet, one of the core figures from the French Fourch team, to tell me a little about this particular installation. He laughs and he explains that the computers were rescued from a previous installation in September 2010, and were nearly destroyed when the roof began to leak. As for the amusing gifs that are on the screens, some were works that have been used in prior shows, while some gifs and animations were put together just for this fundraiser. The process is fairly easy, M. Martet explains to me, and since the collective have put together countless installations, despite having only four days of prep-time, setting up the installation is a piece of cake for them (tonight's show eventuated from a single text message M. Martet sent to Ms. Mayes on Monday evening).

Courtesy French Fourch

I walk around the installation, chuckling to myself at the gimmicky images of cats playing on keyboards and a flashing Ralph Lauren logo. Ms. Mayes has been working with French Fourch on-and-off for over two years, and this is the second time she has hosted and helped curate their work at The Paper Apartment Gallery. She describes their work quite simply as being "fun" and having obvious references to pop culture. She then goes on to explain the ideology behind the installation - art created for the moment, for an intended audience without any goal of being universal and timeless. After ensuring that all the monitors are arranged and are in working order, the boys begin to set up the projector; the finishing touch to the installation.

I ask Ms. Mayes more about her work and life in the loft. Her first ever show as a curator and host was in 2009, and since then has held over more than 50 shows at The Paper Apartment Gallery (never any of her own work, however.) On average, there is a new show in her loft every two weeks. I am a bit shocked to know that Ms. Mayes is only in her second year of study at Concordia, and am quietly impressed by all that she has accomplished thus far. It seems she has been practicing her craft for much longer than that, but she tells me that she hasn't been creating formal work for much longer than her studies. Originally from Alberta, Ms. Mayes chose to take her studies here since "Montreal really caters to artists". Amen to that, sister. She began working primarily with textiles, while also taking on a role as a curator when the opportunity presented itself. It was through her studies and making work formally that she realized how her work could grow, and became aware of what was possible in her chosen medium; thus leading to her to create motorized textiles and other installations. Courtenay Mayes aims for her creations to be moving and organic, more like a living creature than inanimate object. "I want to make my weaving dance," she says.

Considering Ms. Mayes prefers not to showcase her own work in her loft, she has displayed at Concordia, as well as at Galerie Diagonale; a fibre-arts gallery in Mile End. Working with a medium that is so materials-based the creation process can be very drawn out, and Ms. Mayes explains it is very common to become absorbed with the materials you are working with. She is continually exploring new concepts and ways to work with weaving and textile. Ms. Mayes is currently working on a large scale weaving, and spends five days a week devoted to her personal projects while balancing her commitments as a curator. In addition to this Ms. Mayes is working with local fashion designer Audrey Cantwell, to help realize Ms. Cantwell's ideas for prints on fabric. Ms. Mayes has ambitions to live and study in Sweden, as the popularity of textile arts there is immense; and she admits that preparing applications for grants and project proposals here in Montreal is taking up much of her time, meaning fewer hours are spent actually making her art.

When producing art with textile and weaving, Ms. Mayes works in a grand scale, with one of last year's creations being a 10ft diameter parachute. Complete with fans and sounds, this is a primary example of how Ms. Mayes aims to make art that has movement and a sense of being organic. To describe this installation as "an organism" is very fitting, since the parachute moves like a big, bold, palpitating amoeba.

Courtesy Courtenay Mayes

The other avenue that Mayes is exploring is video installation, and in one particular project from 2010 she worked with Plexiglas. This study shows Ms. Mayes placing together a 'glass house'. The video begins with the individual pieces of the house lying against a white background, and Ms. Mayes begins to slowly bring together the pieces of this transparent puzzle. The structure of the house itself is quite hard to see against the white background and intense lighting set up. The camera work makes the details of the house even harder to see, as the focus shifts from soft to crisp for the duration of the video. The only solid forms that can be recognized are Ms. Mayes' hands that are putting the house together. In my opinion, the use of soft focus, the intense bright lighting and the translucent glass forces the viewer to really focus hard on what is happening in the video. The pace of the video is very slow, and the bright white atmosphere creates a tranquil feeling. As you become absorbed in the peacefulness of the video, you are suddenly snapped back to reality when Ms. Mayes slices her finger on the edge of the glass and drops of blood spill on the roof of the glass house. This is a good way to end off this cutesy, dreamy video, as it reminds the viewer that they are simply that. A viewer; a spectator.

The attendance at The Paper Apartment Gallery for the fundraiser turned out to be successful, despite the minimal planning and amount of promotion for the event. The two collectives raised money for their next project by selling their T-shirts, prints, zines and silk screens (and I think they made a considerable amount from beer they were selling too). I was quite impressed by the paper-wallets from the French Fourch collective, (not only for the punchy design), as upon my closer inspection were a lot more sturdy and practical than I first assumed.

Courtesy French Fourch

The vibe at the loft is great; and I like the sense of community that is present in a place like The Paper Apartment Gallery. I am hoping to see some more shows here before Ms. Mayes heads off to Sweden to further her skills, or possibly even off to NYC to work with a designer in May this year.

Corps Étranger, Sarah Garzoni, Galerie Art Mûr By Greg Stone

2011-02-14T09:00:00.001-05:00

Art Mûr
5826 rue St-Hubert
+1 514 933 0711
January 8th to February 26th

When I walk into the exhibit room for Corps Étranger at Galerie Art Mûr, I get the sensation that I'm seeing something I'm not supposed to see; that I found this place by accident and that if anyone found out I'd been here, they'd want an explanation. It's located at the very back of the gallery, after three other rooms full of unassuming paintings and photographs, right beside the freight elevator. So, because of this and mainly because of the content, I feel like I've stumbled into some mad-genius' attic full of botched experiments. Or remember the scene from Beauty and the Beast where Belle, ignoring the strong advice of the clock and the candlestick holder, tiptoes into the west wing of the Beast's castle and finds the enchanted rose? OK, I'm stretching it with that analogy, but really, this exhibit is riské. There's a tension in the room that could be finely sliced, but a personal curiosity that spreads like mayonnaise. I mean, it's taxidermy art.

The day I went to go see the exhibit at Galerie Art Mûr at 5826, Rue Saint-Hubert was the biggest blizzard the city had seen this year, so I bundled up and headed out (wait, didn't Belle brace a similar snow storm to get to the castle in the first place? Ok, ok, I'll drop it). When I get to Art Mûr, it provides the shelter from the storm I'm looking for. Well-lit with track lighting and staffy smiles, I chat quickly with an employee and no, the artist, Sarah Garzoni is no longer in Montreal. She's from Paris and went back last week but I can try to email her. I did try, but never heard back. Unfortunately. I had and have so many questions for her. But I did learn a couple things about her. I know that she is a visual artist who focuses on taxidermy and a connection between the human world and the natural world. Like I said, she's French, and she's young, only 29. Her website says that she has only been exhibiting since 2005. She studied art, mostly in Paris, but, there is a Canada connection; she also studied at OCAD in Toronto in 2007.

Corps Étranger isn't a big exhibition. In all, there are only 11 or so pieces. But it feels way bigger than that. It feels downright expansive. The first piece that got my attention, and will likely get yours, is the pig in the middle of the room. Taxidermied in mid-trot and titled Boudoir, this pig has gotten Ms. Garzoni a lot of attention, not just because it's so nicely stuffed, but because it's upholstered like a chesterfield. Ms. Garzoni punched buttons into its sides and back and connected them with seams. And it's shocking. Obviously, there's the statement about people making couches out of animal skins. For sure that's there. But the title is also revealing. A boudoir is a woman's bedroom and the word comes from the French verb bouder, to sulk. There are indications that Ms. Garzoni is targeting the human neurosis here. That people's own egos blind them from their habits and from ideas like the only difference between a stuffed, upholstered pig and a stuffed, upholstered leather couch is its form.

Boudoir by Sarah Garzoni, Taxidermied Pig 110 x 61 x 31 cm, 2008 Photo Greg Stone

Mascarade by Sarah Garzoni Taxidermied Chicken, Rabbit 62 x 24,5 x 29 cm, 2005 Photo Greg Stone

If Boudoir isn't the first piece you're drawn to, then it will likely be Mascarade. The tag on the wall lists the materials used to create it: a chicken, a rabbit, taxidermy materials, zipper. Ms. Garzoni took a rabbit, skinned it and put a zipper on it to make a tiny fur coat. Then she took a chicken, plucked it and taxidermied it to stand upright, and fitted it with the rabbit coat. It's Orwellian to an uncomfortable degree. And again, there's the obvious message about the de-naturalization of animals, and the ethics of fur but there's also this bigger question of neurosis. Fashion and clothing are things that cover us over. They can let you smother yourself with color and form. Not that this chicken is having neurosis problems, but there's no doubt that fashion, ego, and compulsion are becoming themes here.

Another focal point of this exhibit is Narcisse. Hommage à Isodore et Charles D. Using a taxidermied peacock grafted to a sewing machine, it presents the peacock sewing its own brilliant tail feathers. I really like this one a lot. In some ways, it's her most cynical piece. And it's just a really, really beautiful metaphor, both in how it literally looks and in how well the metaphor works. Narcissism. Proud as a peacock. It's almost mythological in nature; a peacock so in love with itself that it's punished to sew its own tail for eternity.

Narcisse. Hommage à Isodore et Charles D. by Sarah Garzoni, Sewing machine, stuffed peacocks 95 x 74 x 86 cm, 2010 Photo Greg Stone

Breaching by Sarah Garzoni, 19th century corset, plaster, wax, shark teeth, 2010 Photo Greg Stone

Another excellent piece is Breaching, a plastered corset lined with shark teeth on the inside. OK, I'm starting to hit you over the head with this narcissism thing, but I do really like how Ms. Garzoni uses animals to connect the gap between egos and the means of fulfilling them. And they can be judgmental, these animals. Like these shark teeth, the more you bite into your ego, the more these teeth bite back. And Boudoir, the pig. You can barely look him in the eyes. There's a lot of gravity involved with these pieces. Like I said, this exhibit's only 11 pieces, but it's dense.

Honourable mentions need to go out to a few other pieces. Mimésis, for example, is an assortment of real butterflies that Ms. Garzoni took, printed images onto their wings, and pinned them to a board. The images are usually corporate logos; there's a glimmering blue butterfly with the Playboy bunny logo on the tip of either wing, for example. Or the one with the Nike swoosh. Really great idea here, but maybe a little over-the-top, especially the one with the barcode. Rhéa is another beautifully delicate one. It's a stick-bug planted in a little flower pot like a tree with extra arms grafted on, and green-painted wings attached as leaves. The cherry for this one is the glass case it's under; a statement about ownership and human influence. And Homo-Faber, a Victorinox Swiss Army Brand Knife^© with sterling silver insect parts for tools, acts in a similar manner.

Homo-Faber by Sarah Garzoni, Silver Casting, 16 x 12,5 x 2 cm, 2006 Photo Greg Stone

Some people might say about this exhibit, 'Hey! Whadda? Where's PETA on this one? Where are all the animal rights activists?' And if they did say that, they would be wrong. They would be wrong because they didn't understand Ms. Garzoni's message. Because if this exhibit doesn't send a strong message about the proper treatment of animals, about the human exploitation of creatures, of the de-naturalization of animals, then I don't know what would. I once had a friend with a very big brain who, when we got on the topic of art, would say that the best thing that could happen to the Mona Lisa, and to art in general, would be for someone to walk into the Louvre, take the Mona Lisa by the frame and smash it. Of course, I thought he was full of shit. But I heard him out. He went on to say that when people go to see the Mona Lisa, they are certainly moved by it; that it elicits some emotions in them. But to what degree? Are people so moved by the Mona Lisa that they fall in love with art and are thus compelled to preserve all art forms? No, probably not. Are people really that stunned? I know that when I went to see Leonardo's masterpiece in Paris, I was underwhelmed. So, argues my friend, someone smashes it and the world erupts in response. Suddenly everybody and their dog feels more strongly about art than ever before. Stronger measures are put into place to protect our remaining masterpieces, and, more importantly, the Mona Lisa evokes the degree of emotion that its hype suggests (though a different type of emotion). I'm still not sure I agree with my friend. I mean, it's a pretty extreme example and a difficult idea to get on board with. However, you can't help but see this in Ms. Garzoni's work. Though instead of art being the beneficiary, she's doing it for animal rights. Actually, I don't want to say animal rights. That sounds too specific and wrong. She's doing it to show the complete lack of respect we have for anything non-human. And so when Ms. Garzoni upholsters a pig, she's destroying it. She's putting it in the last state we want to see it in. And when she prints corporate logos onto the wings of a butterfly, she's obliterating everything natural about them. Call it shock value if you want, but what she's doing is rattling raw emotion out of people, which happens too rarely in the art world. Or if it isn't rare, there are rarely artists who do it so powerfully, beautifully and poignantly as Ms. Garzoni has done with Corps Étranger.

Corps Étranger is on now at Galerie Art Mûr until February 26th. You should go see it.

Petit losange laqué veiné, Valérie Blass at Parisian Laundry By Jessica Surendorff

2011-02-03T09:00:00.071-05:00

Parisian Laundry
3550 rue St-Antoine Ouest
+1 514 989 1056
January 13 – February 19, 2011

By Jessica Surendorff

What drew me in was the little skeleton-head painted on the middle finger.

Courtesy Parisian Laundry

Made primarily from found objects, Valérie Blass's sculpture Femme panier was the first image on the Parisian Laundry homepage. That was enough to get me off the computer, out of the apartment and on the Metro in 15 minutes.

I somehow always manage to visit an exhibition when the gallery is empty (or close to empty). This is perfect, as I have the space all to myself and I can be as greedy as I want. The interior of Parisian Laundry has a mixed feeling of being industrial and homely. Industrial in the sense that this building has been gutted and refitted, with a gloss-concrete floor; and homely in the way the sturdy wooden support beams remind me of a cozy ski cabin. The space, which is run by Jeanie Riddle and Dacil Kurzweg, seems ideal for the collection; as the collage, found object and mixed-media creations of Valérie Blass fit right in. Actually, one should not use the words "fit right in" in regards to Ms. Blass' work, so it is probably better to say "fit right out."

My greedy solitude is interrupted by another patron of the gallery, whose squeaky shoes snap me out of day-dream. For me, this exhibition is a bit of a treat as I am a sucker for thrift stores and other places where you can find curious things. I am soon left alone again, however, as the other visitor squeaks his way up to the second floor of the building. I can see Femme panier in the centre of the gallery, like a sun surrounded by a cosmos of weird sculptures. I exercise some self control and refrain from going to it first.

Photo Jessica Surendorff

I stop myself at the first sculpture, which is essentially a crane. The sculpture itself is simple enough, made from wood and paint, but the concept behind it is what makes it complex. Little red bricks have been painted onto the crane, which makes me think of the process of building or creating. The crane is used for construction, and bricks are used to make the building. But, this crane is made from bricks so what was used to make this crane? Another crane? I like this sculpture, with its 'chicken and egg' theory. The sculpture La somme en rondelette is displayed on a pedestal that has been covered with a woven checkered textile, which echoes the pattern of the brickwork painted onto the sculpture. I realize I have maybe been staring a little too hard at the tiny crisscross patterns, as I feel like I have been staring into something like a 3D illusion… (It's a telephone… no! It's a bicycle!)

Courtesy Parisian Laundry

I notice a considerable number of blank spaces on the wall, along with the tell-tale red dots, so it's obvious that Ms. Blass has an immense fan base. What is left is still very impressive. There is a consistency in the composition of these pieces, in that Ms. Blass has used various photos of her sculptures and placed different parts to create a new artwork. For many of the photo-collages Ms. Blass has used an image of her own sculpture She was a big success: a strange hybrid of the lower half of a mannequin awkwardly balancing on one hand (the other arm is missing), and the head and torso having been replaced by a giant mass of black hair. (Almost like the top half of this one-armed woman has been engulfed by an enormous judge's wig).

Courtesy Parisian Laundry

Unfortunately, She was a big success was not at Parisian Laundry at the time. Because of the sculpture's unique silhouette it is easily recognized in the collages, and I understand why Ms. Blass has chosen to re-use this particular sculpture in other works as it is quite a powerful image. Ms. Blass has re-made the photo by replacing the mass of black hair with other sections of photographs. In particular, in Collage 4 the photograph used to fill the cumulus-nimbus space is that of a woman's torso. Displayed next to this is Collage 5 where the torso now has been replaced by a photograph of a woman's legs. I like what she has done, which is in keeping with her style of recycling, remaking and reusing objects and art (even her own art).

Photo by Jessica Surendorff

Another piece that incorporates disembodied parts is Cargo Culte which reminds me of a creepy child's mobile made from wood-working clamps, plaster hands and ready-made objects (like an ashtray and cigar). There are six hand that protrude from it. One of the hands holds a figure of a topless woman; dangling precariously by her head from two fingers. On the same axis, but at the opposite end lies the empty ashtray. It is only natural that a hand holding a cigar has been placed above the ashtray; but what if the some of the cigar ash were to fall below? Would this upset the equilibrium and cause the little topless woman to be choked, or perhaps fall? Amongst the clamps and the hands are two hiking canes; both inscribed in German. Like the other sculptures in this collection, Cargo Culte has been displayed upon a podium covered with a woven textile. Taking in all the elements of this sculpture, I begin to see a common theme between the objects: hands, clamps, hiking canes…they all provide grip. These various found objects convey different types of 'grip'; whether it is the delicate way one holds a cigar or the sure-fast grip of a clamp.

Courtesy Parisian Laundry

Femme planche dominates the space with its size and design. Created from Styrofoam, paint and pottery, the sculpture, made from wood is of a woman in an awkward position (think downward-facing dog-like). This wooden woman, like so many of Ms. Blass' female representations, has no face - just a 'head' made from pieces of pottery. To finish off the piece in a cheeky manner, a large shovel has been placed along the length of the legs, with the head of the shovel resting on the woman's derriere. There is something organic looking about this piece; as if this yoga-practicing wood woman has grown out of the earth only to attempt to bury her head back into the ground.

Courtesy Parisian Laundry

I cannot ignore Femme panier any longer as it placed next to to Femme planche. The first thing I notice is that this sculpture is unlike the others in the collection, as it has not been displayed on woven fabric but just a teal-painted podium. I realize that this is probably the case because femme panier consists of so many different textures and patterns, that it would have been far too 'busy'. I really like this piece because it is just so "Please don't tell me you are seriously wearing that shirt with those pants". The sculpture is of a female figure made from a mannequin with a wicker basket for a torso (hence the name of the sculpture). The figure is dressed in a very loud blouse; which looks like someone has been rolling in cupcake icing. This blouse has been teamed up with some fishnet stockings. It's as if this basket-case woman got dressed in the dark. (A more likely reason for this combination is probably the woman's lack of a head). The posture of this figure is powerful; arms stretched out, with one hand brandishing a sharp tool. The other hand is empty, formed almost into a fist and painted black with a little skeleton detail to finish it off. I find this piece bold with touches of humor; and rather powerful in the sense the posture reminds me of an Olympic discus thrower.

Courtesy Parisian Laundry

Photo by Jessica Surendorff

The collection continues upstairs, with a number of Ms. Blass' collages on display as well as some more of her quirky sculptures. Some work that I am instantly drawn to is a set of grumpy looking gargoyle heads. Petite tete en gris souris are two clay-made busts with a high gloss finish, which showcase Blass' talent in pottery. Although I initially went to this collection to see Femme panier, this sculpture is my favorite. I am quite impressed at how well Ms. Blass can work in various mediums; at it seems like art making in any form comes naturally to her. Ms. Blass' sculptures and collages at Parisian Laundry are disjointed in their composition, with a strong theme of fractured figures, and broken and recycled objects. The amusing way that Ms. Blass has placed together her found objects, thrift-store treasures and sculptures makes this collection even more enjoyable.

Flesh and Blood, Shary Boyle at Galerie de l'UQAM by Meaghan Thurston

2011-02-02T09:00:00.131-05:00

Galerie de l'UQAM
1400, rue Berri (angle Sainte-Catherine)
+1 514 987 6150
January 7 – February 12, 2011

Shary Boyle's Maudlin Miniatures are After my Own Child-Heart

by Meaghan Thurston

I usually withhold this information, but inspired by Canadian artist Shary Boyle I'll come out with an 'uncool' fact about myself: I'm a dollhouse enthusiast. Unlike most of my peers, I spent my pre-teens playing with a dollhouse. Perhaps this is why I can't play the guitar, I don't know how to screen-print, am still catching up on cult movies from the 90s and I've never made a zine. That said, my dollhouse had an amazing collection of miniature items, including working light fixtures. It was also peopled by dolls in historically accurate Victorian costumes, which I made. While Dollhouse Hobbyist is not exactly a peer-respect gaining pursuit, the collection and crafting that goes into dollhouse designing develops certain personal attributes: attention to detail and in my case meticulous sewing techniques, to name a couple. But, there is something eerie about the spirit of the doll's house. Why else do you think Henrik Ibsen called his masterpiece play about smashing traditional roles of men and women in 19th-century marriage, A Doll's' House? Dollhouses represent frozen models of some kind of backward domestic fantasy. But, when I think back to how as an awkward twelve year old, I was more comfortable playing with this elaborate idealized miniature home than with trying to belong to one of the terrifying pre-teen she wolf packs, I don't think it's so strange after all.

While I admit that it might have been better for me to do something slightly less introverted, extreme devotion to the craft of the miniature has produced great results for Canadian Artist Shary Boyle. Her miniature porcelain figure work, one of her many mediums, is executed following Meissen factory techniques developed in Germany in the early 1700s. Ms. Boyle's show Flesh and Blood is now on at Galerie UQAM is a fantasy-fiction come true for her and curator Louise Dery. The show is recognition of her 2009 win of the Iskowitz Prize, which goes to an artist who has made a significant contribution to Canadian art. And the interest curators have taken in Ms. Boyle has also helped spur the spread of her work across the country. The show has already run in Toronto. I'm sorry I missed it because the AGO reinstalled four of its first-floor European galleries to host Ms. Boyle's work, while paintings by the great Masters looked on. Oh, how many times I could have used the favorite word of first year English Literature students, juxtaposition, if I'd reviewed that show! Flesh and Blood will make its way to Vancouver from Montreal.

Her delicately detailed figurines recall Royal Doulton Pretty Ladies, yet BlogTO declared rightly that they "would seem at home on my grandmother's knickknack shelf if it wasn't for all of the monstrous sex."

By Ms. Boyle's hand, the fine craft of porcelain figure making is married with animist mythologies, sexuality, relationships and the dark side of human nature. Some reviews have thus declared that Boyle challenges preconceptions of beauty in her multidisciplinary practice. If anything, like Otto Dix, Ms. Boyle explores the disconnection that exists between the ideal of beauty and the seductiveness and strangeness of the body. Many of the sculptures, paintings and installations on display for the Flesh and Blood exhibit depict characters that would fit right into Lewis Caroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, or perhaps in one of the tales of the Brothers Grimm. I felt the show addressed the subject of childhood fears and fantasies, than questions of beauty. Ms. Boyle speaks in images to human psychology and she is eerily attuned to the most gruesome possible outcomes of human nature. While most of us are familiar with the cliched idea of childhood rebellion against their parents, in Ms. Boyle's figurine Family, she has sculpted a ghastly alternative: two peasant 'parents' sit and watch, campfire style, over the roasting heads of their children. Another figurine, My Funeral, depicts a girl clad in lace, laid out in her coffin (I'm guessing that Boyle is a fan of Lydia from Beetlejuice) She does not shy away from tantalizingly taboo thoughts.

Family, porcelain. Photo by Sarah Dea courtesy the Toronto Star

As a result the separate parts of Flesh and Blood can be labeled by all of the following: beautiful, funny, bizarre and brutally ugly. That's a fair number of conflicting adjectives, but Ms. Boyle's work covers it all.

The Lute Player by Shary Boyle on the cover of the Montreal Mirror

Beautiful: The Lute Player, which I'm sure every rocker girl covets. It graced the cover of the Montreal Mirror, in which Ms. Boyle was quoted as saying with respect to her sculptures that, "They're not just objects that I've made as an artist, they're their own thing, and I'm like, 'I totally respect you.'" She was speaking about her installation/projection Virus (White Wedding), which despite its apparently laborious conception, is mostly interesting for its use and revival of the overhead projector as a gallery-staple. Also something to behold is White Light. Mark Medley writing in the National Post, saw this sculpture 'in the light' described Ms. Boyle's spider-lady best:

Her eyes are piercing, and her mouth is slightly ajar; she looks human, but reptilian, too, with elongated, claw-like feet and fingers. She strikes a pose both sexual and violent. The audience won't be privy to the same level of detail; the sculpture is to be viewed under black light; with the lights off, one can only see the string, her body delineated by the web.

Funny: I'm not sure I would refer to the sex Ms. Boyle exhibits as 'monstrous', however; I thought the installation piece, Scarecrow, was monstrously hilarious. Boyle herself has described it as "sad—but strangely sexy" How can a scarecrow have passionate sex with a woman fashioned of thousands of pieces of celadon porcelain, you ask? Just the mere thought of the mechanics of this unlikely pairing is enough to give me the giggles. And from the "Highland Series," Queens Guard (2007, oil on panel) depicts a shirtless male highland dancer with the foot of his female companion wedged deep into his mouth. I think that one will either make the Scots laugh, or more likely squirm uncomfortably.

Queens Guard (2007, oil on panel)

Scarecrow

Bizarre: While the installations were dramatic, it was her paintings that left more of an impression, particularly two paintings entitled Angel Trumpet Flower of Death and Bloodie is Born and Born Again. The Angel Trumpet Flower is quite literally a 'flower of death' — otherwise known as Brugmansia, these plants contain dangerous levels of poison and may be fatal if ingested. Or, in the world according to Ms. Boyle, send you on an extremely terrifying trip where grisly looking creatures rule the not-so-natural world. If Ms. Boyle's painting doesn't deter you from eating unknown plants, then you deserve what's coming to you. What inspired Bloodie, on the other hand is beyond me, but if you ever played with Barbie dolls, pulled their heads off and reattached them using duck tape, then you'll get the gist of this work.

Brutally Ugly: Beast (2007, oil on panel) stands out in the show like a sore thumb (or a hair-covered thumb?). I did not linger long in front of this unusually ugly portrait which bears a great resemblance to Chewbacca in mid lip-lick. Beast's presence in the show suggests that Ms. Boyle's reputation can withstand such a painting. In fact, her reputation may depend on it.

Beast (2007, oil on panel)

The range of human psychological and emotional states that Ms. Boyle explores is certainly energetic, sometimes allegoric, and yes, probably feminist. In Ms. Boyle, the image of the woman crafter is reinvented. What I took away from the exhibit is that Ms. Boyle's figurines, like my dollhouse, are totems for coping with life's troubles. "Characters are necessary to confront the anger, grief, and helplessness of being alive," Ms. Boyle is quoted as saying in the glossy, 200-page bilingual publication that accompanies the exhibition. After an hour in the presence of her work, I felt that if we'd been 12 year-olds together, Ms. Boyle and I would've made good friends. I'm relieved that she is bringing the practice of miniature sculpting back into the modern spotlight. Dollhouse hobbyist to maudlin miniaturist: I get you Shary Boyle.

Awkward Moments, Daryl Vocat at Maison Kasini By Greg Stone

2011-01-28T09:00:00.015-05:00

Maison Kasini
372 Ste. Catherine West, #408
+1 514 448 4723

By Greg Stone

Based out of Toronto's Open Studio, Daryl Vocat is a native of Regina, where he completed his BFA, and with the move to Toronto came his Master's degree in Fine Art at York University. He has had solo exhibitions across the country, from Vancouver to St. John’s, and his works have been acquired by the likes of the National Gallery of Canada Library and Archives, the City of Toronto Fine Arts collection, and the Robert Blackburn Printmaking Workshop in New York. Mr. Vocat works mainly in the screen-printing medium.

Installation view, Awkward Moments, Maison Kasini. Photo by Greg Stone

At first glance, the collection at Maison Kasini is very simple and approachable. Warning, reader, this is not actually the case. Not at all. There are much larger forces at play here. When you walk into the gallery, the collection creates an immediately simple impression on you. The colors are few and bold; solid crayola colors for backgrounds and off-primary colours to fill in the content, and the lack of shadowing makes it all the more bright. The borders and lines are thick and black; I can`t help but be reminded of my old comic book collection. The subjects are adorably kooky; a vulture wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, an unimpressed cat wearing a medical lampshade (while sitting on a LEOPARD PRINT COUCH!!!), ironic bathroom graffiti, and images from old boyscout manuals. Even the way the pictures are hung fercrissakes; no frames to speak of, and the prints all pinned to the wall using thumb tacks and paper clips. Everything about this exhibit is so accessible. A child would love it just for the aesthetics of it. A teenager would love it for its off-balanced humour. Seniors would love it for its youth. But before you know it, the fog starts burning off and Vocat's real messages start to shine through. Often, it comes from the titles. Often, after a little bit more reflection. I'll give you one example here, and get into it more later on. One of my favourites from this collection is an image of a reclined man sleeping. There`s a vulture standing on his chest wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, which it just stole from the sleeping man. Haha. That's pretty funny, a bird wearing glasses. And the man, he's so comically vulnerable. Nice bright colors, too. And then the plaque on the wall revels that this piece is called Dear Mother, Centre of My Neurosis, Never Abandon Me. Now, that's a bit of a bomb to be dropping on this deceptively simple picture, right? Suddenly, it's not so funny. Suddenly, you start thinking about Freud, and your own relationship with your mother, and about your anxieties, and how all this relates to Vocat's screenprint. See what I'm talking about? The entire collection is tricky like that. You're drawn to the pretty, bright colours, and then you come to a screeching halt. In a really good, genuine, substantial way.

Dear Mother, Centre of My Neurosis, Never Abandon Me

First of all, I`d like to tip my hat to Maison Kasini for being an excellently eccentric house of art. While they are definitely a gallery, the place also is a a really cool art shop where you can find cheap, off-the-wall art including everything from t-shirts to individually-packaged ceramic teeth. Definitely worth checking it out, if you haven't already. As such, it also acts as an ideal location for Awkward Moments. The prints fit in seamlessly among all the other eye-candy housed here.

The first 6 prints are from Mr. Vocat's Practical Associations series, and when I phone him up in Toronto, he explains to me that it's all about communication. Mainly the communication that exists in our relationships with one another, and the communication that exists between yourself and cultural influences. "I was just thinking about relationships in a broad continuum," Mr. Vocat says. "And a lot of these cultural references I use are personal, and I do hope that others get them. But I don't think that’s so important. It's more about what we know and what we don’t know." The cultural influences thing I pick up right away. Mr. Vocat uses various cultural references in these prints which help to orientate the audience. And he keeps a pretty open mind about these references, as they range from Spider-Man to Charlotte Perkins Gilman. His piece, for example, titled A Gift From Araby is a reference to James Joyce's short story of a young man struggling with his sexual development. The print shows a man (likely Mr. Vocat; the entire exhibit has numerous self-portraits) gazing into the heavens, contemplating a wedding cake. The idea behind the print is there, but when Joyce's story becomes an extension of the print, the image takes on new meaning and starts shouting messages of socially-determined families and sexual identity.

A Gift From Araby

Another excellent print here is Summary of an Epiphany, which shows a bathroom wall inscribed with ironic, contradictory graffiti about love and sex. Again, Mr. Vocat is playing with the idea of how we confront each other, and in what medium.

Summary of an Epiphany

OK, let's talk about animals for a bit. How do you feel about them? Do you feel profoundly connected to them, or do you see them and think 'I have no idea what you are nor what you’re thinking?' Mr. Vocat has clearly been thinking about things like this, and it shows in his next set of prints, 12 in total, from his The Translator's Conundrum collection from 2006/2007. I really, really liked this part of the exhibit. "Part of the thinking here is of the 'other,' whatever that may be. Animals are a good way to talk about 'otherness.'" These prints explore, in part, how animals can help people articulate and define 'sameness' and 'otherness.' Mr. Vocat mixes the natural world with domestic settings to show the complexities of their relationship. "Animal imagery is often poetic or symbolic. Like the cat videos on YouTube. I'm looking at what we know, what we try to know, and what we construct." The humour used in this section is inviting to say the least. It's adorably humorous, while still staying true to Mr. Vocat's message. One of my faves is We Still Love You Even Though You Eat Poo, a heart-warming print of a heavy-eyed Dalmatian lounging in an over-the-top picture frame. Funny? Yes, very. But more importantly, the image explores human ideals of love and compassion, and that old habit we humans have of imposing these ideals on other things, like animals.

We Still Love You Even Though You Eat Poo

Mr. Vocat is a wizard at attracting the audience's attention with simple, funny pictures and revealing titles, and then getting them to stay for the meat and potatoes.

And there are other huge ideas behind this part of the collection apart from this animal thing. It's also about sending and receiving information in a social context, and sending and receiving that information through art. And then how that art is interpreted by the 'translator' (hence the puzzling title). The print Hoping This Will Wash Off addresses exactly that. It's an image of a tattoo on someone's back of a family portrait pinned to their back with a dagger. The tattoo's a form of art that's sending a very strong message, and it's up to the audience of this tattoo to translate it.

Hoping This Will Wash Off

I'm getting the impression that Mr. Vocat is showing his audience that translation of this kind is not only necessary for people to do, but it’s a fundamental human habit.

The third and final section of the exhibit is prints pulled from Mr. Vocat's Rules of the Playground collection. Again, a group of brightly colourful screenprints. But for this collection, instead of creating his own images, Mr. Vocat took images that already exist and stylized them to his liking. The prints are all composed of two images layered over top of each other on a solid-coloured background and the subject matter is also fairly consistent; the images are usually some kind of sport taking place, layered with images from instructional manuals... instructional manuals like first aid books and the boy scouts manuals. "All the images are found. I didn't draw any of them," says Mr. Vocat. I'm hoping to get some more insight into this particular section. But the instructional manuals are throwing me off. "The prints here are representations of the world seen in a skewed way. And there are bits of reality in these. In a way, I'm looking for truth in stereotypes, or looking for intimate moments that aren't there." Ok, I'm catching on. Mr. Vocat explains to me that he wanted to question how stereotypes of masculinity are portrayed in the media, and to set up a challenge to those stereotypes. He explains how there is a lot that's said and a lot that's not said about masculinity, so he's trying to let that gap speak for itself. So when I look at Communicate Using a Secret Code, for example, and I see the image of two men wrestling juxtaposed with the image from a first aid book on how to make a sling for a broken arm, I'm starting to see the intimacy involved. It's definitely an intimacy I wouldn't usually pick up on, but Mr. Vocat makes the idea very approachable. Very plausible.

Communicate Using a Secret Code

And that's it. That's the genius of his work, of his style. It's so innocently persuasive that it seems like he could make you believe anything. And it's so approachable that you want to believe it, whatever it is. I know I left the gallery believing what he had to say.

Installation view, Awkward Moments, Maison Kasini. Photo by Greg Stone

The show is 30 selected pieces from Daryl Vocat's three collections, Practical Associations, The Translator's Conundrum, and Rules of the Playground and is now showing at Maison Kasini, #408 in the Belgo Building at 372 Ste. Catherine Ouest until to February 5th. (All images courtesy Daryl Vocat unless otherwise noted).

Boutique Punkt, Atelier Punkt By Meaghan Thurston

2011-01-27T09:00:00.001-05:00

Atelier Punkt
5333, av. Casgrain, #205A
+1 514 458 7960

There's nothing mediocre about Atelier Punkt

By Meaghan Thurston

If you're looking for an out of the ordinary gallery-going experience, you'll have to look hard to find Atelier Punkt. At the locked door to 5333 avenue Casgrain, the advertised address, you will be directed by a small notice to the backdoor entrance on avenue de Gaspé. From there, you will make your way through a series of horror movie hallways and stairs in your search for the gallery. Best to carry a compass — or, perhaps be trained in the Jedi force — in order to navigate the concrete maze before you (tip: the gallery is on the second floor to the left of the staircase). Two small rooms no bigger than my living room make up Punkt, but, the space is used to its full potential.

On a cold winter night in December, I was somewhat apprehensive when I finally arrived at the strange and intriguing universe of Atelier Punkt for my second visit. I first heard of the space this October and attended the opening night of the installation "Off and On" by Roadsworth. That night the formidable gallery mistress, Melinda Pap, made more of an impression than what was on the walls. I encountered Ms. Pap in the gallery's back room, smoking and lamenting the state of the Montreal art scene, while a crowd of street-art enthusiasts crawled all over the place. Sure, the installation was good, but I guess Roadsworth's post-street-art-guerilla stuff seemed 'out of place' in a gallery. That's not to say that Punkt is not an ideal space for such art; indeed Ms. Pap is trying hard to make this the place for art and design to come together. It's just that I'm a purist about his work. I was there in the days when lane dividers became zippers, and cross walks became boot prints over night.

Ms. Pap was surprisingly frank with me, about her distaste for 'art wonks'. So it was with some sense of déjà vu that this time, I listened while she let off steam. A lack of civic appreciation for the kind of design that is being conceived and displayed by the artists affiliated with Punkt is her main beef with this city. Especially since the powers that be make such a fuss about its cultural prowess. She makes no bones that Atelier Punkt is showing what she considers the best stuff in Montreal, but isn't getting the credit it deserves. "This is Art and this is Design" she says of the work that is displayed there. This flirtation of the one moniker, 'artist' with the other, 'designer,' seems to be what interests Ms. Pap and her members most. And what's on display at Punkt is good, for the most part living up to Ms. Pap's claims of Punkt's international repute. Whether or not the state of the Montreal art scene is as dire as Ms. Pap claims, however, I'll leave to another day.

Boutique Punkt, which ran until December 23rd, was a fundraiser for the Atelier and a showcase of member's work. I fell immediately in love with the paper-cut collages of Annie Descôteaux. She employs a child-like style that at first glance conceals the unnerving subject matter. Ms. Descoteaux fashions a carnal feast — an 'offering', if you will (drawing a title from one of her works, displayed on her website in the 'viande-meat' section. In one of the collages, womens heads are mounted on platters, flanked by steaks. In another, a banquet of reproductive organs and breasts are garnished and presented for the eating. While Pap was talking, I couldn't help but peek over her shoulder at the one of the little girl whose skirt is being tugged off by a pack of wolves. Awoooo! If I'd had the cash, that's the one that would have come home with me.

'Étude de moeurs V', 2006, Paper Collage, 16" x 14" image courtesy Annie Descôteaux

Likewise appealing for the eyes if not the sitting are the chairs of Étienne Hotte, a designer with a flair for the asymmetric line. Three chairs from his series, 'Frédérick' were shown, one in matte steel, one in reflective steel and the third in red spandex, woven and tied around the frame. Mr. Hotte claims on his sleek website that his aspiration is to find poetry in his work. What kind of poetry, I wonder, would one find on the odd angle of a Hotte chair? Something with the ever enticing interaction of a strict set of rhythmic rules, and a sense of playfulness, I think. I wasn't blown away by Mr. Hotte's stuff, but it's likable.

Frédérick, Reflective Steel, photo courtesy Etienne Hotte

Though not officially on display, if you linger long enough you might also be able to get a tour of Ms. Pap's own chair designs: a feather chair, and a portable, aerodynamic 'picnic seat' for the city dwelling bottom, both of which I coveted. For the show, she made a wicked red dress entirely from meticulously folded pieces of fabric, mirroring Mr. Hotte's 'origami' mood. According to Ms. Pap, the Quebec actress, author and theatre director Marie Brassard has her eye on it for an upcoming performance. I also leafed through Ms. Pap's art books of prints in the back room, which proves she is an artist of many talents. Ms. Pap's blog is worth poring over too. She has a particular penchant for Japanese designers.

Other gems of the show included the slide carousel of 'truths of modern life' by Marc-Antoine K. Phaneuf and Jean-Francois Proulx; graphic designer Karine Cosset's photos of 'found detritus' (I can never get enough of that); and the lamps of Alexandre Berthiaume, whose other luminous designs, are endowed to my delight, with such names as 'chicken-ass' and 'drunk.' I nicknamed the lamps on display at the Boutique "that black plastic thing I accidentally melted on the stove, and then turned into a lamp". I challenge Mr. Berthiaume to come up with something more true to form than that.

Worth following up on is the work of Juliana España Keller. The three photographs exhibited at Punkt of an inverted head of a woman were true to Ms. Keller's typically creepy style of portraiture. Each portrait offered the viewer a different perspective on the bust of the woman, the final of the triptych resembling a kind of astrological map of the corporeal. If I were to wax poetic, I'd say that her portraits suggest death and resurrection. But for the record I'm going to make an even more arcane claim—her work is 'edgy' (it is).

Take for example the piece she created for RAW or Operation Rapid American Withdrawal 1970 – 2005, an extensive multimedia art event that was exhibited in the Ice Box Project Space at Crane Arts in 2005. The photo-realistic offering to that show bore the title, if people were forced to eat what they killed, there would be no more wars. Let me just say that this piece makes Ms. Descoteaux's 'meat-heads' look ever more like child's play. And try this one as well.

Before heading out into the blizzard of a Montreal evening I asked Ms. Pap about the name of the Atelier. I wondered if the name makes some reference to what the photographic theorist Roland Barthes called the punctum, because the name of her blog is Punktum. The punctum is defined as the wounding, personally touching detail in a photograph, which connects the viewer personally with the object or person within it. Most famously, the word is associated with the photograph of a young man, Lewis Payne, who tried to assassinate American Secretary of State William H. Seward in 1865 as part of a Lincoln assassination conspiracy. The photographer Alexander Gardner photographed Payne in his cell, where he was waiting to be hanged.

Lewis Powell, conspirator to assassination, after arrest, 1865.

The 'knowledge that this man is about to die' is the punctum: that 'thing' in the photo that affects us deeply. Is that concept the origin of the gallery's name? Not so, Ms. Pap says. "Punkt is what my mother always said when she finished a sentence. Punkt! Point final." So it is that Ms. Pap carries on what seems to be a family tradition of saying it like it is, making a strong point and not caring what anyone thinks about it.

Sadly Boutique Punkt's run has ended, but don't fret. Another show is already in its place. The invitation for the opening of NOIR was most alluring. It read

Contempler la noirceur sous toutes ses formes, les créateurs, avec humeur ou humour, ont empli Punkt de leurs idées noires :images, objets et autres. La vie l'hiver ce n'est pas toujours rose, mais ne vous faites pas de bile: Punkt connaît la couleur de votre mélancolie.

I'm intrigued by the concept and given that the month of January has got me scrounging in the pantry of my soul, I think this show might just fit my mood.

Hovig Papazian, Galerie d'Art Hovig by Michael A. Armstrong

2011-01-26T09:00:00.066-05:00

Galerie d'Art Hovig
244 rue Rioux
+1 514 932 7357

by Michael Armstrong

Galerie d'Art Hovig, simply put, is an art appreciators' gem. Tucked away in Griffintown – a short walk from Metro Bonaventure, Galerie d'Art Hovig lies within earshot of Montreal's bustling downtown and is comfortably positioned between Cite du Havre to the east, and the "Farine Five Roses" sign, the picturesque fixture of Ile de Montreal's southernmost horizon. Galerie d'Art Hovig Hovig is more than a gallery or multipurpose studio space. My visit came closer to a reflective, philosophical experience. Hovig Papazian makes use of his skill by using art in a way that's twofold. It serves as both his language of choice to communicate his vision of the world, as well as the deliberative process of arriving at that point, all in one. Stepping into his studio was like walking into the mind of a man who thought a lot about the world; of life, the multitude of people it and the interconnecting links of our common experiences that bind us all within it. Admittedly, a rather grand conclusion to reach but one that quickly becomes evident simply in looking at the brightly adorned walls that surround you.

Upon entering the gallery, I was immediately greeted by a deeply curious, soft spoken, though highly engaging man in his 50s. Warmly introducing himself just mere moments after I had entered, Mr. Papazian personally presented his collection to me, painting by painting shuffling from one end of the gallery to the other, taking the time to speak about each of his colorful canvases individually. Just as a proud father would introduce his children, one by one, to an unacquainted guest of the home, it was in next to no time at all that I was able to quickly grasp each of his paintings' unique qualities. What made each of his works shine as stand alone pieces independent of one another, in addition to the cohesive nature of his collection, when visually taken in as a whole.

His consummate, nearly 14-year affair with oil-based paints may have begun in Montreal, but Mr. Papazian's story begins elsewhere. Born to an Armenian family in Lebanon, he attended the Guvder Art Academy, focusing his talents on fashion and interior design. There he began as an apprentice, soon thereafter showcasing his own couture work in galleries and embassies in Lebanon before completing his formal education. Traveling to Europe in 1968, Mr. Papazian served as a freelance fashion designer in England and France for five years, where in 1973 fate drew him to Montreal. Though initially arriving to visit his brother and a friend, he met his wife, raised a son and built a life in Canada.

It was a chance encounter in 1997, when a friend took Mr. Papazian to the studio of a Montreal based artist. When they entered the studio the artist was painting a portrait. During the visit the three of them spoke for a long time and in depth about the art. After a while, the artist looked and Mr. Papazian and said: "You're talking a lot about art, of this and that. There's a wall, go paint." So he did. When Mr. Papazian was finished, the artist declared that there it would stay, as would an open invitation to return and paint again. So he did, everyday for over two and a half years. That meeting served as a baptism of sorts for Mr. Papazian's conversion from an admirer of art, to becoming an artist himself; his mentor soon becoming his biggest supporter and most ardent patron.

While working in the Montreal fashion industry designing clothes, Mr. Papazian transformed his studio in the Old Port into an Art Gallery displaying contemporary art. In 2006 he moved to his current location, previously the site of a chocolate factory, and he renamed it Galerie d'Art Hovig. Mr. Papazian devotes himself fully to painting and writing poetry, amassing an impressive collection of work that's not only accessible but also registers at a core level.

Upon entering the gallery, you're immediately confronted by a diverse body of work both in theme and subject. The majority of the paintings are bold 24" x 24" canvases, though there are two striking 18" x 36" canvases in the front of Mr. Papazian's well-lit studio space. There is a sense of continuity in his work, despite it being obvious that his art was produced during different periods of time. The collection showcases Mr. Papazian's accessible though subtly changing painting style, as well as a range of subjects that inspired him.

Installation view, Galerie d'Art Hovig

While he states that his style of painting is in a continual state of evolution, seeing all the paintings together provides the viewer with a perspective that makes his painting style both familiar and, identifiable. By seeing his collection in its entirety, one can see subdued but noticeable shifts in style and content. What doesn't change is his use of art as a contemplative tool, a process akin to therapy.

Describing how we, as people, react and feel to events and situations, Mr. Papazian noted that our feelings exist in bundles - never clear, never concise. As a painter, he uses this opportunity to break down and consider how he feels about a given subject. Taking the time to understand whatever emotions are elicited. "It's not enough to know you hate or love something, I paint to understand why I feel, which can be more important than the physical thing you're left with when you're done." With every layer of paint that he applies, there is a release and a sense of letting go. This very emotional process transforms previously unidentified passions, emotions and feelings, into liberating displays of art, often resulting in the production of two to three paintings at a time. The completed works serve as markers, of Mr. Papazian's life.

Mr. Papazian is clearly focusing on using his art to express a range of emotions and feelings that speak of a shared human condition - a clear reflection on the universality of life's experiences. A great many paintings convey a connection to innocence represented by children and their shared bond with their mother. He finds this bond to be "the foundation, which if absent, eliminates the possibility of anything else" making maternity and the family representative of eternity. On the left and right hand sides of the gallery's entrance are vivid examples of his homage to mother and child. The different paintings showing different social contexts, which clearly shows Mr. Papazian's philosophical perspective of how humanity is inherently equal.

In one painting, called Unconditional we're presented with a mother and child enveloped in a sea of blue. Figures that Mr. Papazian later told me were inspired by a trip he made to South America. The mother's hair is covered and she is dressed simply. Crisscrossing blue lines blue outline her shape. She sits beside an empty basket, embraced by her son who is also leaning on her for support. He is dressed in blue clothing that is faded and wraps his hand around her in such a way that seems to bind them together, making them look like one. The faces are extremely detailed. There is darker shading that Mr. Papazian explained he uses to evoke the dull pain of burden. Very little else adorns the painting, no flair or pomp. This is in stark contrast to another painting of mother and child.

Unconditional, 25" x 38" Oil on Canvas

The second painting called Harmony contains a sense of lightheartedness that's absent from Unconditional, though because it is muted the painting does give off it's own air of worry. The figures appear in front of a bright green background. They are comfortably seated on orange-brown colored floor. The textured print of the woman's dress is comprised of vivid shades of green, yellow and red, half-haphazardly concealing the buxom curves of her body. Her child is dressed in a faded pastel red, his hands and legs intertwining with hers almost indistinguishably. Strands of her hair are formed by the downward trickle of thinned paint from her head that at first glance seems to be a creative way of depicting her locks but appearances can be deceiving.

Harmony, 24" x 24" Oil on Canvas

The dripping paint flows down half of her face like tears, adding a sense of worry to her otherwise unblemished complexion; a clear reverse from the shades of worry worn on by the mother in Unconditional. While Harmony is considerably less filled with angst than Unconditional, they both showcase mothers with their children amidst an underlying aura of worry. I asked Mr. Papazian about the differences he sought to project in both of these works. He responded, "there is no difference in the bond that a child has with its mother. If a child dies anywhere in Africa, China, Canada or elsewhere, the sound of a mother's cries will always be the same. We are all human beings and we feel the same pain no matter where we are from." While these are just two of his paintings that focus on the family, they are representative of the broader message of unity the experience of being human presents that Mr. Papazian is trying to express.

Mr. Papazian's artistic inspiration and the themes his works speak to, transcend the arbitrary construction of differences society so often assigns to aspects of our lives that exist beyond our control, like citizenship, nationality or race. That which we do have command over, are those connections we share with one another as members of the same human family; as neighbors and stewards of the same earth. A prime example of this is in a work titled Thanksgiving. Though visually, it wasn't my favorite of his works, the message it has still resonates with me. Here a typical thanksgiving scene depicts three people carrying overloaded baskets. In the background, there are figures standing in front of bamboo curtains. The bamboo dominates the canvas and appears to be a barrier between the two groups of people. But the second ground looking like "huddled masses" are very close behind the first groups with the baskets. It seems as if they are getting closer despite the bamboo bars that are separating them. On the left of the painting is the bird of peace, who has broken through the wall of bamboo, ultimately providing the viewer with Mr. Papazian's answer to the dilemma presented by the theme. It is the story of Thanksgiving but also one of false boundaries and citizenship, displayed with a sharp sense of irony.

Thanksgiving, 24" x 24" Oil on Canvas

This also isn't the only painting where Mr. Papazian is ironic. A beautiful 18" x 36" painting called The Bride honors his Armenian heritage, in a retelling of a folk tale where women from mountain villages have husbands chosen for them by matchmakers. Then come down from their hamlets to meet their future husbands (trust me, it's a much better story in Armenian). There are two figures descending from the summit to their weddings, each flanked by wonderfully unique trees on the left and right of them. Of the two, only one is dressed in white and in her arms she bears a child. The figure to her left is much more dull and faded, and awkwardly struggles to remain fully covered, clutching a shawl to shield herself from view until her wedding day. Contrast this with the bride on the right, who almost seems to shine divinely holding her baby tenderly as a gift of life, she is flanked by a brightly leafed tree which is an obvious tribute to her fertility, and she is radiant despite society's expectations of her chastity. It's a beautiful painting on its own, but context is key to unlocking Mr. Papazian's clever sense of humor.

The Bride, 18" x 24" Oil on Canvas

Another 18" x 36" painting is titled War End Peace, the one Mr. Papazian proudly declared his favorite. Admitting at the same time that it also took him the most time to create. War End Peace is a powerful statement on the effect of war and violence in a community. Here Mr. Papazian has painted an array of human shapes, those that are living in shades or red or orange, those who have passed in a bright neon green. The words "War," "End" and "Peace" surround the figures, connected by a red line that touches or surrounds nearly all of them. Mr. Papazian's play on words is the obvious charm in this work, begging the viewer to ask whether "War Ends Peace," or does "Peace Ends War?" The individuals who are alive, exist in somber, sorrowful states seeming to clutch onto one another. A mother holding onto her child, some children grasping their dolls. However what I felt to be most striking was the sense of freedom and dynamism in the green figures, representing the souls of those who had passed. Some exist in careless mid-flight outside the realm of "War End Peace," while others stay near to those that were still living, their arms jutting out in an almost celebratory mid-dance stance.

War End Peace, 18" x 24" Oil on Canvas

These are just some of his works, though I feel they accurately represent the consistent level of depth that is present in his collection as a whole. From his approach to the art and the perspectives he presents, to his expressive style and the sincerity with which he paints, Mr. Papazian's work at Galerie d'Art Hovig is more than memorable. It is a moving display that showcases testaments to the human experience. His paintings have a way of celebrating the immense diversity of the world by reminding us of the overwhelming commonality of our collective experiences. While you may waltz into this gallery intending to just look at art, you may end up spending much of your time thinking. But by all means, feel free to do so. With Mr. Papazian there, know you won't be the only one.

Micheline Beauchemin's Rideau de lumière, couleur du temps (1967)

2011-01-25T09:00:00.020-05:00

Howdy!

Imagine if you will a piece of art that is ignored by approximately 150,000 people ever year. And a pretty gosh darn spectacular piece of art at that... Such is the predicament of Micheline Beauchemin's Rideau de lumière, couleur du temps (1967). I guess that there are approximately 750 seats in Théâtre Maisonneuve at Place des Arts, and that it has some sort of performance about 200 nights every year. Therefore if my guesses are right, 150,000 people pass by it each and every year. (Although, before you go quoting me, be aware, I am horrible at guessing things and I have been wrong before, and most definitely will be wrong again).

The Plaque for Micheline Beauchemin's Rideau de lumière, couleur du temps (1967)

As the plaque says:

Curtain of Light, Color of the Times (1967). 300,000 pieces of acrylic mounted on stainless steel wires. 305 feet by 25 feet. Collection Place des Arts, restored in 2000.

And I presume it was all made by hand. Because back in those days they had just graduated from inventing fire and the wheel, and no one had figured out how to invent technology, yet.

But one of the weirdest things is watching how just about everyone before a performance at Théâtre Maisonneuve and during intermission pretty much ignores it. While the drinks they serve at the bar during intermission might be cold and delicious, or the desire to get that front row centre seat might be overwhelming for those that arrive early, flat out ignoring Micheline Beauchemin's Rideau de lumière, couleur du temps (1967) just ends up making someone look like a mouth breather.

As I mentioned, it is made out of pieces of acrylic and stainless steel wires. The pieces of acrylic appear to be extruded in a variety of different shapes; triangular, diamond, pentagonal, and something looking like a vaguely irregular cylinder. Each one is about one inch in length (the metric system hadn't been invented then, either) and has about a one inch gap separating it from the piece above and about another one inch gap separating it from the one below. Each thread is spaced about two inches from the ones adjacent. The acrylic pieces are suspended on stainless steel spacers that have been crimped onto the wires. These spacers are used as stoppers to prevent the pieces of acrylic from falling, by means of a conical hole drilled into the center of each piece of acrylic. And finally, each wire has a plumb at the bottom so that it hangs straight.

Installation view of Micheline Beauchemin's Rideau de lumière, couleur du temps (1967)

In the picture above you can see the spacers, notice as well, the regular distribution of the acrylic pieces both horizontally and vertically. Although surprisingly, I was not able to figure out, nor see any pattern made using the shapes of the pieces of acrylic. But then again wrapping my head and eyes around 300,000 pieces of extruded acrylic is not something I try and do every day. When viewed head on, the curtain appears for the most part translucent, because your eyes naturally focus on what is beyond the curtain and window it is hung in front of - the plaza of Place des Arts, and now (unfortunately) the behemoth that has become the Quartier des Spectacles. However, when viewed on an angle it quickly becomes opaque, due to the fact that your eyes will naturally focus on the pieces of acrylic.

Installation view of Micheline Beauchemin\'s Rideau de lumière, couleur du temps (1967)

Micheline Beauchemin was born in Longueuil in 1929 and died in Les Grondines in 2009 about a month short of her 80th birthday. In between those dates she packed an amazing amount of travel, work and awards into her life. Initially trained as a painter and in stained glass at the Montreal School of Fine Arts, the École des beaux-arts in Paris and the Académie de la Grande Chaumière in Paris. She began making tapestries in the early 1950s, and first exhibited her tapestries in 1956 in France. In about 1963 she hit her stride, and by 1968 was making monumental tapestries like this one. (If you would like more details about her life, I snagged some useful information from these websites, one, two, three, and I'm certain that if you dig a little deeper, you can find lots more).

Installation view of Micheline Beauchemin\'s Rideau de lumière, couleur du temps (1967)

There is an awful lot that can be read into Rideau de lumière, couleur du temps (1967) starting with the materials used; while it is called Curtain of Light, Color of the Times the curtain itself doesn't give off any light, but it does both reflect the light and let the light through. As mentioned above, the curtain becomes opaque, and starts reflecting light when you view it on an angle, this is a purely physical reaction due to the spaces between each strand appearing smaller and smaller. Because it reflects the light when viewed on an angle, depending on the lighting in front of the Curtain of Light, Color of the Times it can appear warm or cold, and it can have a muted glow or a bright and hard shine. In fact it is incredibly chameleon-like. This characteristic is especially evident when it is viewed head on. When viewed head on, the spaces between each strand are large enough that your eyes naturally focus on what is behind the curtain, in effect making the curtain not only transparent but in certain cases, invisible.

Installation view of Micheline Beauchemin\'s Rideau de lumière, couleur du temps (1967)

Made at the height of the 60s, and at the time when Montreal appeared to be the absolute best-est place in the entire known universe to live, Rideau de lumière, couleur du temps (1967) absolutely and completely lives up to and beyond its name. As a curtain of light, it is a spectacular example, reflecting and glittering gently, in the background unobtrusively doing its business - hence why so many people ignore it - working as a barrier between the inside and the outside. It also serves as a very hippy take on marquee lights, and can also be interpreted as a way of reflecting and thereby reminding the audience of what happens (or has happened) in Théâtre Maisonneuve. And as it is also transparent and see-through, it thoroughly can be understood as a color of the times - or more bluntly, you can see through it to see what is happening now, what is coloring and shading reality.

Outstanding in just about every respect, Micheline Beauchemin's Rideau de lumière, couleur du temps (1967) is a monumental tapestry that works well on very many levels. From the purely aesthetic, to the highly theoretical and abstract. Suitable as a discreet background for a public room and as an object in its own right that commands 100% of your attention, it shows off many of Micheline Beauchemin's ideas and concepts while at the same time spotlighting her skill and mastery as an artist.

[cross posted at art and society]

Two Sticks in a Shed, Beth Stuart at Battat Contemporary By Meaghan Thurston

2011-01-24T09:00:00.038-05:00

Battat Contemporary
7245 rue Alexandra, #100
+1 514-750-9566
January 14 - February 26, 2011

Battat Contemporary: A Plaid Scarf and Baby Bjorn Affair of Strange Sensations

By Meaghan Thurston

Art writer to Gallery Coordinator: "Est-ce que je peux prendre des photos ici?"
Gallery Coordinator to Art Writer: "Yes, you can speak English."
Art Writer: "Um..."
Gallery Coordinator: "Ok, you can take photos, but not of me."

And so my night began at Battat Contemporary. With my writing deadline looming, I took a hint from the Hour's 'hit list,' made an early dinner, and set off in my parka to the almost two-year-old contemporary art gallery. The Hour's plug promised me "a world of strange sensation" at the vernissage for artist Beth Stuart's exhibition, Two Sticks in a Shed, or Deux Batons Dans un Shed (not quite as snappy in translation, non?). Though I hadn't heard of Beth Stuart, or the gallery before. Neither has it seemed have a large number of Montreal's gallery goers. That's not to say the place wasn't packed — it was — but seeing as how the gallery is located in the obscurity of a north of Jean-Talon side street, the unofficial dress code at Battat Contemporary was notably less 'hipster' than expected. I'd describe it instead as a "plaid scarf and baby bjorn affair." So many babies in the audience! So many modern dads in plaid scarves! Right off the bat, this took me off-guard. If I'd known, I imagine I could have rustled up at least one of these 'Battat staples' (a scarf, a baby, a dad). Alas, I stumbled around the room with the handy exhibit map in hand, soon realizing I had my sweater on backwards while struggling to keep the camera I had around my neck from swinging dangerously at my glass of wine, which was I might add dutifully refilled by handsome bowing waiters (score one point for Battat Contemporary).

Beth Stuart is a Toronto-based artist with a BFA from Concordia and a MFA from the University of Guelph. Ms. Stuart cites both proto-feminist discourse around the predominantly abstract work of female artists in the 1960s and the "interrupted illusions" of the surrealist painters of the 1920s as major influences to her work. She describes her Two Sticks work as "circling around the sensation of joinings; clasped palms, cigarettes cupped between the lips, fabric bunched in a crevice". The University of Guelph's line is that her paintings "may be misinterpreted as abstraction. Having recently transitioned from image-based figurative painting, Ms. Stuart's new work occupies a place between the formed and the formless, the fragmented and the whole"^[1]. What they're not telling you is that apparently in some of Ms. Stuart's earlier work she interprets childhood photographs in painting, transforming her subjects into vampires. The more stuff I hear like that about this artist, the more I like her.

I'm not interested particularly to go on about whether the Two Sticks stuff is abstract or not because I thought it was. I can say that the work is "evocative." Evocative, specifically, of the kind of dreams and nightmares you might have after dental surgery. By that I mean that while each piece makes you feel that you know what you see in your Tylenol 3 influenced mind's eye is somehow familiar, its true form is concealed.

DADODADODADO, 2010, 20" × 24"; oil on plastered linen on panel. Photo Meaghan Thurston

My favorite piece in the show was undoubtedly DADODADODADO. From the first glance, I got it in my head that this one depicts two birds kissing. Looking again I see other ideas emerge: two eyes look out from Rapunzel's hair; a life form emerges from an autumnal landscape. I also found myself staring at Twist or Wale for what might have seemed to others as an awkwardly long time. Is it a bum? A woman's tightly squeezed cleavage? A baby wrapped in a babushka?

Twist or Wale, 20" × 16"; oil, acrylic on plastered linen on panel. Photo Meaghan Thurston

Ms. Stuart uses an interesting technique of covering the canvas with plaster before painting, so the works are thick and stand out from the wall. Happily, they reminded me of the fake "pyramid stones" hawked by young men in markets in Egypt, which are basically postcards of the pyramid's facade glued to pieces of concrete (it's wondrous what can be sold to a tourist).

The lone sculpture in the room also got lots of attention. Ms. Stuart is interested in braided textiles and woven structures and she's made a fine piece from this fascination. Like her paintings the sculpture is mysterious in form, seductive even. Are you not tempted to hoist the chain and peek under the 'skirt'?

Heddle and Reed, variable dimensions, porcelain, linen, gesso, watercolour. Photo courtesy Battat Contemporary

After a couple of glasses of wine I got up some nerve and started talking to more people at the show. One person helped me to see why the painting First Blush is so titled. I won't tell you why as I encourage you to check it out for yourself, but thank you anonymous person for helping me to "get" the title. I asked anonymous what she liked about the work. "They're much thicker than I expected" she answered. "And I like how that by this width the paintings mirror the sculpture."

First Blush, 2010, 25" × 24"; oil on plastered linen on panel. Photo courtesy Battat Contemporary

Unfortunately, the art baloney was also sliced pretty thick at this show. It was claimed in the extensive literature to be read at the front door that Ms. Stuart's work occupies "a no-man's land between subject and form" and that they are of the "abstraction-representation, figure-ground, image-object" genre, her plaster practice echoing the grand tradition of the fresco. Fresco?! Ok, I mean I guess in the sense that her work is a related painting type done on plaster there's an echo of fresco, but to call her a frescoist feels like a stretch to me. I can only guess that they were laying it on because this show had Ms. Stuart up for the 2010 RBC Canadian Painting Competition.

To surround these otherwise small, abstract, organic images with such big talk actually detracts your attention from what is good about them. To appreciate the quirkiness of the work, while at the same time digesting bulky theory didn't jive for me. For example, the show provided each visitor with a small booklet, entitled Joinery/Menuiserie, which delves (apparently) into the theoretical aspects of the works of art. Engaging three characters, Paul Klee, Marguerite Porete and Georges Batialle in the roles of reason, love and soul respectively, Ms. Stuart excerpted text from Klee's On Modern Art, Porete's The Mirror of Simple Souls, and Baitaille's Story of the Eye, to create a critical dialogue on creativity. I struggled to find the connection between the booklet and the show except that the dialogue explores a passionate relationship between woman and an image of her love (a painting). There are some passages, however, that recall the Two Sticks work by means of the sheer absurdity.

For example:

The Soul (aside to an audience): Upon my asking her what the word urinate reminded her of, she replied: terminate, the eyes with a razor, something red, the sun. And egg? A calf's eye, because the colour of the head (the calf's head) and also because the white of the egg was the white of the eye, and the yolk of the eyeball. The eye, she said, was egg-shaped.

What I am getting at is that when viewing Ms. Stuart's work one should be put in the mood for a hearty spoon-full of her nonsense, with no expectations for 'higher learning'. I don't think this show should have been injected with so much theoretical venom (as per the little booklet and the show description). Rather, it's worth visiting the show simply to revel in how an image can recall at once "the white of the egg and the yolk of the eyeball." Yes Ms. Stuart's Two Sheds work is interesting because it flirts with different mediums: textile, sculpture and painting. But, they are essentially light and easy to look at and I don't need to pretend that she's developing some grandiose dialogue between subject and form to appreciate them. The paintings themselves don't demand you understand their imagery and from everything I can find about Ms. Stuart, she talks about her work with humor. For example, in a recent interview posted on the art blog LVL3 she was asked: "If you had to explain your work to a stranger, what would you say?"
"I'd say that I make paintings. And then they'd say 'of what?' and I'd say - 'exactly!' 'Oh, that one's looks like licking frozen metal!' or 'those two together look like a conversation between my libidanally challenged aunt and my randy teenage girlfriend,' I'd be getting somewhere."^[2]. Whew, thanks Beth. Now we're getting somewhere.

Energy Field & Shuffling Around in the Shallows, Jana Winderen at Galerie B-312 By Greg Stone

2011-01-21T09:00:00.142-05:00

Galerie B-312
372, rue Ste-Catherine O, #403
January 8 to February 5, 2011

By Greg Stone

"This one here is a type of Pollock." Jana Winderen puts her hand up to stop me from talking so she can hear the noises coming from the speakers. "Quite a powerful fish. Its hunting. You hear that RRRrrrruuu RRRrrruuuuuu sound? Yeah, they're following small fish." I’m trying to hear the hunting. Or the small fish. But I pretty much just hear moving water. But in my defense, Ms. Winderen has a bit more experience than I do with this kind of thing. Hailing from Oslo, Norway, Jana Winderen is an internationally acclaimed sound artist, producer, curator, and director whose two installations, Energy Field and Shuffling Around in the Shallows, now showing at Galerie B-312, showcase her recent underwater and sub-glacial recordings from around the world. Ms. Winderen has spent the past few years experimenting with hydrophones. microphones that are designed to pick up underwater sounds. She has collected recordings from pretty much everywhere, from rivers in Thailand to glaciers in Greenland.

Hear an excerpt from Energy Field by Jana Winderen

The space at Galerie B-312 is split into two rooms. The first room houses Energy Field. Originally intended as a record release on UK label Touch, Energy Field now exhibits as an installation piece. Nine speakers set up in a 3 x 3 square on stands at ear-level, emit sounds Ms. Winderen recorded at Norwegian fjords, glaciers on the west coast of Greenland, and in the Barents Sea north of Norway. Mounted on the far wall is a jumble of cables and processors, and a screen displaying still images of fjord ice fields. Ms. Winderen says that she doesn't like to hide anything or put things into boxes, so there is no mystery involved. For this project, Ms. Winderen's methods included dropping a microphone, attached to a long cable, down massive crevices in glaciers, recording sounds that don't exist on the surface. "I just had an idea. I really wanted to go to Greenland because I've heard about the sounds of the icebergs as they move past. So I bought a ticket and I went there with my recording equipment," she tells me in her yogurt-y Norwegian accent. "I went up to where the inland ice reaches the bay and recorded avalanches of that one, and underwater of the avalanches. It's mostly different recordings from up to 90 metres below the surface." The recording starts at the surface with the groaning of birds and dogs, and eventually reaches the depths of the glacier. The resulting sound is definitely not of this world. A very heavy reverb background noise is sparsely accented by dripping and steadily flowing water, something that sounds like crickets chirping, and, my favourite part, the creaking of the glaciers slowly rubbing against each other. There's so much tension in this noise, it's painful. It might be the best way to suggest the immensity of these enormous ice cubes. So why glaciers?

Energy Field, Jana Winderen at Galerie B-312. Photo by Greg Stone

"I wanted to work with the water cycles, and how water exists in different phases. So I went to Greenland to get the melting of the ice, and it became much more of a story of [the water] going from land through the ice, and down to the water... My main interest is the soundscapes underwater." Ms. Winderen's focus for this project was to bring to the surface (no pun intended) sounds that have never been heard before. Sounds we don't have up here. Sounds that you don’t even believe are natural. And if that is her focus, she has succeeded. But back to the hunting Pollocks.

The second, adjacent room, at the gallery houses Shuffling Around in the Shallows, an installation dedicated to the communication between underwater creatures. Like Energy Field, Shuffling Around in the Shallows focuses on the audio. Four speakers set up in a square face inwards, creating a kind of surround-sound effect. Again, a mish-mash of cables mounted on the wall. Nothing to hide here. Beside this, there is a screen showing a spectrogram which displays the frequencies of the sounds from her recordings. "Different species have different frequencies they work in, so they can always interact with each other. I'm now starting to look more into that aspect." She explains to me how animals, both underwater and on land, communicate with each other on particular frequencies. One species will choose a certain frequency so that they can communicate uninterrupted, while other species will do the same thing, but on a different frequency. This communicating helps animals with things like hunting and mating. Ok, I know this is starting to sound like a BBC documentary, but we’re getting back to the art.

One of the most interesting aspects of Ms. Winderen's work is the methods she uses to get her recordings. For example, to record the Pollocks hunting small fish, Ms. Winderen put hydrophones in the shallows of a fjord and waited for the tides to come in. The local fishermen helped her identify the species she was working with. When I describe her work like that, Ms. Winderen's art comes across almost like scientific research. In fact, marine biologists and other scientists have been involved with her work in the past. So what sets this piece of art apart from science? Ms. Winderen explains to me that there is a lot of research being done on underwater communication, but most of it deals with whales. "Not so much on fish. I didn't learn in school that fish were communicating. [I wanted] to find out how important audio is for the creatures in the ocean, and how ignorant we are of that. We're just sound polluting the ocean with both motorized boats and also with seismic testing for oil drilling. This is crucially bad for some species." She explains how by filling the oceans with sound pollution, people are interrupting the communication of these fish. Without communication, they can't mate. Without mating, fish populations decrease, and the indigenous populations that rely on these fish will eventually suffer. After hearing all of this, I listen to the installation again and it sounds totally different.

Ms. Winderen is clearly very passionate about her style of art. And she is enthusiastic to let others learn her ways. On January 10th and 11th, Ms. Winderen and Galerie B-312 held a 2-day workshop on the art of recording underwater sounds. Ms. Winderen walked 10 people through the equipment needed to record underwater, and then took them all out in a boat on the St. Lawrence river with all the recording equipment and taught everyone how to record sounds from the river. How cool is that? And it seems like Ms. Winderen was able to find some beauty in the sounds of the St. Lawrence; soon after I left her, and despite her very tight schedule, she was heading back out to the river. "Yeah, it sounded brilliant. You know I really started thinking about it, this river. I had a really solid, good recording, so I want to go back."

Whether Ms. Winderen wants it or not, her subjects connect her to the climate change debate. Take, for example, the story connected to her previous recording Noisiest Guys on the Planet, released on Touch records. Ms. Winderen was out on the coast of Norway, recording the crackling sounds of shrimp with fellow artist Chris Watson. At first, Ms. Winderen and Mr. Watson thought that the shrimp might be snapping shrimp, a species of shrimp that use a snapping sound to stun their prey, but quickly realized that snapping shrimp usually live further south, and wouldn't normally survive in the icy waters of the Norwegian coast.

"And I got this email from a journalist in Germany asking me, 'Can you confirm that snapping shrimp are moving north because of climate change?' And I never said that. I said that it can't be them making this sound because we are too far north, and they live further south."

Energy Field, Jana Winderen at Galerie B-312. Photo by Greg Stone

Despite this, the German journalist went to the Polar Institute in Norway and asked the scientists there if these snapping shrimp could exist in Norwegian waters. So, being good scientists, they did some research and found that the snapping shrimp had in fact migrated north, and that Ms. Winderen had in fact been recording this species. Climate change or not, this was a significant scientific discovery.

Like it or not, any artist working with glaciers will be automatically connected to the issue of climate change. And Ms. Winderen goes about it brilliantly. "Everybody has their eyes on Greenland at the moment. But I don’t want it to be predominantly about the climate change issues, it’s generally really about the sounds underwater that we're so ignorant about." Ms. Winderen lets her art speak for itself. Sure, it will be interpreted in connection to climate change. It was one of my first thoughts when I walked into the gallery. It prompted the German journalist to look deeper. And for Ms. Winderen, it's the perfect role for her art. "If [my work] can start somebody looking for a second time, then I feel it's really worthwhile. And I think in this way, you know, I'm very happy if my work can start this kind of process. It's wonderful."

Le Tarot de Montréal, Marie-Claude Bouthillier, Maison de la culture Côte-des-Neiges By Jessica Surendorff

2011-01-20T09:00:00.001-05:00

Maison de la Culture Côte-des-Neiges
5290, chemin de la Côte-des-Neiges
November 25, 2010 to January 9, 2011 and traveling to Galerie Port-Maurice, la Bibliothèque Rivière-des-Prairies, la Bibliothèque publique Eleanor London Côte Saint-Luc and Centre culturel de Dorval.

Le Tarot de Montréal is a contemporary portrayal on the theme 'Tarot,' as interpreted by 22 local artists.

By Jessica Surendorff

Le TAROT de MONTRÉAL, vue d'ensemble : les vingt-deux cartes et le dos taroté, 2009. Image courtesy marieclaudebouthillier.org

Marie-Claude Bouthillier, curator and the brains behind the concept of this exhibition, invited 22 Québec artists to recreate a new version of the Major Arcana (which are in a sense the 22 'royal' picture cards of the Tarot). The aim was to use the symbols and icons that are seen in the Tarot pack, and allow the artist to communicate these images through their own artistic practices. Bouthillier explains that her method behind matching the artist to the card was done by considering the "conceptual or formal associations" between the Arcana and the artist's personal style and approach to art-making.

The mysteriousness associated with Tarot is felt upon entering the space. The contemporary twist on these 15th Century fortune-telling cards did not mean that the aura of 'hidden knowledge' was lost. In the modest space of the Maison de culture Côte-des-Neiges, I felt like I was in my own gypsy caravan.

Well, an Ikea gypsy caravan, since this particular space could have come straight out of a catalogue. Along with the pale wooden flooring, the exposed lighting gives the 1st floor of the Maison de culture this stage like quality. The focused lighting set up was like a pin point on each card, like I was peeping trough a keyhole into the world of the Arcana.

Bouthillier's decision of matching the frames to the flooring of the space gives the exhibition a sense of unity; with each art work having sufficient breathing space between the next to allow time for the viewer to process the story of the card (before moving on to the next little secret).

At the entry of the space, Bouthillier has set up two cabinets showcasing the traditional Tarot de Marseille and the Le Tarot de Montréal. Placed in their correct numerical order, the traditional Major Arcana is obviously in contrast to the contemporary interpretation. In the one cabinet we see typical medieval iconography; bold line work and clear symbolism. Even if someone has never seen a Tarot pack in their lives, they would be able to guess what each card represents. The limited colour palette of black red, blue, yellow, green and beige seems almost clinical and rigid in comparison to the contemporary counterpart – but there is still something very powerful and mysterious about these cards. In the other cabinet; cut to the same dimensions of a traditional pack lies the Tarot de Montréal, seeming more intriguing with its organic lushness.

On the wall, placed between these two cabinets, is the 23rd card – acting as a bridge between that old world and the present. This card is the 'reverse card,' which at a first glance resembles the back of any deck of cards. Done in ink on Japanese paper, this card was created by Bouthillier and seems to be the uniting point of the exhibition. The blue and black chequered motif on the reverse of the card is called 'taroté,' and Bouthillier explains that this allowed her to "cover all cards." Having an interest in screens and nets, Bouthillier describes the painting of the 23rd card, saying it was "as though I held each artist in my hands."

Each piece of the Le Tarot de Montréal is 40cm x 30cm, and has been arranged around the space clockwise in numerical order, giving a needed sense of harmony to an exhibition which showcases so many different styles and mediums. A number of the artists remained faithful to the original in their representation of the Tarot de Marseille; keeping the composition and imagery very similar. On the other hand, some of the artists have interpreted the cards in a much broader and contextual sense.

Card number 1 is Le Bateleur; The Mountebank, which Éric Simon has portrayed as a dynamic ninja. According to the medieval character of The Mountebank this was a man who vigilant and strong. With the six ninja figures executing acrobatic moves and wielding various weapons, this message of strength and alertness is clear. These figures are backed by psychedelic patterns and colours (done with a mix of pens and crayons), which makes a stark contrast between the dark forms of the ninjas. This card looks like something that the cool kid sitting next to me in geography class was drawing instead of paying attention to our high school teacher. But the composition, and the precise way Simon uses felt pens in the drawing of the ninjas show his sound skills in creating form and shadows. At the centre of this striking piece we see one of the ninjas, kneeling before a hat and coins, holding a sign 'Du Change pour un Ninja.' Although this panhandling ninja is midway through drawing out his sword, he isn't the least bit threatening with his comical hat and crazy, psychedelic background. Makes me wonder what Simon's opinion is on what makes someone vigilant and resilient in the contemporary context of Le Bateleur.

The next card in the series is a black and white photograph by Éve K. Tremblay. The first thing I notice in Tremblay's interpretation of La Papesse is the look of slight disgust and annoyance on the woman's face. It’s as if someone has disturbed her little intellectual moment reading from a book called 'The Waste Land and other Poems.' I almost expect to see the white trail of a set of Apple earbuds, but am pleasantly surprised. This woman is not like those people you see on the metro that revel in excessive sensory stimulation (so are you really reading? Or are you really listening? Or are you really just trying to block everyone and everything else out?) Tremblay has clearly communicated the symbolism behind the original La Papesse tarot card, which on the superficial level is wisdom and intuition. More apparent in this photograph is the card's other meaning; a retreat into the world of theoretical knowledge and the arts.

The following card in the pack is L'Impératice, and this piece seems to be the 'favourite child' of the collection, as it is seen in almost all the marketing material and reviews for this exhibition. The Empress was assigned to Yan Giguère, as the card represents creativity of nature and growth. Bouthillier was familiar with Giguère's recent works involving the relationship of humans and nature. This assemblage of floral images with the queen and her staff has a rather soothing and feminine feel. The balance between the unsaturated background and the intense cluster of bright flowers in the foreground works well – and although this montage has a very 'cut and paste' feel to it, the composition still has life and movement. In keeping with the traditional Tarot, this piece has a mysterious element to it, conjuring up ideas of fairies and folklore. I admire the way Giguère was turned a succulent plant into the Empress's crown by blowing up the image and adorning the points on the leaves with pansies, like little jewels. Just to break up the 'prettiness' of it all, the Empress's staff is like a glowing, nuclear rod – over exposed to the max. There is also added cuteness of the Empress's shield being represented as a giant mushroom, with a curious owl peeping over the top. This piece is very lush and textured, and one could spend forever breaking down and analyzing the imagery and symbolism.

L'Impératrice : Yan Giguère, image numérique, 30 x 40 cm, 2009 courtesy marieclaudebouthillier.org

The Empress is evidently followed by L'Empereur; a silver silhouette of a giant man. As is his female counterpart, he is branding a staff in his hand, but this time the top is adorned with the Québecois Fleur-de-lys. This silver giant is seated on a throne decorated with a golden eagle coat of arms, looming over a sparse landscape. In contrast to the Emperor's casual and relaxed posture; his staff reads "Be Prepared." This card belongs to self-taught artist Mathieu Beauséjour, who has clearly represented the cards symbols of power and money. The photograph that Beauséjour has chosen for the landscape is actually of a mine in Northern Québec. The thing that strikes me the most about this card is that at the centre of The Emperor's chest is a white disc, with lines radiating out like some religious super-nova.

L'Empereur : Mathieu Beauséjour, image numérique, encre, 30 x 40, 2009 courtesy marieclaudebouthillier.org

My initial impression of Le Pape was the return to the traditional layout and structure of the Tarot de Marseille. The composition as a whole (the figures and the placement of the title and card numbers) echoes that of the original tarot. Benoit Bourdeau use of digital layering with low opacity makes the card look like the Ghosts of Priests Past have come together for a chat. Bourdeau has introduced a scientific element to the card, with many of the layers involving alchemist diagrams, mathematical equations and drawings much like Leonardo's sketches of machines. As you look through the layers you can see the figure of The Pope in a swirling halo of algebra, lit by the aura of the blue flame of a Bunsen burner. At the very centre of this mash-up of science and religion is a face with heavy eyes and full lips – the face of a woman. Bourdeau's composition leaves one with a lot to think about…

Next in line are The Lovers. Andrea Szilasi has used photo montage to create this card, which traditionally portrays a man having to choose between two women. The faces of the two women cannot be seen in this version of L'Amoureux, but we can see that the lover has to choose between a flaxen-haired girl and a brunette. Between the two women is a giant, square cut-out of an eye (which probably represents the man who has to decide between which of his lovers to keep). The piece is dominated by a large wooden fence in the background, which is cutting off nearly all of the sky line. What's on the other side of this fence? Perhaps this signifies the unknown in relationships and commitments, as we do not know what is on the other side until a choice is made.

L’Amoureux : Andrea Szilazi, collage photo, 30 x 40 cm, 2009 courtesy marieclaudebouthillier.org

Number 7 is a quirky interpretation of Le Chariot by Pierre Gauvin. The styling process of putting this photograph together looks like it would have been much fun, as Gauvin has taken everyday objects and used them together in a seemingly nonsensical manner. At the centre we have the figure we expect of The Chariot card; the warrior, the conqueror on his noble steed (a bicycle in this case). Our chariot rider looks like he went to a costume party as 'Tin-Man' from The Wizard of Oz; got drunk and stole someone's crown, V for Vendetta mask, prosthetic foot and pet rabbit. This photograph makes me smile more than it makes me think about power and success; but none the less I like the composition and the use of light. In the background we see streams of red and white lights from the passing traffic, which I think is balanced quite well with the white rabbit and red bicycle.

Le Chariot : Pierre Gauvin, photographie, 30 x 40 cm, 2009 courtesy marieclaudebouthillier.org

Sophie Jodoin's interpretation of La Justice is a mixed media of crayon and collage; and I quite like this piece due to its simplicity. Jodoin has not gone over board with the symbolism of this card, and piece is so bold and simplistic it looks almost like the logo for a successful clothing brand or music label. In the original Tarot, a seated woman holds the scales in one hand and a sword in the other – but in this contemporary interpretation the woman has been doubled, with the head of the women being replaced by some kitchen scales, and the sword being replaced by a butter knife. This card reminds me of the negative of a film strip, which I think is well suited to the concept of weighing up positives and negatives.

The next card is that of L'Hermite; which is a card that is easy for anyone to decipher even if they are not familiar with Tarot. Obviously, this card is about solitude and meditation – focusing inward on one's self. Yann Pocreau was chosen to represent this card as much of his photography explores the subjects of a lonely figure in vast spaces and landscapes. In Pocreau's photograph we see The Hermit in a form very similar to the original Tarot; a man wondering alone at night with his cane and lantern, in the search for light and possible answers.

In comparison to the other cards, I find that Le Roue de Fourtune is a nice break from the other mediums that have been used in Le Tarot de Montréal. Claudia Bernal has created this card using etching and ink, and has used a fluid and free-hand style unlike most of the other pieces in this collection (which consist mostly of photography and collage). The wheel itself has been represented as a swirling vortex, much like the symbol for eternity. Around the wheel are three strange creatures; hybrids of animals and plants. At the top of the wheel is the creature at the height of its fortune; a totemic style figure that somehow reminds me of a dissected animal in the science lab. This funny creature is soon to been brought back down to earth by The Wheel of Fortune, which is central to the cards meaning that earthly power is an illusion.

The three focal elements of Cynthia Girard's La Force are a moth, a tortoise and a lovebird. This is usually not the first thing that comes to mind when you think about Strength. Usually, this Tarot shows a woman taming a lion, but I really admire Girard's use of gouache and line work to make this delicate and feminine painting. Something about this piece reminds me of a fairytale, or one of Aesop's fables. The moral of this particular story is maybe is 'looks can be deceiving' or something equally cheesy along those lines. Perhaps Girard has chosen these animals to represent forms of strength that are less overt. Instead of showing a powerful and aggressive lion we see a tortoise - the strength of determination, maybe? We see the bird, with a delicate chain in its beak – perhaps this is the strength of skill and craftsmanship? At the top of the piece we see the moth, which could even have a double meaning – the quiet strength of being able to blend and adapt, or even the strength of re-birth and new beginnings.

La Force : Cynthia Girard, gouache sur papier, 30 x 40 cm, 2009 courtesy marieclaudebouthillier.org

The Hanged Man is a card that represents how we can choose to remain inactive and let fate determine the outcomes - our ability to 'let go.' Stéphanie Béliveau's interpretation of this card clearly shows this, with the figure of Le Pendu being very similar to the original Tarot. Béliveau's work looks like it has gone through the photocopier a few times and the use of mixed materials gives this monochrome piece a grungy and edgy look. What makes this card even more interesting is the tranquil smile on the face of The Hanged Man, which I think is appropriate to the card's symbolism of self reflection.

Lucky Number 13: The Unnamed Arcana, (which also commonly called the Death card). This card typically depicts a skeletal Death wielding his scythe. You would think that this card forewarns ill-fortune, but it's quite the opposite. According to the Tarot this card signifies change and new beginnings. Patrice Fortier has used collage in this representation of the card; where Death is dressed in what looks like golfing attire. Beneath Death, we see cut out dolls' heads buried in the ground. This card uses the symbolism of 'the harvest' to portray change and re-birth; and maybe these dolls heads represent ideas that are waiting to grow and develop. This version of Sans Nom has been finished off nicely with gold leaf in the boarder and the Number 13.

La Tempérance stands out considerably in this collection. Marie-Claude Pratte's style is fluid, bold and quite dark in comparison to many of the feminine pieces in Le Tarot de Montréal. The meaning of this card is reconciliation and harmony, and the traditional Temperance shows an angel pouring liquid from one pitcher to another. In Pratte's depiction of the card we see more of a fallen-angel (a jukie-esque woman with an angel tattoo on her upper arm). This piece is a bit more provoking than some of the other works in this collection, but not as uplifting. To me this contradicts the cards meaning of harmony and equilibrium; but perhaps this interpretation is more about the hope of finding balance and harmony.

La Tempérance : Marie-Claude Pratte, gouache et acrylique sur papier, 30 x 40, 2009 courtesy marieclaudebouthillier.org

For a card representing The Devil, Max Wyse has created what I think is a bright and punchy art work. This collage of pastel and ink has a limited colour platelet of cool hues from lime green to a touch of aquamarine, watermelon tones and a hint of yellow. Le Diable has been represented here as a creature with four human legs and a green silhouet of a head placed at the intersection of the legs. Wyse showcases his skilled line work in this piece, and we see this especially in the detailed drawings of the two cobra heads that The Devil is perched upon. This hybrid human-spider devil is backed by the familiar five-pointed star on the pastel green and pink background.

The House of God card (also referred to as The Tower in other Tarot versions), usually indicates catastrophe and ruin brought on by our own ego. Traditionally the card shows two people falling from a tower struck down by lightning; the force of God. In Sonia Haberstich's representation of La Maison-Dieu the ill-fortune associated with the card is lost, as her animated and bold style makes her work quite entertaining. With the array of mixed materials ranging from ink, beads, glue, digital image and other craft objects – the collage is so bright and busy it looks like a candy store. The presence of God is shown as a sleepy omniscient eye watching down on the two figures that look like garden gnomes. This piece has this soft, textile sense to it, and looks almost edible! (But I wouldn't try it; I think the craft stick-on-eyes are a bit of a choking hazard…)

Following on from La Maison-Dieu, another collage that is heavy on the craft and mixed media is L'Étoile. Louise Mercille has used a black and white self portrait to represent the figure in this card. The Star card signifies inspiration and protection, and depicts a woman with a vessel kneeling next to the body of water. Above the figure, Mercille has formed the star from a collage of print, sequins and flower shaped beads. The star radiates above the woman's head like a crown, representing the card’s symbolism of inspiration and ideas. To the left of the kneeling woman is a green leaf garland, with a small golden candle placed at the centre. This makes a nice break from the rest of the composition that consists only of black, white, silver and gold. Overall, this is a tranquil and alluring piece.

L’Étoile : Louise Mercille, collage photo, matériaux divers, 30 x 40 cm, 2009 courtesy marieclaudebouthillier.org

The next art work is very similar to its predecessor, with regards to the tranquil mood of the piece. La Lune was created by Emmanuelle Léonard, who has stayed very true to the original Arcana in regards to the composition and the imagery of the two wolves, the moon and a body of water. This is quite a dark and moody piece in comparison to many of the works in this exhibition, and as I peer into the depths of this piece, I see myself and the reflection of the Arcanas on the wall behind me. This makes me think of the moon being reflected upon water, and I realize this arrangement has been carefully thought out by the curator. I still wonder, however, what the exhibition would have been like if the works were displayed like spread one would see during a real Tarot reading?

The Moon is obviously followed by The Sun. This piece is a cheerful contrast to the previous two works, and David Fafrance's naïve style and bright colour palette easily convey the ideas and symbolism associated with the card. Le Soleil represents growth, abundance and radiance; and in this interpretation of the card we see an almost childlike depiction of a garden. The sun itself has a human face, and beams down on two figures playing in a fountain. It's not clear if the figures are children or statues that are a part of the fountain. Curator Bouthillier does mention that one interpretation of this is that the wall around the figures represents the Garden of Eden.

Sylvie Bouchard's version of Le Judgement is more abstract in its composition, I believe, even in comparison to some of the busy collages in this collection. The card traditionally shows three figures rising from their tombs after being called from their tombs by and angel with a trumpet. Without knowing the meaning of the card, it would be difficult to decipher the symbols and elements that Bouchard has used. Done with ink on Japanese paper, we see two monkeys with trumpets, playing on top of some geometric shapes. Growing out of some puzzle-like blocks of colour on the floor are some small branches. Within these branches is a nest containing eggs and some items of clothing. The card symbolizes an announcement, new projects and transformation. Perhaps this is what the nest of eggs and the growing branches stand for?

Le Monde conveys ideas about our existence and place in the world. Done with watercolor and collage, Nancy Belzile has used the four elements to represent the world. The World card usually shows a naked woman covered with leaves and surrounded by angels and animals. Belzile has kept some of these essential elements, and has placed a woman in the centre of the piece with reeds and grass growing around her. Below is a blue puddle that represents water, to the right a flame for fire, and above an odd four-winged and feathered bird to represent air. Each of the four elements have been placed inside a white orb, with each one connected to the woman with a hot-pink beam. This arrangement reminds me of a diagram of the solar system, which is fitting to the card's symbolism of the cosmic consciousness.

The last card of the Tarot is Le Mat. This card shows a figure on a journey being chased by a dog. In this representation of The Fool photographer Kim Waldron has posed as the pilgrim with her own dog. The Fool signifies someone on a journey with infinite possibilities, with the dog biting at their ass as a reminder to take council. Waldron's photograph shows a beautiful country side; a lush forest on the cliff side next to a river. The traveler has set out to explore this beautiful scene, but has not considered that they are braving the Canadian elements without their Canadian Goose jacket. Also, they are prepared to go hiking only in a pair of Ked's (and without any socks) – very foolhardy indeed.

This touring exhibition gives great insight to 23 different artists' styles and the ways they communicate their art. The mediums showcased range from paint, to photography, to ink, to pen to pastels… and even glitter and bells. In having to interpret and recreate the major Arcana in a contemporary mind frame, the artists' thought and work process are revealed to the viewer. In all, I could describe Le Tarot de Montréal as seductive and whimsical, with its vast mix of styles and moods. These works were on display at Maison de la Culture Cote-des-Neiges until January 9, 2011, and are in circulation around Montreal until August 2011.

The RSVP Report

2010-05-23T09:45:00.001-04:00

RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report, RSVP Report