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I entered the Queer Arts Festival’s opening gala art show, Trigger: Drawing The Line in 2015, not knowing what to expect. I’d attended an all-girl Catholic school for 13 years, where topics of sexuality and DIY gender were rendered taboo and offensive. Though a socially-conscious liberal arts education later broadened my initial black and white worldview, I was still unsure how I’d react to an exhibit specifically aimed at ‘triggering” its visitors with challenging, explicit artwork.
Equal parts community education and artistic expressionism, it’s easy to see why this exhibit attracts a diverse audience of all sexual orientations. Personal narratives by local and international artists highlighted some of the Queer community’s trials and triumphs, both historic and contemporary. Many artists incorporated mixed media and found objects into their work, making their stories more tangible and connected to the community at large. Curated by SD Holman, the show drew from and contributed to a long history of powerful sociopolitical arts activism through interactive performance and visual art.
I was especially impressed by Coral Short’s emotionally-laden opening performance art piece, Stop Beating Yourself Up, and Amy Dame’s thought provoking series, Fallen Heroes: Drawing the Line. As Short, armed with a pair of boxing gloves, (literally) beat herself up on stage, I was reminded of Fight Club’s unnamed protagonist, the Narrator, and his fight against his own inner demons. Meanwhile, Dame’s intricately sewn portraits invited the public to draw–or, rather, sew–their own lines across the faces of well-known Queer personalities using bright red thread. Dame’s “lines” examined the difference between shame and admiration: When can a person no longer be viewed as a role model? How far is too far?
By placing works by more than 15 radically different artists side by side, the exhibition explored some of the challenges continually faced by those who identify as Queer. From navigating identity politics to resisting ongoing violence and discrimination, the Queer community has always pushed boundaries in order to produce exciting, provocative and edgy art; Trigger: Drawing the Line in 2015 is no exception.
Trigger: Drawing The Line in 2015 (SD Holman) runs until August 7 at Yaletown Roundhouse Community Center, and is by donation. For a full listing of Queer Arts Festival events, visit the QAF website.
When I first read the summary of Cosmophony, a collaboration between the Queer Arts Festival and the Powell Street Festival, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. After all, how is an auditory representation of space manifested? How does one describe space and the cosmos through music, much less through music played only on a piano by a single artist? Would it be an epic space theme a la Star Wars‘ opening credits? Or an ethereal and ominous soundtrack that captures the vast darkness that is our universe?
Earth, photo by NASA
It turns out, it was much more than that. Pianist Rachel Kiyo Iwaasa commissioned 11 Canadian composers to create this beautiful musical journey through our solar system. Each composer focused on a different planet or space entity. The result was that each planet sparked in its audience a different affect and atmosphere. However, through Iwaasa’s beautiful and skillful musicianship, each composition was tied to the next in a cohesive performance that felt perfectly natural. Iwaasa truly managed to do justice to each and every piece she played, holding the audience captivated for the full hour-long performance.
The performance took place in Firehall Arts Centre, a space with an intimate and communal atmosphere. The set was simple: Iwaasa at her piano, with a screen playing images of each planet as the backdrop. The audience’s full focus could be on the music being performed, with pieces by composers including Rodney Sharman, Marci Rabe, Alexander Pechenyuk, Jocelyn Morlock, Chris Kovarik, Jeffrey Ryan, Stefan Udell, and Jennifer Butler. The show opens with Denis Gougeon’s passionate Piano-Soleil. From the sun, we are taken through the planets, over epic Mercury and gentle Venus, over the Asteroid Belt described by Jordan Nobles’ Fragments, and over to Gliese 581c, a faraway planet that is one of the human race’s only shreds of hope for relocation once we burn through all of our own natural resources—a theme which composer Emily Doolittle depicts with great passion. The performance is not just a piano concert; it is a social commentary on the ways in which we abuse our own planet, as well as an exploration of not only the vast cosmos itself, but of the human race’s role in the solar system.
Mercury, photo by NASA
Through this journey, Cosmophony manages to encapsulate multiple themes: human awe at the vastness of space, the continued exploration of space, the mysteries of the cosmos, and the environmental havoc that we have wreaked upon our own planet. Whether you are a space buff, a classical music fan, a lover of community art, or a combination of the three, Iwaasa’s stellar performance and the beautiful collaboration of talent managed to create something that will speak to everyone.
In 19th century France, Paris Salons were the predominant way in which the bourgeoisie could view art. The Salons were heavily censored, as they were juried by the Academy of Fine Art. Pieces that were rejected by the Academy–pieces that didn’t uphold the standards of what constituted as ‘traditional’ art–were displayed in the Salon des Refusés. As a result, the Salon des Refusés of 1863 housed the works of many important Impressionist and Realist painters.
With this at the forefront of my mind, I had certain assumptions about what I would find at the Queer Art Festival’s Salon des Refusés, co-presented by Little Sister’s Book and Art Emporium. I was surprised to discover that Little Sister’s was, in fact, a sex shop. The show itself consisted of a single line of photographs hung on a wall above some objects depicting male and female figures performing erotic and sensual acts–nothing like the Salon I had expected to visit.
When Little Sister’s Book and Art Emporium was established in 1983, it sold banned magazines and books to the gay, lesbian, and bisexual communities of Vancouver. Since then, Little Sister’s has become a landmark case for the Supreme Court of Canada in the fight against censorship and discrimination; the history of the shop itself can be seen as avant-garde. Once I realized this, it became increasingly obvious that the exhibition wasn’t meant to be a literal translation of the original Salon; instead, it represents the values and intellectual freedom associated with the Salon des Refusés. Salons–whether they take place in a sex shop or not–challenge the way in which viewers engage with art by placing it into an unexpected context.
Just as Impressionist painters began to observe the world using light and colour, Salons provide visitors with an opportunity to alter their perceptions of how art ‘should’ be viewed. The viewer’s gaze shifts from a pair of handcuffs to a black and white photograph of a man in bed, then back to a 16” double dong. In this way, looking at sex objects and looking at art become parallel acts, such that ‘art’ is translated into the vernacular. In this context, art becomes widely accessible in a way that the works displayed in the traditional Paris Salons never were.
Salon des Refusés runs until August 7 at Little Sister’s Book and Art Emporium. For a full listing of Queer Arts Festival events, check out the festival website.
When I first met international Queer performance artist Coral Short at the Queer Arts Festival’s opening art party, she was wearing boxing shorts and a determined expression. Donning her gloves, she walked onto stage and began to perform her opening piece, Stop Beating Yourself Up, a literal boxing match fought entirely–and mercilessly–against herself. When I met Short a few days later for our interview, she was a radically different person. Relaxed, smiling, and as I discovered later, a little concussed, Short was nothing like the fierce fighter I remembered from a few nights ago.
As we talked performance, meditation, and travel over afternoon coffee, I realized that Short is actually both of these people: open and friendly, but also strong and, honestly, intimidating. Despite her gentle nature, Short clearly has no problem being ruthless when it comes to what really matters: creating powerful, boundary-pushing art.
Coral Short performs Stop Beating Yourself Up, photo by Katie Stewart
SAD Mag: You first performed Stop Beating Yourself Up in 2013 at Edgy Women in Montreal. In a recent interview with Daily Xtra, you said that you chose to add some modifications to the piece for this year’s performance: decreasing the length from the original three hours to one and keeping a paramedic on hand. Why did you choose to perform the piece again, if it was so damaging the first time?
Coral Short: I actually never wanted to do this piece again, but Artistic Director SD Holman, through the General Manager, Elliott Hearte, really wanted me to do the piece and offered to fly me out here. And my little sister Amber just had a baby–the first baby in the Short family, so I said, “Okay, I’m going to do this for this nephew.”
SM: You mean, beat yourself up for her child?
CS: Basically! After [the performance] I sent my sister a text that said, “This will make a good story one day, but my head really hurts.”
SM: Did you get anything new out of repeating your performance? Has your original intention or relationship to the piece changed since 2013?
CS: I think it did. The first time I did it, I didn’t do it with full body awareness. Since that time I’ve been to three vipassanas–ten day silent retreats–and I have a daily meditation practice. Being more inside my body than I used to, [the performance] was more impactual on the cellular structure than it did originally. Each time has been a ritual, but I think this [time] was more like a closure: “I will stop doing this now–stop doing this very literal performance–stop beating myself up.” We all need to move forward from this internal struggle, myself included!
It’s also really, really hard on the audience. This performance, people are more with me than any other performance I’ve ever done. They’re horrified, but they’re with me. There’s blood spurting out of me, but people try to stay the course with me. Psychologically, it’s really hard on people. I can’t make eye contact with them, so I have to look at the wall or the cameras or the floor. I’m a channel for the audience–a visceral symbol for the struggle inside themselves.
They want to protect me–they want to stop me. But no one does. When I first did the piece in 2013, I was asked by my curator, “What if someone stops you?” And I said, “It will just become part of the piece.” But no one stopped me then, and no one stopped me now. I think the audience becomes transfixed with a hypnotic morbid fascination.
Photo by Katie Stewart
SM: Do you think that’s because it’s art, or do you think that’s just human nature?
CS: I think there’s a “This is art” thing going on. But, I think if someone would have tried to stop me, I would have stopped. I think all it would take is just one person.
I think people almost want to see it play out. If you look back across humanity, or to Game of Thrones, there’s always been a love of fighting and blood. The fighting pits, the colosseum, the beheadings –I think there’s an element of humanity that wants to see that. Blood is powerful.
SM: In addition to performing at the festival’s opening party, you also curated a film night this year called TRIGGER WARNING. How did you find the “fearless Queer video art” for that event?
CS: I travel a lot. I have about ten home bases. I move with a lot of ease in the world due to the privilege of being a triple passport holder. I have all these different communities that I have lived and worked in, so I meet so many more creators than the average person. While I’m moving, I talk to other curators, interact with other festivals, other artists, everywhere I go. I come across incredible filmmakers some of whom I have been working with for almost a decade. I’m part of a huge Queer network of cultural producers in Asia, North America and Europe who I can reach out to at any time on the internet. We are all there for each other.
Photo by Katie Stewart
SM: And how did you choose which ones to include? What qualified the videos as too triggering–or not triggering enough–for the event?
CS: It’s actually really hard to find triggering work. I cut out pieces that I found problematic in terms of race and trans issues. I didn’t want anyone to feel unwelcome in the space. In the end, I created a bill that I felt comfortable with and I felt other people would be comfortable with, but there were definitely pieces that push the limit in terms of sexuality.
SM: Were there a lot of strong reactions?
CS: Well, actually it’s funny, I feel like my bill was not triggering enough. Perhaps I have to try harder! There was blood and piss and someone kissing their parents and performance art on the verge of self harm. But it was a fine line, because I didn’t want to make anyone feel so uncomfortable that they would walk off in a bad state alone into the world.
SM: What’s been your experience as someone who works both with film and performance? Do you think people react very differently to the two art forms?
CS: I think people are wary of performance art, because they feel that it’s an unpredictable medium–which it is – that is the joy of it! A lot of my video curations make performance art more palatable in a way. And video makes it possible to get all these artists with dynamic personalities from different locations on one bill. That’s why I love video: all that talent within three minutes. It’s amazing. For example: Morgan M Page, Eduardo Resrepo, and local artist Jade Yumang.
Photo by Katie Stewart
SM: In that same Daily Xtra interview, you refer to Vancouver culture as “very PC compared to the east coast,” and in another interview with Edgy Women, you describe Montreal as “one of the few remaining metropolises that is affordable to live cheaply and create art.” Vancouver culture receives a lot of this sort of criticism–among the well known, of course, is the Economist‘srecent inclusion of Vancouver in the list of “mind-numbingly boring” cities. Do you think our attitude will ever change, or are we forever doomed to be small-minded, unaffordable and ultimately, boring?
CS: I feel like the Vancouver art community is thriving these days! There’s been a much needed show of city support: a bunch of money given to VIVO and the art organizations in that area. There seems to be some new stuff happening; there’s always some great work. I always like to find out what’s happening here–who the new upcoming artists are, like Emilio Rojas, Helen Reed and Hannah Jickling.
Photo by Katie Stewart
SM: Obviously you’re familiar with the theme of this year’s festival: drawing the line. As a performer and artist, you’ve crossed many lines: from hole-puppet protests to physical self-abuse, you don’t seem afraid to “go too far” when it comes to your craft. This might be cliche, but where (if ever) do you draw the line? And why?
CS: When I was a young artist, I used to repeat some kind of mantra that went something like this: to keep pushing through my limits to go to the other side. I really wanted that to be my work: to not be afraid of anything. Push it as far as you can go and then push it farther. That’s where it begins and where my practice has grown – when I take risks and walk my own path.
But my artistic practice has changed since I did vipassana. I’ve started to make places for people to sit down, because people want to relax; it’s a really fast-paced life. So I made a giant, portable nest. I give people rides with these brown, velvet cushions while they hold this egg, and they become very birdlike. People love to sit in it. I’ve also started making this incredible earth furniture that is opulently growing with plants on radical faerie sanctuary land in Vermont and at IDA. I’m building places for people to repose, relax and be comfortable.
Photos courtesy of Nikol Mikus
SM: Is this experience of comfort something you’re trying to communicate in your art? Is that your intention?
CS: I think it just kind of happened. I have almost 15 years of sobriety, and each year I grow into my body and cellular structure a little more. That’s coming through in my work. It’s all tied into meditation and slowing down. The Queer scene is soaked in substances and lack of self-awareness, so living inside our bodies as queers is revolutionary. Self-love is radical.
The Vancouver Queer Arts Festival runs from July 23 – August 7. Event listings are available on the festival website. For more information about Coral Short, follow her on Twitter and Facebook, or visit her website.
For the past seven years Vancouver has been home to the Queer Arts Festival. Originally a small community event, QAF has grown dramatically since it’s inception. It now celebrates a wide range of artistic expression—visual art exhibitions, musical performances, and workshops. Held at the Roundhouse Community Arts & Recreation Centre in downtown Vancouver, the festival continues to challenge gender and sexual norms through unabashed, intimate Queer art.
Must-Sees for the 2015 Queer Arts Festival
By Sad Mag
Queer catholic schoolgirls, musical queens, and everything in between—this year's festival is absolutely stacked. Finding it hard to choose? We've whittled things down to our five top picks, just for you.
TRIGGER: Drawing the Line in 2015
By Sad Mag
In 1990, a collection of Vancouver artists put together a boundary-pushing exhibit called “Drawing the Line”. Now, 25 years later, a curated exhibit of the same name pays honor to the spirit of the original project. The show pairs works by 19 different artists with ones from the 1990 exhibit.
Queerotica
By Sad Mag
Expect to be titillated by this evening of steamy, literary reads. Steeped in anti-censorship rhetoric—and of course, saucy scenarios—Queerotica is not to be missed!
Sister Mary’s a Dyke?!
By Sad Mag
This one woman show takes the classic coming of age story and queers it in a major way. Abby is a Catholic school girl who falls in love and is forced to reexamine everything she thought she knew. Drama, drama, drama!
A Queen’s Music: Reginald Mobley in Recital
By Sad Mag
Throughout history the amazing work of both gay composers and people of color has been nearly lost. In A Queen's Music, composer Reginald Mobley and musician Alexander Weimann stage some of the work that has been pushed aside for centuries.
Salon des Refusés
By Sad Mag
Not your grandma’s art exhibit! This community art show features a selection of explicit art by queer local talent. Its name pays homage to the Parisian Salon des Refusés of 1863. Held at Little Sister’s Book & Art Emporium, the exhibit is entirely by donation.
Still finding it hard to choose?
By Sad Mag
It's worth checking out QAF's Flex-Pass deal. Hit four shows for $69. Bring a friend (or three), or enjoy all four shows yourself—you deserve it!
The 2015 Queer Arts Festival runs from July 23 – August 7. For a full event listing, visit the QAF website.
Anders Nilsen is the Minneapolis-based cartoonist responsible for publishing a universally adored series of mini comics called Big Questions that features tiny birds with really deep thoughts on life. His newest book, Poetry is Useless, is a collection of images and doodles from the last several years of his personal sketchbooks. There are no birds in Poetry is Useless, but there are a lot of big questions—about art, why we make art, how we value it, and what it means to be an artist. Marc Bell is a Canadian cartoonist and fine artist who is perhaps most well-known for blurring the line between fine art and doodling. After four years of working in the art world, he’s made what everyone (who knows anything) is calling a “triumphant” return to the world of graphic narrative by publishing Stroppy—a madcap adventure tale about a song writing contest gone wrong. Stroppy also has thoughts on poetry.
Anders Nilsen by Anders Nilsen, Courtesy of Anders NilsenMarc Bell by Marc Bell, Courtesy of Marc Bell
Nilsen and Bell are at Lucky’s Comics in Vancouver on July 17th at 7:00 pm to launch their respective books. Shannon Tien from Sad Mag had the chance to talk to them about authenticity, capitalism, and self-help for writers, among other things. The best of their lengthy phone call is what follows:
Shannon Tien: Something that I think ties both of your books together is thinking about the process of creating art, or poetry specifically. How do your philosophies cross over or differ on this subject?
Anders Nilsen: Boy, that’s a tough one.
ST: It’s a heavy question to start with. I’m sorry.
AN: [laughing] I don’t know if I could do a capsule description of Marc’s philosophy. What do you think Marc?
Marc Bell: Well we made our books independently, but somehow they both ended up referencing poetry.
AN: That’s true.
MB: We did a tour together a few years ago so this is like a reunion tour…I don’t know how to answer that question either [laughing].
AN: I mean I think we both have a little off-the-cuff playfulness in our work. And probably a little—I don’t know how to put this—a little snottiness or something?
MB: Yeah we’re both sarcastic when we reference poetry.
I like writing poetry if I know it doesn’t have to be good. So for example I wrote Clancy the Poet’s poetry and that was super fun because I could do whatever I wanted and I didn’t have to worry if it was good or not. I could write reams and reams of Clancy’s poetry.
ST: But I love Clancy’s poetry!
MB: Right? It’s pretty good, in it’s way.
AN: I think it’s actually extremely deep.
But I think we’re both artists and we’ve both planted ourselves in that existence, but we’re both a little sceptical and like to make fun of ourselves…and the potential for being pretentious.
MB: Yeah and then I can’t exactly knock poetry so much because I do all these drawings and they have random text in them. They’re sort of poetry. Like my stuff is not that far from poetry really.
AN: Yeah, so I think we’re both sort of making fun of the thing we’re also actually doing.
MB: [laughing] Yeah, you got it.
AN: I actually sort of think of my book as my poetry collection, if there is such a thing, you know, making comics.
Clancy Recites a Poem from Stroppy by Marc Bell
ST: Ok. I guess I was thinking that Clancy, he’s a poet, and all his poetry ends up doing for him is…
MB: He’s sort of co-opted by the Schnauzers.
ST: Right. So it’s like the opposite of the idea that poetry can save you.
MB: He was against the song contest idea. He was against all of it. But I don’t want to ruin the end! There’s a twist to the story.
AN: Basically, poetry is a tool of the oppressor and we’re both in revolutionary mode against the aggressor. Right Marc?
MB: That’s it, exactly.
AN: Capitalism.
MB: Society!
Refer to Clancy’s poem called “Society”.
ST: Okay so this is more a question for Anders, but your book is fragments of your old sketchbooks. What ties the fragments together?
AN: Really the only thing that ties the fragments together is the fact that they all were in my sketchbooks. They were all just things that either kind of happened or ideas I had that were worth putting down but not worth turning into an actual book.
Poetry is Useless by Anders Nilsen
ST: And how many years back does it stretch?
AN: I think the oldest pieces in the book are probably from 2008. There are 22 or 24 books. There’s a funny thing about sketchbook collections because you know that they’re sort of bullshit a little. You know the artist is editing a little and not showing you the really crappy pages, which I’m not showing you either. So each of those notebooks, there’s maybe 6, 7, 8, or maybe 10 pages from each of them.
MB: We did a couple crappy pages in one of them.
AN: Yeah last time we went on tour together we made some crappy pages together and I didn’t show those. We promise to be better on this tour.
ST: Speaking of editing, what’s the point of leaving your editorial marks in the published version of your sketchbook?
AN: I try to maintain readability. So if there’s so much crossing out that it feels like it’s going to make it hard for the reader to understand what I’m writing, then I clean it up a little with Photoshop. But in general, it is my sketchbook so part of what may be appealing about it is the fact that it’s a record of me kind of thinking out loud, on the page. So the mistakes are an important part of that.
Also, part of that work is me responding to my own process. So as I’m doing a drawing and then it turns to shit, I sort of have this idea that I want to still turn that page into an interesting page if I can. So if it goes in a weird direction, I want to try to work within the stakes of those unexpected failures.
ST: One of your stick figures in the book asks how to maintain authenticity after the death of the author. Does this sketchbook have anything to do with that question?
AN: [laughing] Ah, you’re probably calling me out for not being as smart as I pretend to be.
Poetry is Useless by Anders Nilsen
ST: But it’s a good thing to think about.
AN: I mean, I sort of don’t believe in authenticity and, you know, the sketchbook has a sort of fake authenticity, as I was saying…you always wonder what’s getting edited out and you’re always getting this sort of idealized view of the artist’s supposed candid moments, which is partly why I’m showing the whole spread of the sketchbook, to show that I’m not picking and choosing the little bits, but the truth is I am. I am not showing the crappy pages. It is work for a finished book. So yeah I think authenticity is highly overrated.
ST: What gave you the idea to draw the back of people’s heads for their portraits? Are they people you know?
AN: Some of them are people I know, but a lot of times when I’m in an audience, like at a poetry reading [laughing], or other events with live speakers, I just want something for my eyes and my hands to do, so I’m drawing them. And also when I’m in public, I don’t always want people to notice, so it’s easier if they’re turned away from me a little bit. I guess I’m a little bit of a coward.
MB: A poet and a coward.
AN: All poets are cowards.
It’s sort of funny. People’s hairdos are really fascinating to draw, as are ears.
ST: I think because you can’t look at the back of your own head, it’s like the most vulnerable part of your appearance.
AN: Yeah sure. That’s a nice idea.
ST: So if poetry is dead, comics are…
AN: Um…stupid?
Actually comics are fucking awesome.
ST: What would you say Marc?
MB: STUPID!
ST: How was the transition moving back to narrative, Marc, after working in the art world for a while?
MB: It was difficult. I’ve mentioned this in a few interviews I think, but I was kind of scared and I started reading self-help books. The equivalent of a writer’s self-help, or if someone wants to get into the film or TV industry, this is the equivalent of self-help books, like books about writing screenplays. They sort of helped, I think.
ST: Do you mind me asking which ones?
MB: I wish I could remember the titles. One I looked at, it was very basic. It was just about the 20 different kinds of stories people tell.
AN: Which number is Stroppy?
MB: Oh man. I don’t even know if Stroppy…
AN: Maybe it’s 22.
MB: Maybe it’s 23. I made a new form of story for Stroppy.
AN: By the way my new graphic novel is going to be number 16, so…
Stroppy by Marc Bell
ST: Oh yeah? Is this book called STORY? Because I feel like I was reading the exact same book earlier this year when I was trying to write a novel.
MB: That could be it. Was it an orange book?
AN: Marc doesn’t care about titles. He only remembers the colours of books.
MB: Not interested in titles!
ST: No, mine was purple.
MB: Maybe it was a different edition! They were like the orange one didn’t sell so let’s throw purple on there. People LOVE purple.
Did it help you with your novel?
ST: No, not really.
MB: Well I actually wanted to try and find a formula to follow, but I couldn’t quite figure out how to do that.
AN: I’m trying to find a formula too. And I was thinking of inserting one of Hans Christen Andersen’s tales into my new graphic novel.
ST: Oh yeah! That would be great. He’s a weirdo. So the formula didn’t work out for you Marc. Did any other self-help books help you with building narrative?
MB: Oh no. There was one I was supposed to read…
AN: The Bible?
MB: [laughing] No. I never got around to reading the one I was supposed to read. I just started.
ST: Well, I think it turned out well. I like Stroppy.
Nancy Lee and Kiran Bhumber are the creative brains behind Pendula, an interactive art installation that uses the movement of swings to create music and projections, which premiered at Vancouver’s 2015 Jazz Festival. Nancy, the swing set builder, is a VJ, filmmaker and new media artist. Kiran, the music programmer, is a composer and performer whose artistic interests lay at the intersection of technology and music. Below, Sad Mag’s Shannon Tien talks to the duo about agency in art, teamwork, and the community value of swing sets.
Still from Pendula by Nancy Lee and Kiran Bhumber
Shannon Tien: Tell me about Pendula.
Nancy Lee: Pendula is a multimedia, audio-visual, interactive installation. We use both hardware and software to take the swinging motion and turn them into audio or visual parameters, which means their effects that can be seen and heard during our installation. Using swing sets.
ST: How did this idea come together? What was the inspiration behind it?
NL: I started building outdoor swing sets as a public interactive installation piece. And then I did an event where I installed 8 swing sets indoors during an electronic music night that I organized. And there I met Kiran for the first time–Kiran was there swinging on the swings. And at that time she thought, “Hey, maybe we could make this swing into an interactive piece.” I’d also had projections installed. At that time it wasn’t an interactive piece, I just had projections over the swing area.
And then we later met again at New Forms festival working as production assistant volunteers. And that’s when we had time to sit down and talk about the project and our vision for it. The swing set I had at the event wasn’t my full vision that I had for it in my mind. I wanted the projections to reflect the social interactions that happened within the swinging area.
Kiran Bhumber: Having seen the swings at Nancy’s party, not interactive, I was very inspired by the idea of making the visuals interactive and also adding audio elements [and a] musical performance element, which was amalgamated into the installation at Jazz Fest. We had a musical performance at the top of every hour where I played clarinet and we had a cellist and I programmed the swings to be an actual instrument and act as an effects pedal. We had the swings changing the sounds of these acoustic instruments.
Still from Pendula by Nancy Lee and Kiran Bhumber
ST: What was the timeline for this project to come to total fruition?
NL: About 8 months on and off.
ST: Can you tell me about the experience of performing it at Jazz Fest? Was anyone allowed to go in and swing?
NL: Yeah, after every performance, we invited people to come use the swing sets. And it was interesting, during the performance, because I’m playing the swings, it was interesting to see people’s facial expressions, how they reacted to the piece. You could see their “aha!” moments when they figured out what the swings were actually doing. I enjoyed seeing that moment.
ST: And how did you start working with swings? I’m just wondering because there used to be a public installation by my bus stop in Montreal where swings played different musical tones.
NL: Oh yeah I’ve heard of that! I started working with swings because I like climbing trees and I like building things out doors. Swings are kind of an easy thing to build. You just need rope. And I was dumpster diving and salvaging construction wood that I would use for swing seats. It costs very little to build a swing and the kind of return you get for the community or user is so much greater than the financial cost of building it. It is a really great investment for the community to build swing sets. You generate so much joy from it.
Usually we’re used to art installations being behind glass or a “do not touch area”. There’s a very definitive boundary between the observer and the art piece. And with this swing set, people do come up to us and ask, “Are we allowed to touch it?” But when people can play on the swing set they kind of become the piece. And some of the people who were using the swing sets, they kind of understood that, you know, “I’m becoming a part of the installation.”
KB: And also the addition of individuals on each swing. The piece is going to be different depending how many people are on the swings. So, the social adaptation and amalgamation of their swinging motion to create more aspects of the piece.
NL: We have three swing sets, so they’re kind of a three-piece ensemble. And [the people] all play the swings in a different way so the collective audio-visual output is different every single time.
ST: Did anybody get really into it at Jazz Fest?
NL: I think at the Jazz Fest, because of the setting, people were into figuring out the swings. People tested out different things. I think with public art installations, people are still pretty shy. People were more into figuring out how it worked than playing it as an instrument.
Still from Pendula by Nancy Lee and Kiran Bhumber
ST: Is this the first time you’ve set this piece up?
NL: It’s the first time that we’ve done the three swing sets with the audio and visual.
KB: It’s been challenging incorporating the audio into a space that will allow it. So there’s no sound bleed. That’s an issue we had with Jazz Fest as well. The previous installs have been just visual because of that.
ST: How did you overcome that challenge at Jazz Fest?
KB: We got bigger speakers. ST: Have you two collaborated before?
NL: This is our first collaboration together, but this is just the beginning of something. We plan to do more interactive musical pieces and performance pieces as well. We have so many ideas in our head that we would definitely like to explore in the future.
ST: Do you have any upcoming events?
KB: I just had my upcoming event today actually. I curated a show for Jazz Fest that was all based on interactive works. So technology and music. But at this moment Nancy and I are going to Kamploops in a couple days to start working on a new project. It’s kind of more vague now. We’re just going to check out the site.
NL: It’ll also be interactive, but more on the exhibition side of things, rather than a performance.
Pendula was on exhibition in Vancouver June 20 and 21st as a part of the Vancouver Jazz Festival. Visit www.swingwithpendula.com for further information on the Pendula Exhibit, and www.coastaljazz.ca for more information on the festival.
This interview has been edited and condensed. Thank you to Jelissa at Classics Agency.
On Thursday, June 18, the front page of the Vancouver Sun illustrated the results of a recent Angus Reid poll of Vancouverites with four bright yellow emojis. One with the beaming smile represented “happy”; another, less enthused smiley stood for “comfortable,” another for “uncomfortable,” and finally, one for “miserable.” The poll focused on how Vancouver residents felt about their current housing and transportation situations. Someone with my demographics (a renter aged 18-34 with a university education) was apparently inclined to be thoroughly miserable. The “happy” category described my parents: retired with no daily commute and living in a mortgage free home purchased before 2000. Would I only achieve happiness in some kind of Freaky Friday scenario where I assumed the lives of the people who raised me?
Photo courtesy of Sagmeister Walsh
As luck would have it, I was headed to the Museum of Vancouver that night for a Happy Hour talk on Money and Happiness. Researcher Ashley Whillans, who works out of UBC Department of Psychology’s “Happy Lab”, presented her findings on the relationship between money, time and happiness in a twenty minute lecture. Her first core finding was that those who use money to outsource tasks they dread experience a boost in happiness. Technology has made it possible for those with the time and inclination to connect with those who are willing to pay for comfort. Whillans’ conclusion seems especially relevant given the rise of Uber and the sharing economy.
Maybe money can buy happiness after all? Whillans’ research certainly seems to suggest it does; she presented data from another study in which study participants demonstrated a greater increase in happiness when they spent money on others rather than on themselves. Interestingly, these participants were horrible at predicting what would make them happy. Given the choice between spending their money on themselves or on others, the majority predicted that spending the designated cash on themselves would yield the greatest boost in well-being, when just the opposite proved true. Perhaps I need to stop looking to Hollywood for happiness; the answer might be as simple as hiring someone to scrub my toilet next weekend while I treat my nearest and dearest to mimosas.
Ms. Whillans also referenced Vancouver’s last place ranking in a nationwide poll of happy cities, along with The Economist’s recent pronouncement that our city is “mind-numbingly boring”. Part of the mandate of the MOV’s Happy Hour talks is to foster dialogue and mingling amongst our citizens. The palatable length of the presentation and the presence of a bar created an informal vibe. But the true inspiration for the Happy Hour concept comes from the Museum’s current exhibit, Stefan Sagmeister: The Happy Show, curated by Claudia Gould. The exhibit, which opened on April 23 and runs until September 7, displays the award-winning Austrian designer’s decade long exploration of what happiness is and his own quest to attain it. With a giant inflatable monkey, walls covered in academic study results and clips from Sagmeister’s upcoming documentary The Happy Film, the multi-media show engages visitors in a myriad of ways. Museum-goers are invited to experience a personal journey towards happiness, filled with memories and musings unique to Sagmeister, but end up recognizing his yearning as their own. The exhibit taps into a universal struggle: it seems that as long as there have been people, people have had a problem being happy.
Courtesy: Museum of Vancouver
I may not have exited the museum that evening with a prescription for happiness, but I did have many new ideas to consider. My friend and I stood in a surprising summer rain shower and contemplated what bus route to take back to our rented apartments. A yellow taxi approached and without much deliberation, we hailed it. For a few dollars each we got to forgo a long damp ride on transit. As I watched our wet, boring city glide past from the back seat, I was happy. For a while, anyway.
Within the emerging movement of community queer choirs, Cor Flammae has a distinct voice. There are many opportunities for queer people to sing together, but not many opportunities for audiences to listen to a professional queer ensemble perform queer content. Cor Flammae performs both modern and historical classical music with the aim of shifting the assumed perspective from a hetero-normative one to a queer one.
Sad Mag sat down with Missy Clarkson, who founded the ensemble with her wife Amelia Pitt-Brooke, and friend Madeline Hannan-Leith to talk about the choir, upcoming concerts, and re-queering the world of classical music.
Cor Flammae, Photo by belle ancell photography
Sad Mag: When and why did you start Cor Flammae?
Missy Clarkson: We came to the idea two years ago when we attended the Queer Arts Festival. There was a lesbian opera called “When the Sun Comes Out” by Leslie Uyeda. We are into classical music and opera subscribers. We didn’t know what was going to happen with lesbian opera. We didn’t necessarily have expectations. But it was amazing. It was sweeping and grand, poignant and lovely, and not too sad–sometimes queer work is very lament-y. Many of us are in ensembles in the city, and we wanted that for choir.
SM: It sounds like there was a niche that needed to be filled, and you found it.
MC: We were surprised with how much momentum it had. There are a lot of places for queer people to sing together in the city, but there aren’t a lot of places where an audience can experience classical music at a professional level with a queer ear.
SM: What can audiences expect from a performance?
MC: Last year, we introduced ourselves as quite secular. We chose secular works because there is baggage with queerness and organized religion. It can be an unsafe space for queer people. Because there is rich religious traditions to choral music–it was written to be performed in churches for the most part–it is an interesting genre for queer people to be exploring and doing professionally. This year, we didn’t want to miss out on having that conversation so we’re approaching the relationship between the sacred and the profane through a queer perspective in our performances. Queers have not necessarily felt welcome to choral music because of the religious traditions associated with it that have often labeled the queer body as profane, obscene, or unholy. We want to show our audience queer spirituality–all the composers we’re performing were/are queer and many were/are devout.
We’re producing two concerts. One of them is at the beautiful St. Andrew’s Wesley Church where we’re performing the music in the place for which it was written. Then we’re taking the same works and performing the next night in a social play space–a bath house essentially. It’s hat tipping the bathhouse tradition of queerness. Canada’s queer history started because of the bathhouse riots in Toronto. Where the United States had Stonewall in 1969, Canada had Operation Soap in 1981. Police officers raided bathhouses and arrested about three hundred queer men just for being queer. The public didn’t take well to that, and thousands of people took to the streets and marched the next day. It was first pride parade in Canada essentially. Cor Flammae is interested in how the listening experience changes when we perform choral music, historically deeply spiritual music, in the historically queer space of a sex club like Club 8×6.
Photo by belle ancell photography
SM: The audience gets to experience the music in a religiously charged space and a politically charged space.
MC: Totally. Obviously the acoustics are different in each space. And there’s going to be a dance party in the sex club after the performance so it’ll be a little different for that reason. [Laughs.]
SM: What are you most looking forward to about the upcoming set of concerts?
MC: Our outfits! They are a secret still.
SM: Don’t say any more about the outfits. It will be a teaser. Who has been your favourite historical composer to revive through Cor Flammae?
MC: There are so many composers that are hotly contested by scholars. [Franz] Schubert has been an interesting one for us because he was probably bisexual. He was hanging with lots of ladies, and probably hanging with lots of guys too. It’s a scandal to bring it up with any of the scholars. Really straight, traditional scholars are like, “No, not my Schubert.” We’ve also rediscovered Ethel Smyth, who was known for opera choruses. She was friends with [Johannes] Brahms, and she also had a complicated relationship with Virginia Woolf. She was loud, proud, a suffragette, and an out lesbian. She was rich so that made it easier for her to be all over. She had privilege that afforded her opportunity. She got to spread her works around, and make out with everybody. [Laughs.]
We also work with living queer composers. Classical music celebrates the past more often so new works don’t get traction. People want to hear things they have heard before. They want to hear Beethoven’s Ninth [Choral Symphony]. New music is less sellable. Cor Flammae can combine these two worlds. We can celebrate the past and connect it to the present.
SM: How does your experience in Cor Flammae compare to your experience in other ensembles?
MC: It’s illuminating. The first time we got together as an ensemble after our auditions was at our photo shoot. We had oranges and brandy and hung out for hours getting makeup and hair done. There was comfort and understanding immediately. That’s translated to this year. We had our photo shoot a few weeks ago, and we were all half-naked. I don’t get half-naked in front of just anybody. The queerness factor causes that comfort and connection, and that relates to the music as well. People have said, “Oh, I didn’t know this person was queer or that person was queer.” It’s not mentioned elsewhere. When we were researching [Gian Carlo] Menotti’s “The Unicorn, the Gorgon, and the Manticore” to perform last year, we found queerness wasn’t mentioned in the scholarship. There’s a unicorn in it so it’s pretty gay already, but it’s the story of a weird guy in a castle who dares to parade around with his unicorn. It was written in 1956. It’s a very queer narrative. Any research we did seemed like it was grasping at heteronormative straws when the guy is clearly gay. Doing Menotti has been illuminating. Benjamin Britton has been illuminating. The way I listen to music has changed so that’s what I want to give our audiences.
SM: What music are you listening to right now?
MC: Personally, I mostly listen to music I’m going to perform so I can get it in my ear. We always make a playlist for our singers because we have limited rehearsals. We have seventy-five minutes of music in our upcoming concerts, and to build it up to the level it needs to be at, we have to work hard. I have to stay pretty focused with what I listen to. If I need to clean my ears out though, it’s almost always Beyoncé.
Photo by belle ancell photography
SM: Do you have a comment you would offer to queer performers of classical music? Maybe people who don’t live in the city or don’t know about a queer ensemble.
MC: This has been so freeing for us. We’re trying to be as visible as possible because visibility is a powerful tool in helping other people feel less alone. I’ve sung in choirs that are probably 30 per cent queer but don’t identify as a queer choir. Because of the connection in Cor Flammae, we feel less alone. My wife grew up in a musical family–her father was a choral conductor and her mother sang in choirs, but the women were taught to sing this and the men were taught to sing that. A women would have to wear a muumuu, and she could not wear a suit when she was more comfortable in a suit. We want to be visible so that everyone feels invited, even if they are not here. We’re pretty prevalent online, and we hope that we’re reaching people.
SM: You spoke earlier about the instant comfort and understanding your ensemble felt when you got together for your first photo shoot–that says it all. How has Cor Flammae affected your own queerness?
MC: It’s helped me articulate my own queerness. I’ve always identified as a chorister. I call myself a queerister now. It’s actually a thirteenth-century word that used to mean chorister. I feel like I’m different things that don’t necessarily intersect, and this ensemble helped with the intersection.
Cor Flammae’s concert set FALLEN ANGELS: Sacred + Profane Works will be at St. Andrew’s Wesley Church on July 17th, 2015 at 8pm and Club 8×6 on July 18th, 2015. Tickets go on sale June 1st 2015 at 10am. For more information, visit Cor Flammae’s webiste or subscribe to their mailing list.
When I first laid eyes on the works that comprised Kate Duncan’s ADDRESS Assembly, I felt that I had walked into someone’s home. A very stylish someone. Certainly not my home or any I’ve been in before, but definitely some place I would like to live, or at the very least visit. It looked like something from Pinterest, which for those who may be confused, is the highest form of compliment I could offer. A collection of things so beautiful, you’ll want to remember them when you finally have a grown-up home to decorate and a budget that allows you to shop somewhere other than IKEA.
Photo by Sagal Kahin
Mouth open and eyes wide, I resisted the urge to touch everything. Ceramics by Heydey Design were a highlight. Made to look as if woven from cloth or straw, they were so convincing that I felt obliged to touch them all and confirm that they really were made from porcelain. The Hendrik Lou blanket knit from wool and rope made me wish everybody else in the room would leave me to nap. The side table which doubled as a terrarium; the speckled Lissu Linen pillow cases; the thumbtack stools; the ring dishes–I wanted all of it, including the plants I know couldn’t ever actually keep alive.
The works complimented each other so well, one might have thought they were made to exist here in this sun filled space. Together these pieces, made by a collective of 15 makers and designers, brought outside in. So did the light, which flooded the room thanks to the Waterfall Building’s floor to (two-storey) ceiling windows. Wood. Leather. Clay. Wool. Glass. It was picture perfect, but approachable. All together or on their own, these were works I could see occupying spaces in which real people lived. And yet the rugs were so beautiful they forced me to wonder (a few times): are we supposed to take our shoes off?
ADDRESS is an assembly of designers/makers, deeply dedicated to their craft presenting expertise and exceptional work. The 12 day home and design show is part-gallery, part-pop-up shop, and part-showroom, curated and produced by Vancouver-based furniture designer/maker Kate Duncan. Located at the prestigious Waterfall Building, 1540 West 2nd Avenue, ADDRESS runs from May 20-31st 2015.
