Here is a collaborative drawing that me and my friend, Aislin did in response to the drawing games that we were shown in class:

The Handmade & The Homemade II

This Tuesday we had a class discussion about the articles "Oh Canada" and "Builders", which we had read and written responses on. Since I already did a response to the readings, I sort of feel like I don't have much more to say about that class. I do, however, have more to say about handmade art (surprise!). In my last blog post I talked about the whole movement of hand-making in general, and what I thought of it, but I didn't really get the chance to respond to the art and artists we had looked at in class that day, so I'll do that now. With Germaine Koh's Knitwork, like Professor Kelly said the sweaters that she is unraveling and re-knitting each represent a presumably unique person,
each has it's own stories. At the same time Koh bought the sweaters second hand, and didn't wash them gives her project an "ick factor". To me this is a great example of the messy intimacy that in habits a lot of handmade items and art. It's like the same feeling you get from sharing a drink with your best friend, almost--like, if you think about it on a molecular level too much it's gross, but the intimacy about it makes it special, so the "ick factor" of both things gives them more value, in a way. Maybe this is a weird thing to say, and no one else feels this way, maybe I look like a weirdo now.
Anyway, moving on... I thought Janice Wright Cheney's Widow was one of the most beautiful pieces of art I've seen. I had never thought about the fact that taxidermy could be used in art--probably partially because I don't like the idea of killing an animal just for decoration, which I know is not what all taxidermy is. I'm not sure where she got the bear, but what she did with it was beautiful--she took something dead and made it a thing of beauty. I'm really bad at articulating this but I just really loved it.
I also really liked Eryn Foster's Walking Laundry Line. I actually kind of have this thing for clotheslines. I just think they're one of the most beautiful things to be found in urban spaces. I like the fact that we have dryers now, but some
people still take their wet laundry outdoors, and hang it individually on a line, and led the wind dry it. I love seeing all the colourful garments dancing in the breeze, and looking at the clothing up close, speculating about which of them belongs to what member of the family, and what kind of person they are. This probably also makes me sound like a freak.
Anyway, those were just some of the pieces we looked at that I particularly liked.

The Handmade & The Homemade

so excited about the handmade and homemade art movement. I'm so excited that I'm concerned about writing a coherent blog entry about it. I feel like I've experienced a lot of it first hand already in some ways because there's a lot of hand-making going on in Sackville, and people seem to take a lot of pride in those aspects of time and labour in their work, even if they might not call it art or put it in an art context. I'm thinking of knitted garments, socks turned into cozies for mason jars carrying tea, embroidery and felting, zine-making and book-making, and the re-purposing of items broken or otherwise, including the alteration, mending and even making of clothing. I think the only thing I've made that I might classify as handmade art is something I call my Scarf of Life. I started it in grade 11 or 12 I think and I just worked on it whenever I felt like it, using mostly incomplete or leftover amounts of yarn, and the rule was that I had to keep knitting no matter what happened to mess it up—if I dropped a stitch or there was a crazy knot I couldn't unravel anything, I had to just keep going, which is why it was called the scarf of life—because that's what life is like. I experimented a lot with different knitting patterns on the scarf as well; it was were I first tried ribbing, and using two strands of yarn at once. I changed yarn whenever I ran out or got tired of one colour.

There is an intimacy and humanity with handmade art that is not always there (or is not always meant to be there) with other kinds of art, and for me that contributes a lot to it's beauty and my experience of it. I adore the community aspect of it—I think that's one of the most beautiful things about it. I mean, art can often be so alienating, and many times it has to be because it is meant as a challenge. Handmade art, I feel, refuses to alienate its audience by way of challenging their isolation—challenging the sterile culture of earphones in ears and quickly typed messages and technology coming out of our yingyang, and everything having to be fast and easy. Encountering handmade anything, and handmade art even moreso is like being on a cold bus after a day of not interacting much with anyone, and having an elderly lady sit down next to you, touch you warmly on the shoulder and start asking about your life. 

"Field Trip" to The Owens

This Thursday our Canadian Art class took place in the lobby of the Owens Art Gallery where we discussed each of the pieces that hung there. I would have to say that my absolute favourite work in the lobby that day was Christopher Pratt's “The Suburbs Standing West”, and I know I wasn't alone. The first time I walked into the Owen's after the painting was hung, I was immediately drawn to it. We looked at the work in class, projected on a screen a few months ago, but the experience of seeing it in person, up close was a lot different, and far more striking. I was actually so compelled by it that when my parent drove me back after the Easter weekend I made them come in and take a look at it (luckily the Owens was open—I didn't think it would be). They were pretty taken with it too. The painting looks like you could just walk through the frame and onto the winter suburban street. When I look at it, Suburbs Standing West transports me onto a lonely winter walk, which is beautiful an bleak at the same time. While I feel isolated though, I also feel like I finally have the space and time to think, and no one is watching me—I have no social context. This is just my experience of the painting.

Although I would have say that Suburbs Standing West is my favourite work in the lobby, I also really enjoyed seeing Joyce Weiland's O Canada print up close, especially after having read so much about her for my essay. I feel like nationalism is always in the form of this collective...mass; although nationalism wouldn't be a thing if it wasn't felt by individuals, it always seems to take the form of a collective attitude, and countries are so large that it becomes impersonal. But with O Canada, we see a nationalism that isn't only individual, but highly intimate. Weiland takes something as large and sweeping as the Canadian national anthem and turns it into an intimate moment of love and affection with the print of her own lips on paper. I can't think of any time I've seen nationalism in such a way before.

Erik Edson and Our Representations of Nature

I'm so excited, because after attending Erik Edson's artist's talk I actually have something to say in this blog that relates art to my other minor (philosophy), rather than my major (literature). First, I just want to say though that I was really impressed with his use of space in the installations that he showed us. From what I understand it's vary challenging to work in 3D (I've barely tried it, and when I have it hasn't been simple), but Erik Edson made really interesting use of space for all his installations; if I had the money, I would buy a house to live in and ask if I could pay him to "decorate" it's interior. Also, I thought it was so so cool how he used sound in his installations, especially in the piece, Burrow; it was so neat how he had the urban sounds of the parking garage coming out through the burrow, live as they were being made, and without anyone knowing they were being recorded. I feel like I use words like "neat" and "cool" way too much in these blogs, especially for an English major, but I digress, I thought his use of sound recording in Burrow was truly innovative (how's that for an adjective?).
What I mainly want to discuss here though, is Erik Edson's examination of our representations of nature. It really reminded me of an article we read in Feminist Philosophy about meat-eating and anti-vegetarianism and how it relates to sexism and racism; to be honest, it reminds me of a lot of feminist theory, actually. Edson used images of animals and nature that came from textbooks, and pre-made models of animals, and he said at the end of the talk that these are "learned representations"  and that they are our "interpretations" of nature, which is totally true. A lot of feminist theory, especially as it intersects with anti-racist thought, points out the importance of recognizing that often the pervading ideas about non-dominant groups (such as animals, women, and people of colour) are just that--the interpretation of those groups by the dominant group. Society has often (and is still does) take this interpretation to be fact, or objective observation, simply because it comes from the dominant group, hence the entry of these ideas into places like textbooks, such as the ones that Edson uses in his art. Those are our--the dominant group's--interpretations of the natural world, and though we might like to think of them as objective fact, they are only our subject representations.

Work Cited

 Bailey, Cathryn. "We Are What We Eat: Feminist Vegitarianism and the Reproduction of Racial Identity." Hypatia 22.2 (2007): 39-59. Print.

Reactions to the Work of Jana Sterback and Valerie Blass

The two artists whose work struck me most in Tuesday's class were Jana Sterbak and Valerie Blass. It was only after further investigation that I realized how similar their work actually is--obviously the two artists are quite different, but their art seems to me to be doing some of the same things. What I believe struck me most initially with both of these artists was how jarring and strange the content of their work was (something I often find appealing), and the palpable physical presence of their work. Instillation art automatically has more of a literally physical presence in general, but I feel when I look at the work of both Sterbak and Blass that to be walking through a gallery by yourself and to come upon a piece of work by either of them would be similar in a lot of ways to walking through a gallery alone and suddenly coming upon another person. The most obvious way in which this effect is accomplished is that both Blass and Sterbak's work frequently takes the form life sized figures or bodies, but it seems like there would also be a life-like quality to them that may bot be present in all life-sized figures. Similarely, both Blass and Sterbak seem to be working with aspects of embodiment, especially with Sterbak and frequently with Blass these seem to be themes of female embodiment and femininity. 

On Rebecca Belmore, and Her Work

I like Rebecca Belmore's work so much. I looked her up the other day and watched all of her performance videos, and today I took a look at some of her sculpture, and photography and other 2D work. The way I respond to it might be due partially to my interest in Aboriginal issues, but I also think she's just really good at what she does. With art, I find that there will be certain pieces of art work or certain artists that will jump out at you or touch you, often because it manages to hit something personal for you. When it comes to the majority of art, though--at least, in my experience--you have to take a moment to seriously consider a piece, and think about what it's trying to do before you really feel it's effect. That's not a bad thing, and in my opinion, all art--or anything that has the potential to be art--merits that moment of consideration. I really feel that with Blackmore's work would be able to instantly resonate with many people, regardless of their education, interests, or political views. This, I think is due for the most part to the raw emotion that she seems to funnel into her work, especially her performances. Obviously performance art, as with all art needs a certain amount of planning or careful thinking (even if it means planning not to think when it comes time to create the work). When watching Blackmore's performances, it seemed almost she didn't do this, like in her grief and rage she just went out onto the Vancouver street and started performing Vigil, or went out next to the river and began Bury My Heart. I guess what I'm trying to say is that the grief and anger of the Aboriginal community over shameful events such as those at Wounded Knee, or the apathy about the murders of all those Aboriginal women on the streets of Vancouver, and many other events like those. She's also just really good at yelling.

Work Cited

 "Rebecca Belmore." Rebecca Belmore. Department of Canadian Heritage, n.d. Web. 24 Mar. 2013. <http://www.rebeccabelmore.com/>.
"Rebecca Belmore: Visual Artist." Canada Council for the Arts. Canada Council for the Arts, 12 Mar. 2013. Web. <http://ggavma.canadacouncil.ca/en/Archive/2013/Winners/RebeccaBelmore.aspx>

Mail Art!

The form of mail art, though only mentioned briefly in today's lecture, really peaked my interest, both because I thought the performative element of it was really neat, and because I was curious about the kind of aesthetics and materials that might be involved in mail art. I looked it up online and was not surprised to find that mail artists often appropriate things like rubber and postage stamps, tickets, and other utilitarian 2D objects in their art. Something I think is cool though, is how mail artists have been known to design and create their own stamps (both rubber and postage)--I think that would be really could exercise to do sometime.

I was drawn to the the idea of mail art partially because of how it reminded me of zines and the zine community; zines are frequently sent through the mail, are often made by hand, or with low-tech tools, and they often (but not always) are meant to have an aesthetic appeal. Many zines contain pieces of art (especially on the cover), but I personally consider most of the zines that I've seen to be works of art in and of themselves. If you think of it this way, zines are like a form of mail art. Zines and mail art have other things in common too, such as the appropriation of other media (like utilitarian objects, and stuff from popular culture), low cost, lack of censorship, the use of copy art, and the opportunity for the development of friendships through these exchanges.

Work Cited

"Mail Art." Wikipedia. Wikimedia Foundation, 22 Mar. 2013. Web. 23 Mar. 2013.

Reflections on "Birthday Suit with Scars and Defects"

This Tuesday, the piece that I found the most compelling that we looked at was "Birthday Suit with Scars and Defects" by Lisa Steele. I really liked how she treated her body like it was something she had been given at birth, and she was documenting the damages it had sustained since. When we look at a person, especially a young adult person, I find we tend to see them as they are in that moment, and think 'that is what this person looks like', without realizing that there were many years in which they looked like children (because they were children), and we don't realize that soon they will become older. Although Steele doesn't speculate about the future of her "birthday suit", as she documents the marks different stages of her childhood on her skin, we get a sense of the life of the body, particularly the skin.

The thing that struck me most about this work, however was how un-sexualized/sensualized it is. When the video begins, we see a naked female body, which immediately brings to mind sexuality or sensuality--we kind of assume that the video will address issues of the female body and female sexuality, but it doesn't do that in the ways one would think. Her body is not meant to be a sexual object. She documents her various scars and marks, as someone pointed out in class, kind of coldly and clinically, as if doing an autopsy. At the same time, though, I felt like it was kind of intimate, with the tone of her voice and the noises in the background and the slightly awkward way that she positioned herself in front of the camera. It manages to be intimate but completely non-sexual. After a while, though she is completely naked, and obviously female, I think the viewer sees Steele as simply a human being with a body, to which they can relate--having their own body, their own history, and their own scars.

I did a google search of the title of the piece, and I got this interesting video that someone else did; the description says "approximation of Lisa Steele's Birthday Suit with Scars and Defects." It's a lot shorter, and the woman is not completely nude. Strangely, the slip that that she has chosen to wear might give this video a tiny bit more of a sexual tone, I don't know. 

Also, it doesn't seem to have any sound when I watch it; my speakers seem to be working, and every other video on the website has sound accept this one, so maybe it just didn't upload correctly, or maybe it was deliberately. You can tell she's talking, but you can't tell what she's saying, although you can sometimes see her face and it is very expressive--more so than Steele's face was in her video. I don't want to make any assumptions, but certain aspects of the video, like the fact that this woman seems to be wearing a wig make me think there's a possibility that she might be transsexual or transgender--if so, the video being deliberately silent could be meant to express the refusal of society to talk about or legitimize trans* bodies. Again, I really don't know, I just thought it might be a possibility.

Christiane Pflug and My Claustrophobia-phobia

On Tuesday, continuing our section on painting, we looked at some work by Christiane Pflug, which I found really compelling. Although the subjects she paints (children, domestic setting, etc.) are not uncommon, or strange, the way that she paints them completely alters their effect--at least for me. It's just like Professor Kelly said in class, the sterile space of the house, looking out into the outdoors creates a real sense of claustrophobia, and adding to that the knowledge that she had a strict husband and really spend most of her time in the house increases that effect.

This is a really great example of work that is really feminist, although maybe the artist wouldn't have said so. It really gets across the restricted existence that women were obliged to live for centuries--and still are, in many parts of the world. In the painting, "Kitchen Door with Esther" I really get the sense (but it might just be me) that the way she has her daughter perched in the doorway like that--it's like she hopes for something better for her daughter, that her daughter won't be as trapped, or have to feel as claustrophobic. I don't doubt that many women at that time felt the same way about their daughters.
The couple of paintings we looked at in class really spoke to me, not only as a woman, but as a woman who sees some of those more traditional roles and traits as part of her identity, and as not mutually exclusive to being treated equally, getting an education, and being independent. As I looked through Pflug's eyes, and imagined how she must have felt, a conflict that I often encounter when I think of my future was brought to the forefront again. I know I want to be a mother someday, and that nurturing a family and working to create a home are things I want to accomplish in my life. I sometimes entertain the possibility of spending some time just as a homemaker if that one day becomes possible. However, I never want to experience that feeling that comes across in the paintings of Christiane Pflug. I never want to feel trapped or limited to the home, and I want to be treated with respect by my partner, and be considered equal. I can't be guaranteed that, that is possible, especially in today's society when that type of unpaid labor still isn't valued as much as it should be, and women are expected to have a paid career if they want to be seen as equal to men. I hope a balance can be achieved between the claustrophobia presented in these paintings, and the complete rejection of traditional "women's roles" altogether.

Monkey and Deer

On Thursday we looked at the art of animation, which is something I've never studied in the context of an art history class before. I especially loved Graeme Patterson's film "Monkey and Deer", not only because of the whole experience of watching the film, but because I felt like every part of the production fit together so perfectly to create something really cool and beautiful. The figures and setting are so realistic, unlike some of the other films we saw, which were more cartoon-like--not that there is anything at all wrong with that. The realism of "Monkey and Deer" keeps the "cuteness" (for lack of a better word) to a low enough degree that other elements like the setting, music, action, and general atmosphere become more prominent.
I was particularly struck by the music. When looking for the video link online I found out that Patterson himself created the music, and I'm not at all surprised, because to me it felt really important to the overall experience. I was thinking as I was watching the film that, combined with the nighttime setting and the realism of the figures, if the music had been any more unearthly sounding the film might have felt a lot more spooky, and had the music been any more playful it could have ended up feeling creepy in a whole other way. I thought the music was perfect though, and really made me feel immersed in the animation instead of like I was just sitting there staring at a screen taking something in (which is too often what I find myself doing).
Another thing I really liked was how Patterson set his film at night--it really contributes to the feeling that the setting is deserted accept for the two figures of the monkey and the deer. It also kind of seemed like the objects were glowing, which was cool.
I guess the whole film had kind of a surreal vibe to it, in a way, especially since a monkey and a deer are two animals that you would probably never see together. But I enjoyed it because it wasn't surreal in a disturbing   or uneasy way, which is what I've encountered most often.
More than anything, Patterson's film made be aware of all the different elements that come together to make a good animated film, which makes me really respect animation as an art form.

Thoughts on Painting

There are a number of thoughts that spring to my mind when I look back on last Thursday's lecture on painting. A lot of the paintings we looked at seemed to show a self-awareness of painting, like with Neil Jenney's Husband and Wife, and Ben Reeves work. Also, with Douglas Coupland, and with the Emma Lake  series by  Kim Dorland, the work is a reference back to art history, other artworks, and other aspects of the art world. Especially since I'm guessing most of the painting we looked at can be described as modernist, this really strongly reminds me of the modernist period in literature (surprise!). I've been working on a research paper which is partially about the modernist period, and when I made the connection, I was particularly thinking of how or anthology talks about modernist art and literature as having "turned inward", becoming self-referential, inter-textual, and cannibalistic (Damrosch 928). Of course it makes sense that art and literature from the same period would have similar things going on, it was just kind of a light-bulb moment for me.
Re-visiting a topic I wrote about a couple of blog posts ago, "what is art?", it's really interesting to compare modern or contemporary art with the art from, say the first half of the art history survey course. It seems like the function of art--painting specifically, has changed, or at least loosened to be used for so many more purposes. In the seventeen and eighteen hundreds it seems to me that painting was used for representation, for the sake of beauty, and often for political or religious purposes. In the modern period (and obviously this has something to do with the advent of photography) I feel like painting is also used for these purposes, but in so much of a broader sense and with such diverse and different approaches. Along with the rest of art, painting is accomplishing so much in such unique ways. The modern period is crazy.

 "The 21st Century. " Ed. Damrosch, David. The Longman Anthology of British Literature. 921-942.

Center and Margin in Art and Culture

Last Tuesday's panel, "The Center and the Margin" was really thought provoking. I thought it was really great that we got a different conceptions of center and margin from each panelist. It's a little hard to pin-point what each of them actually covers; I find myself wondering if the more common public views of art count as being in the margin because they are less educated and experienced in the art world, or whether the more contemporary, new perspectives on art count as being in the margin because one often has to be involved or specifically interested in the art world in order to know about/appreciate them and the majority of the population isn't.
I think it's interesting to look at the center and the margin in art in terms of  what is less accepted both in the art world and in society and how that manifests itself in art or in art movements, as well as how those manifestations seek to implement changes in society and the art world, and how those changes in alter what is marginalized in the future. I know that was a giant run-on sentence, but I hope it made at least a little sense.
Anyway, I'm just thinking about how a lot of cultural movements have had marginalization, or rebellion against the center as an integral part of their meaning. I'm not super culturally or historically educated, but the punk movement comes to mind. Hipsters are also defined by there lack of relationship to the center (although I think hipsters are dubbed hipsters by those who are more at the center, and do not refer to themselves as hipsters--who are hipsters anyway?). Again, I don't have a nuanced enough cultural education to articulate my point well enough, but I feel like there many cultural--or, actually I should say sub-cultural movements grow out of the margins and partially define themselves with that marginalization--I think this is true of several movements in art as well, especially those that are strictly anti-corporation, street art, maybe dadaism?
I thought one of the most compelling ideas that I heard during the panel was about how being on the margin can create communities, and a sense of belonging. I thought that was a really cool point, and it's one of those things that I feel like I've definitely seen but have never heard articulated before. Of course, this was in reference to artistic communities, which is really neat to look at, but I know for sure that it must happen just in society and culture in general. I'm thinking especially of the type of close-knit communities and unique cultures that seem to sometimes be created by marginalized groups in our society. These communities--from my very limited experience--can have very rich and complex cultural stuff going on, but a lot of it may not necessarily be accessible to those of us in the center (or in completely different marginal groups, as it were). Of course these cultures are frequently expressed through art, so it kind of comes full circle.

Thoughts on Tagny Duff's "Elephantiasis Ears"

After having watched Tagny Duff's performance art piece, "Elephantiasis Ears", in which she wandered around in a mall, naked accept for a pair of huge years hooked up to some kind of audio equipment. This piece stirred up a lot of discussion in the classroom both Tuesday and Thursday when there was a panel discussion in which it was brought up. People expressed diverse reactions to the piece, many of them very critical. I didn't really participate in the discussion on either of those days, even though I had stuff to say...so, I'm going to say that stuff here instead.
Concerns were brought up about the fact that she was naked out in public, and touching people, both of which might make people uncomfortable, and there were some concerns about children possibly seeing the performance, and the effect that this might have.

As to the nakedness; I agree that it likely made some people uncomfortable, and a naked woman wandering around a mall is not something you see everyday--I wouldn't want to dismiss anyone at the mall who was upset at this. I also won't deny that such a sight might trigger some questions from any child that might happen to be in the audience. However, art often makes people uncomfortable, and this very discomfort is what a lot of art is really about. Not only that, but how traumatizing is the site of a naked woman anyway? And if it is traumatizing--how much of that trauma is social constructed, rather than inherent in the nakedness itself? As far as children go, I would be much more concerned about my children (and I am weary of making this statement, since I have none yet) viewing thousands of images of almost-naked, or provocatively dressed women who have been starving themselves or have been digitally altered to be unrealistic--I would be more concerned about them viewing these images and not asking any questions, than I would about them seeing a real naked woman in a mall, and asking a few questions than I bet wouldn't be too hard to answer if you can be a little creative.
As far as the touching goes, I think it's really important to distinguish between different types of touching; Duff was not grabbing anyone, or touching them in any inappropriate places--in fact, I think in the clip we saw, she was mostly just offering them handshakes, though she did lay her hand on a few people's shoulders. I acknowledge that her being naked would definitely alter this experience for people, and I admit that if I were preforming "Elephantiasis Ears" (and I wish I had the ovaries it took to do something like that) I would probably decide to just stick with the offering of the handshakes and only touch those who extended their hands in return, because it's probably a little scary to be touched by a naked person without your permission--I guess that's where I draw the line. Again, though, she wasn't being violent or sexual about the touching, and I think that's important to note.
Of course, it is true that this being outside of the gallery setting, with the audience (or crowd) unprepared for anything but a shopping trip, and unaware of the nature of the performance makes the situation quite a bit different than one in an art gallery, but I think that's completely the point of the art work, and I don't think Duff would have accomplished what she clearly wanted to accomplish as effectively in the traditional setting. Questions were raised about whether or not this counts as art, or if it is good art. I would just like to contribute to that discussion by saying that in my completely subjective, and insufficiently educated opinion, it is; it seems to  me that Tagny Duff was trying to say something about connection, and about social norms, and possibly also about intimacy, and I think she did it very well and it if you disagree with everything else that I have said in this blog post, then you still have to admit that it took guts, and you wish you had guts like that when it came to doing things that are important to you, and maybe you do--in which case, congratulations.
...obviously I should have written my essay on this instead.

What is art?

On Tuesday in our lecture on public art, one of the pieces that we looked at was entitled "Tilted Arc", and it took the form of a a metal wall-like structure stretching across a kind of courtyard area. The work was funded and created as a piece of art. However, the area apparently had a lot of pedestrian traffic, and those pedestrians didn't like that the arc got in the way of their walking. Eventually, so many people complained about the inconvenience of the arc that it got torn down and turned into scrap metal. I can't say that I have a strong opinion about whether or not such a structure counts as art, or whether or not it is "good" art, but let's just take a moment to think about anything that someone created with the intention of it being art, on such a large scale, get turned into scrap metal. Like, that's not even what I'm going to write about in this blog entry, but just think about that. I feel like that's just disrespectful.
Anyway, we learned that when asked, the artist said that the fact that it disrupted foot traffic was something that he liked about the piece. This obviously raises questions about what art actually is. I know it's a kind of a cliched question, but this particular debate over the presence of the "Tilted Arc" really made me think about it...
Generally, the every-day person seems to bade the value of art more on the concept of beauty than on anything else. Honestly, until now, I've been thinking in the same terms, except I've been constantly re-evaluating my definition of beauty. Instead, I now find myself asking why I even feel that beauty should be the standard by which we are tempted judge art.
Let's take literature as a comparison (how predictable of me, since that's my major): we long ago stopped judging literature solely based on whether or not it was pleasant or enjoyable to read. Certainly, people still value pieces of writing for this reason, but they also value literature (in all it's forms) if it is informative, funny, challenging, heart-breaking, or comforting. You could argue that beauty is coupled with some of these characteristics, but that is not true in every case. We value Johnathan Swift's "A Modest Proposal" because it is darkly humorous, and because it draws attention to concerning flaws in the society of Britain at the time--we don't value you it because we think it's pleasant to read about the eating of children.
The Tilted Arc completely changed the flow of that particular courtyard, and it seems like perhaps that was part of the artist's intention.
Maybe this is another case of there being a gap between the general public and the art world. I feel like people who are serious artists (and by "serious" I mean serious about art, not necessarily super successful or famous), and people with a bit more of an education in art seem to value art work for more of a variety of reasons than simply "beauty".
Maybe Tilted Arc's inconvenience to the pedestrians of the area should be viewed as contributing to what might make it art. I don't know--can inconvenience be a characteristic that can make art good? If a piece of writing was inconveniencing large numbers of people it might be more likely to be valued...although I don't know what would equate physically forcing people to walk around a large object to get to work, in writing...I feel like this blog post has been all over the place. Maybe I shouldn't have tried to answer such a big question...it's a collection of thoughts anyhow.

The Jarring Effects of Diana Thorneycroft's "A People's History" Series

I was fascinated with the images of Diana Thorneycroft's work that we view in class on Thursday. In class discussion we talked about the effect of her use of dolls, miniatures, and toys to set up disturbing scenes in her series "A People's History". Points were raised about the sharp contrast between the subject matter and the childlike medium that she used. Someone brought up a particularly interesting point about how the medium of dolls or toys basically fails to prepare us for what the scenes depict; our guards are left down and therefore we might be more strongly effect by the actual image than if it were a typical scene from C.S.I or something.
I thought a lot about what Thorneycroft accomplishes by presenting these disturbing facts of Canadian life and history in a way that is totally child-oriented...
First of all, seeing these scenes of dolls and toys step up into scene--outside of the context of the art gallery--at first glance, we might think a child had created them. What would we feel upon descovering a child--maybe even a sibling, niece or nephew--acting out scenes like these in their play? What would that mean? What would it mean to discover a white Canadian girl acting out "Burning Braids" with her dolls? What would it mean to discover an Aboriginal girl doing the same thing? It's difficult to think about.

Secondly, when we know that these scenes were not set up by children, (at a very quick glance) the materials used give the impression that they are at least meant to be viewed by children. Of course, they are not really, but it raises some urgent questions--I would guess, especially by anyone who is a parent or care-giver. How could we possibly explain these events to a child? What could we possibly have to say as to how these things were allowed happen, or to continue for so long, or--in some cases--how they are still being allowed to continue? The way Thorneycroft sets up these scenes forces us to knowledge in which these terrible events have played, and continue to play out is the exact same world inhabited by children, and there is nothing necessarily protecting them from it, which brings me to my next point...
It is difficult to ignore that many of the scene's in "A People's History" depict things that have happened to children, such as in "Burning Braids" and "Coach". In most cases the children who experienced these ugly things endured them for quite a while before anything was known or done about them. Children have different and sometimes limited ways with which to express what is going on with them--especially when they are very young; play is one of those forms of expression, like the kind of play a child might engage in with dolls like the one's used in these scenes.

Consuming and Re-using

Thursday we watched the documentary Manufactured Landscapes. In the film, there were many scenes of workers in countries such as China and Bangladesh. Of these, there were several scenes of factory workers assembling small pieces for things that I assume we must use here in North America--or at least benefit from the use of. I was totally astounded by the speed of the workers hands--it was so amazing watching them work. I guess if you're doing something hundreds of time a day eventually you just develop muscle memory and don't even have to think about the movements that you're making.
Whenever I examine something with tiny parts, or that looks like it would be hard to put together, I try to tell myself that it was mostly made by machines, and maybe sometimes that's true, but chances are that many times it is not. A lot of the things that we buy and use in North America come from China and other countries where they are assembled in sweat shops by people working in not-ideal conditions, and for very little pay, who have no other options.
I have to get a new battery for my computer soon, and as I watched all the scenes of workers taking apart and processing e-waste I thought about how my old battery would probably end up in one of those places, contributing to the pollution of the water and the health risks of the workers.
Various workers in various factories in some far off country probably sat crouched over work tables assembling all the different tiny pieces of my computer, and my old battery will soon be being taken apart and disposed of by workers in similar conditions, risking their health and the health of their communities...all so that I can take notes during lectures and type up my essays and stay in touch with my family.
This all got me thinking about wastefulness, and how we usually recycle things, we kind of try and reduce, but I don't think we re-use enough. When something breaks, or starts to wear down, I find people often just throw it away and get something new instead of trying to fix it or make something out of it. I know more people here in Sackville than I have anywhere else who have more of a tendency to re-use old things, and that's great. I think we need to keep encouraging it, though, and think of new ways to do it, acquire new skills, etc. As well, I think we really need to educate ourselves more about where we can go to purchase ethically made things. I think when we hear about issues like these we feel overwhelmed because we are each only one person (yes, I know, this has been said a thousand times, but bear with me), and sometimes it seems we are being asked to overhaul our entire lives overnight--but I don't think that's how it must be done. I think if we start small we can slowly change the way we live our lives to leave less of a negative footprint on the world. Some people do go out and change their whole lives for these reasons, and that is amazing and inspiring, but for those of use who feel too overwhelmed by all the information to do that, maybe we can start small and work our way up, making sense of smaller bits of information as we go.

Relationships to the Land in Art and Literature

I wasn't sure what I should expect from the guest lecture on Tuesday, but it turned out to be a really interesting and unique look at landscape art, and representations of the land. I found it to be very informative, and well-rounded, and it was cool to get a perspective that was a bit different than a purely art-history-oriented approach.
Something I thought was particularly interesting was the ways in which artistic representations of the land were said to demonstrate in some way the relationship that the artist or the society at the time felt they had to the land. This reminded me instantly of the diverse ways that nature has been depicted in literature. For example, the Romantics felt that the divine was eminent in the beauty nature, and that through communing with nature one could become more in touch with God; in their poetry elevated diction is used in lengthy descriptions of nature scenes, which are depicted as awe-fully beautiful. However, the Canadian Modernists, when they included nature in their writing, usually depicted it as wild, harsh and unforgiving--sometimes even cruel, and not something to be communed with at all.

Anyway, it was very interesting to see such a variety of representations of landscape, and the think about humankind's relationship to the land as one that shifts in that way.

Facing My Fear of Joyce Wieland's Self-Portraits

On Thursday, Professor Kelley elaborated on her expectations for our essays. I was already pretty sure that the topic of "preforming the self" would be of the most interest to me. It was left very open as to how we could interpret the topics, but Professor Kelley gave Joyce Wieland as an example of a good artist to to do for the topic I had chosen.
I immediately had the thought that I didn't want to do that--that I would find someone else to do my essay on. Later, as I found myself unable to think of anyone I thought I would rather write about for the topic, I returned to Joyce Wieland. I agreed that she would probably be a good subject for the paper, but for some reason I felt strongly that I didn't want to write about her; It was not because I didn't admire or appreciate her work. I had to ask myself, why did I feel such a strong aversion to writing my "preforming the self" essay on this particular artist.
Upon further reflection--much of which was done on a long car ride, where I think best--I realized why I most likely feel this way; we learned in class about a few of Joyce Wieland's struggles, and how she split up from Micheal Snow, never having been able to have a child, with him re-marrying and having a kid with his new wife, and then how she suffered from Alzheimer's. 
I feel guilty about thinking so much on these aspects of her story, because I often find myself getting annoyed that women writer's, artists, etc. are too sometimes judged more by their personal lives then by their body of work, and I certainly do not want to perpetuate that.
I wouldn't be surprised if that feeling of not wanting to study Wieland's self-portraits has something to do with the fact that all those things that happened to her are things that I am afraid of happening to me, and I'm probably not alone in this.

This is why I have chosen to research Joyce Wieland for my "preforming the self" essay. I think about what a self portrait is, and what I am doing when I make a self-portrait. I wonder about the function of Wieland's self portraits; are they ways of re-interpreting her identity in the wake of struggle and loss, a way of facing the effects those things have had on her, a little of both, or something completely different. Anyhow, if Joyce Wieland was able to face herself enough to paint a self-portrait, then I better well be able to--and I think that I might learn a thing or two.

Thoughts on Alex Colville...

In class today, we looked at many examples of Alex Colville's work, as well as some of Christopher and Mary Pratt's work.
Both as an amateur artist and as an appreciator of art I greatly admire Colville's technique, and the way that it shapes the viewing experience of his work. I appreciate the precise use of geometry in his composition, as well as the unique angles that he chooses; these things seem to urge the viewer to engage with his work even in some cases where the subject matter is not quite as interesting (and doesn't "do much for me" either). There are still other cases, though, where his intriguing choice of angles and use of geometry combine with more subject matter and scenes that I find much more interesting (such as in his painting "Horse and Train"), which makes his work really incredible.
I really like the over-all "vibe" or feeling that I get when viewing Alex Colville's work; I definitely recognize that feeling of "dread" that was discussed in class. In most of his paintings I find there's this sense of the-calm-before-the-storm, and though most visual art doesn't make noise, his scenes--to me--seem especially quite, and still...maybe even heavy, if that makes sense. I think his use of geometry, unique angles, and lack of colour saturation really contribute to this.
There are many aspects of Colville's work that a appreciate, but there is one tendency of his that I couldn't help noticing this afternoon, and which I find a little bit--I'm going to use the word annoying. That is the lack of diversity when it comes to his subjects. It was pointed out in class that his figures tend to be fairly generic, and I know that must be a purposeful way of achieving the effect that he is going for, but...I don't know; I just found myself becoming a bit irritated seeing painting after painting of white (probably middle class, given their setting and clothing), light-haired folks.

Of course, Alex Colville is a product of his time, and I realize he was mostly using his own family for models, and moreover it is doubtless that many painters, film makers, TV show creators, advertisers, and creators of other forms of media are also sorely lacking in racial or class diversity in their work both today and in the past. As well, I do not at all believe that Colville was trying to be discriminatory at all. Come to think of it, I'm not even necessarily arguing that his work would be better if it were any different, because a break in pattern of the generic white, middle-class figures--even in this day and age--might alter the experience of his paintings...All I'm saying is that Alex Colville has been called a regionalist, and I guess I just find myself feeling a bit annoyed that some parts of the "region" seem to be left out of his work. It might not even be fair of me to be making this criticism given the time that Colville began his career, and this certainly does not keep me from enjoying a lot of his work.

Blindness and "Projective Reconstruction" + the Nihlist Spasm Band

Murray Favro, "Synthetic Lake"

As we discussed several images of Murray Favro's series of pieces, "Projective Resconstruction", I couldn't keep my mouth from falling open a couple times. I thought that both the intellectual process behind the works and the effort (both mental and physical) that it must have taken to plan them and carry them out must have been incredible. I thought that, but mostly, actually I was thinking--practically bouncing around in my seat, thinking how much better it would be to see these pieces in person, and wondering how I might possibly do that. I would especially love to see his piece, "Synthetic Lake", although choosing between that and "Van Gogh's Bedroom at Arles" would be difficult. I realized later that I kind of just assumed that along with the projection onto and the rolling of the canvas for "Synthetic Lake" there would be a audio track of waves crashing against a shore, but I don't know if that is the case. I think it would be pretty great, though.

I remember watching a movie once, in which there was a couple (a man and a woman), and the man was blind but then he had some kind of operation to restore his sight. After the operation was a success, he had to be slowly introduced to life as a seeing person because it was such a huge transition and all. The doctor showed him a picture of an apple on a magazine, and he was a little confused and kind of upset because it wasn't a real apple, and he wasn't used to representations of things, I guess--as a person who had not been able to see his whole life. I really wonder what he would have made out of "Projective Reconstruction". Before the surgery he may not have been confused at all by "Bedroom at Arles" or "Still Life" because he would have been able to feel something substantial with his hands, which might live up to the titles of the work--"Synthetic Lake" might have been a sufficient experience for him as a blind person feeling the work, but the gap between a seeing person's experience and his would be larger since the exact texture and shape of the waves is mostly visual. After the operation, given that he was no longer permitted to touch the work or get too close, both "Bedroom at Arles" and "Still Life" might not be very confusing for him at a glance, but he might not be able to grasp that what he saw was not what was actually there--not very shortly after having the surgery, anyway. "Synthetic Lake", however might have been quite confusing, since it is quite obvious because of the mechanisms visible under the rolling canvas, and the containment of the water, and yet the movement and realism of the lake. Obviously I have no experience or education on the phenomenon of the effects of regaining sight on people who were once blind, or how that might manifest in the setting of an art exhibition like this; these are just my speculations.

Returning to the subject of my itching to see these pieces in person, as a substitute I decided that it would still be pretty great if I could find a video of "Synthetic Lake", but I searched Youtube to no avail. I did, however, find this video of the Nihilist Spasm Band playing a song entitled "Ode to Murray Favro". I guess I kept wanting the words to mean something, although given their music is kind of related to the Dada movement, I suppose the words aren't meant to mean anything...I liked the noise, though (but I'm not sure how much of it is due to the quality of the video).