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I’d never heard of Mungo Thomson before last Tuesday, when I stepped inside the air-conditioned lobby of the Contemporary Art Gallery for a break from Vancouver’s heatwave. In that cool recluse, I discovered Mungo Thomson: Time, People, Money, Crickets—a stunning compilation of some of the LA artist’s latest work—and now I can’t get his name, or the exhibit, out of my mind.
Time, People, Money, Crickets experiments with sound, film, print and space to create an interactive gallery experience. The exhibit features several large-scale mirror works from Thomson’s TIME series, a musical score based on the chirping of crickets (Crickets, 2012-2013), and my personal favourite: a 132-page collection of photographs of gallery visitors viewing seemingly invisible artworks (People, 2011).
June 25, 2001 (How the Universe Will End), 2012 March 6, 1995 (When Did the Universe Begin?), 2012 Enamel on low-iron mirror, poplar and anodized aluminum, Installation view, Gavin Brown’s Enterprise, New York
Expertly curated by Nigel Prince, the exhibition cleverly inverts roles of artist and visitor; photographer and model; creator and observer. Upon entering a large, white room, I found myself surrounded by mirrors emblazoned with the iconic TIME Magazine logo. The mirrors faced each other, creating an unending string of reflections. It was hard not to be self-conscious in that space; standing amid a hundred selfies, there were so many versions of myself that I began to feel claustrophobic. The experience was also distancing; I could feel my identity, my entire concept of self, becoming fainter and fainter with each subsequent reflection. Mirrors—I realized—reflect, but they also warp and obscure.
People, 2011 Full color magazine, 132 pages. Courtesy the artist.
A collection of open cardboard boxes stood, seemingly neglected, among the mirrors. Go ahead, grab one, a gallery attendant urged me. Inside was People: a magazine without words, filled with photographs of galleries without art. All that was left, of course, were the people themselves, caught in the act of observation—an act which, when the image has been removed, appears stranger and stranger with each turn of the page. Thomson did phenomenal work editing the photographs, and the effect is very striking. It was an eerie experience—observing people observing things—one that became even eerier when I realized that I, too, was being observed—not by others, but by my own, unending reflection.
December 26, 1969 (Is God Coming Back to Life?), 2012 February 5, 1996 (Is Anybody Out There?), 2013 Enamel on low-iron mirror with poplar and anodized aluminum. Installation view, Mungo Thomson: Time, People, Money, Crickets, SITE Santa Fe, 2013 Photo: Kate Russell
I ended my visit in a small room, almost hidden from view in a nook under the stairs. There I found Untitled (Margo Leavin Gallery, 1970–) (2009), a Super-16mm stop-motion film animation that flips through all the contacts in the business card rolodexes of Los Angeles’ Margo Leavin Gallery (founded in 1970 and closed in 2012). There was something very soothing about the sound of the softly shuffling slides and the repetitive nature of the footage; something meditative about revisiting this now archaic organizational tool. But there was also something disturbing about watching the index cards fall—it was so easy to forget what these cards represent. Before me, I realized, were hundreds of people, each with their own stories, relationships, roles: artists, framers, electricians, collectors, customs agents, florists, critics, exterminators. Untitledis not just an examination of some outdated technology, but an archive of real, three dimensional human beings. Just as the TIME mirrors emphasize and obscure the identity of the person they reflect, these index cards seemed to both celebrate and overlook the individuality of the people they document.
Shaken but inspired, I left the Contemporary Art Gallery and stepped back out into the July blaze. I noticed a chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the AC.
Organized by Contemporary Art Gallery, Vancouver and SITE Santa Fe, Time, People, Money, Crickets runs until August 30.
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.
Talking Heads is an interview column devoted to contemporary arts and culture in Vancouver. Once a month, Sad Mag‘s Helen Wong sits down with a couple of interesting, unique individuals to discuss a topic of her choosing. This month’s topic? The prevalent and renowned artist Paul Wong and the ubiquity of his mediums of choice.
Walking into Paul Wong’s studio is like walking into another, way cooler, dimension. Filled with an archive of televisions, recorders, monitors, and cameras; it’s every media artist’s dream. I got the chance to interview Paul about his latest projects for ISEA 2015 and Le Mois de la Photo in Montreal. It’s always interesting to hear the perspectives of other individuals, because although technology is something I do not have an affinity for, it’s a necessity for the expression of the self for Paul. He creates a notion of a new, cyber-connected, self-aware other that constitutes a way in which we can all participate in our world today.
Still, Rainbow Swirl by Paul Wong
Helen Wong: You primarily practice with digital media and video. How do you choose what to focus on when there are so many stimuli going off at one moment, in tandem with this being magnified by our society today?
Paul Wong: You have to make choices all the time; you are always subconsciously making a choice on what to see and focus on. You’re constantly filtering. What have I done today? Recently I’ve been playing with Generate, an app developed by Hybridity Media here in Vancouver. It allows artists to mix live and recorded visuals and sound. A significant event on social media today was the legalization of gay marriage in America. That’s a huge victory, especially at time of year, when the world celebrates Pride based on the Stonewall Riots that took place in June 1969 in NYC; the LGBT community fought back against the homophobic and discriminatory actions and raids at the Stonewall Bar. These are considered as landmark events for the gay rights movement. With this topic in mind, I took an image of the rainbow flag that MOMA posted and applied my favourite ‘swirl’ filter and mixed it with Marvin Gaye’s ‘Sexual Healing’. By doing this, I’m riffing on social media and it subsequently becomes today’s response to a significant moment. This also extends to my practice as I’m constantly thinking about colour, such as RGB and the colour bar. I’m working on a major public art commission, a neon that incorporates every possible colour available in hue form; every argon gas and every neon colour in direct reference to the idea of how the rainbow is a symbol for inclusion, diversity, and peace. This is how I incorporate the everyday into my work.
HW: In our society, there seems to be an incessant need to document and capture everything. Do you think this causes us to construct our own realities rather than live presently? How does this notion apply to your artistic practice?
PW: As an artist, I am conscious of the democratization of media; I’m given the tools to turn my eye/ camera away from the mainstream doctrine. Instead, I actively choose to turn the camera towards myself and my community in order to tell my own story and to share our thoughts and images. This has always been my politic. In this way, we are constructing ourselves as our own realities. It’s turned things upside down for mainstream media because we now have a multimillion-channel universe and we are no longer subjected to only 13 broadcast channels. Suddenly, whatever platform I decide to use becomes my own network to share, to take, to make, or inhale or exhale. In this regard, we’ve come a long way from Narcissus on his knees looking at his own reflection. What we see, what we get to make, and ways of looking and seeing are radically different than what it was in the past. We are no longer being fed information and images because the control on what we can or cannot see, what is true or untrue – this monopoly on cultural history – has radically shifted. It takes a lot more work but we are creating this new other.
HW: In this thread, you play on the idea of Bressai, a surrealist, who stated that the world of the real is continuously making art and that we become quiet observers. Do you view yourself shifting into this role as social media dominates?
PW: My practice is really based on observations and stories from everyday life: things that are immediately around me. What I find constantly around me includes the Internet. Looking Looping and Listening, Flash Memory, Year of GIF, and Solstice are four works that are covering shooting everyday stuff over the span of 6 years, its part of a larger body of work called the Multiverse.
HW: Video gives the notion of immediacy; do you feel hindered by how fast technology is changing? How do you continually adapt to new forms and modes?
PW: I don’t think technology is changing too fast at all, in fact I think technology is still very primitive. The fact that your phone wasn’t working the way it did an hour ago, theres no wifi in places, the wifi isn’t strong enough, you’re running out of memory, you have low battery, or the camera isn’t good enough, are evidence that it’s still primitive. Technology is not there; I’ve been waiting for the promise of technology for 40 years. The promise has been dangling in front of me for my entire life and career, to the point where it’s still a promise. The amount of time and money I spend on staff and resources, troubleshooting, rebuying, downloading, uploading, reconfiguring, upgrading, and updating on a weekly basis is insane. But on the other hand, the post photographic condition has been making the evolution from the analogue world to the promise of digital a possibility.
9 Full Moon Drawings by Paul Wong
HW: You’re presenting work at the ISEA 2015 (International Symposium of Electronic Art, August 14 to 19) are you able to tell me a little bit about your work? Or at least provide a little spoiler?
PW: We’re debuting a project we’ve been working on for a couple of years called the MIMMiC Mobile Interactive Modular Multiscreen iPad Canvas. Patrick Daggitt and I wanted to create a work for multiscreen, to synchronize and de-synchronize 9 iPads so that they can talk to each other using gestures in order to create something very interactive. The iPad hit the market in 2010 and the iPhone hit the market in 2007, so suddenly touchscreens have become our main form of interaction. We’ve gone from flipping pages to scrubbing, stroking, and feeling a screen. I was doing an interview via Skype on my iPad with this lovely young man and I realized after 45 minutes I was cradling and holding him as I was moving around my studio; it was a very beautiful, intimate experience that made me realize the possibilities of gesture. For the MIMMiC Project we are creating a work that allows one big image, 9 images or 9 parts to be manipulated by colour, timing, and sound, so that the viewer can construct their own work within the boundaries we set up. The first work ‘Westcoast Wave Cycle’ was shot in Tofino. We will be premiering this at ISEA along with demonstrations of three artists we have commissioned: Sammy Chien, who will be doing a sound based live performance; Evann Seibens, who is developing a work using the hand gestures of herself, her mother, and daughter; and Adam Myhiil with Christine Wallace, a cinematographer and a body builder, who will explore ideas of sculptural genderbending between form and content.
HW: The post photographic condition is the theme for Le Mois de la Photo [The International Biennial of the Contemporary Image in Montreal]; what do you think this condition is? Photography always has a hint of loss and death, so post photography is seemingly an attempt to reestablish the link between history and the present.
PW: With the recent improvements to the iPhone 6, its improved video and photo quality, along with the fact that I have 128MB, it has become my primary creative tool. I shoot all my video and photographs and edit them on my phone. The post photographic condition is letting go of the fact that photos need to be shot in high resolution, or with 300dpi for editorial; letting go of the fetishization of the big format photo which was never my thing anyway. Conventional print media of magazines and books are disappearing, not entirely, but there is huge distribution on the net and other media where you only need 72dpi. The post photographic condition is letting go of all those previous expectations of the former realms of analogue photographic practices. Instagram is a great platform; more people can see what I do than ever before and I can see their stuff too and I can do all this without leaving the bathroom or the bed!
HW: As a Chinese Canadian, I often find myself between two sets of identities, almost in a constant state of dislocation. Does this idea pertain to you? How do you remedy this?
PW: In reference to the letters, I find myself literally in between two languages! That is cultural difference. In 2014 I made a neon piece titled #hashtagplus. I put the symbol of the hashtag on a metal box in the shape of a plus sign. In this way I’m taking the current use of a hashtag and its initial use as a pound sign and paired it with the plus sign, which looks like a geometric piece of art, but can also look like a Chinese character. I took a successful symbol and addressed its different applications in its form and language and presented what it was and what it has become. It’s a comment on how you can make an art object out of an ephemeral stroke on your keyboard; to amplify it’s meaning was a very successful pop art thing to do.
#hashtagplus by Paul Wong
HW: You are known as one of the Main Street artists, how do you actively try to incorporate your Chinese heritage and Vancouver roots into your work?
PW: At the moment, I have someone who reads and writes Chinese organizing and translating 700 letters written to my mother over the last 50 years. There are over 100 writers in these letters so it becomes an interesting narrative between my mother in Vancouver and her relatives and friends in China. It’s a portrait of my mother and her generation woven around the absence of her direct voice; it’s a story of an extraordinary half century 1950-2000. I’m trying to navigate through all the interesting history, timelines and perspectives
I can’t read or write Chinese, and it gets tricky because I only understand a very specific regional dialect of Cantonese. I need a translator who can read and write to tell me what’s in these letters. The translator I have speaks Mandarin from Taiwan, and I also need a trilingual translator from Toisan. There is this concept where we communicate through common language, but the loss of language and what is further lost through translating illegible calligraphy makes it even more challenging and interesting.
I like the ambiguity.
HW: Seeing as summer solstice just occured, talk about your work Solstice in which you condense 24 hours into 24 minutes. How does the ability to manipulate time and cycles in such a way speak to the integration between technology and life?
PW: Solstice was a work based on the summer solstice a couple years ago; it was a camera recording out of the 4th floor building at Hastings and Main. It’s an observation of 24 hours. The camera took one frame every 10 seconds creating a series of still photos. I used an Aftereffects filter to fill in the missing information that happened in-between the 10 seconds. In this way, I’m using digital means to generate data to artificially fill in the gap between two real moments.
I find the human condition and the planet endlessly fascinating. We’re always trying to figure out who we are and our place in relationship to everything else. History, science, medicine, and capitalism all try to lay it out in a linear understandable fashion; however, it’s really such an abstract notion. So the fact that I can create moments of how I can look at you in another way is kind of cool. I can slow something down, I can alter the framing, I can position things in different contexts, and all these contribute to a reawakening of a whole other way of looking, listening and feeling.
In the end I am drawing with light, because that’s what I’m interested in: light.
Still, Solstice by Paul Wong
Find more of Paul’s work on his Facebook, his Instagram, and on his website. You can see more of #hashtagplus and Solstice here and here.
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.
Talking Heads is an interview column devoted to contemporary arts and culture in Vancouver. Once a month, Sad Mag’s Helen Wong sits down with a couple of interesting, unique individuals to discuss a topic of her choosing. This month’s topic? The vibrant and un-politically-minded talent of Vancouver’s own Andy Dixon.
I recently had the opportunity to interview the multitalented musician, designer, painter, and creator Andy Dixon. We discuss some of the themes in his artistic practice as well as some of his influences and past experiences. Andy’s show ‘Canadiana’ just wrapped up at Initial Gallery where he played on themes and tropes prevalent in the works of the Group of Seven. Andy’s signature style brings out a subversive take on traditional readings of cultural texts, and more of his work can be found and fawned over on his website.
Group of Seven by Andy Dixon
Helen Wong: Tell me about yourself. How did you first get involved with the arts?
Andy Dixon: I’ve always been drawn to visual art, honestly. Some of my earliest memories are of drawing and making comics. For a large portion of my life, my interests swerved towards music, but I continued to always do a little bit of drawing and painting when I could. During my time in bands, I was often the member elected to make album covers, t-shirts, etc so that kept the flame going.
HW: Who are some of the biggest influences in your art?
AD: It’s hard to know where to begin! David Hockney, Matisse, Jonas Wood, Cy Twombly, Nolan Hendrickson, Jean Dubuffet, Manet, Caravaggio…
HW: How did your initial role in album design spiral into painting?
AD: I actually think it’s not quite true to call album design an initial role. At a certain age and era of my life many things were working in tandem with one another. While I was designing album covers, I was simultaneously showing work at places like Misanthropy Gallery and Grace Gallery. I guess, as is common with the natural flow of life, design tapered off and painting gained momentum – it’s most likely my penchant for complete creative freedom that propelled me in that direction.
HW: How do you incorporate your graphic design background in your paintings?
AD: I think my background in design helped inform my compositional skills and, maybe more importantly, my sense of colour. I think that, after an almost decade of designing, I had a strong personal pallet that I continue to use today.
HW: In an interview with Huffington Post you state your work in “Canadiana” propagates a “great conversation”. Can you expand on this notion?
AD: Yes, it’s not just the Canadiana series that I’ve mentioned The Great Conversation. It’s been a part of my work for many years prior and continues to be a strong theme today. It’s the idea that everything we do is an allusion to our predecessors whether we like it or not. I was, at one time, an arrogant punk kid that thought that what I did creatively was completely removed from historical contexts but, as I got older, and realized that culture doesn’t exist in a vacuum (I only thought it did because I hadn’t experienced enough of it yet to make certain connections), I understood the absurdity of such an idea.
Now I use fine art tropes as a vehicle for my work much like modern music producers sample recognizable bits of music (recognizable as a specific riff or melody, or merely the suggestion of something we are familiar with – a certain guitar tone, or a symphonic string swell) to simultaneously join in on the Great Conversation but also to play with the intentions of the initial artist.
Canadiana at FIELD Contemporary by Andy Dixon
HW: How do you play around with Canadian symbols and icons? Do you think you are propelling notions of nationalism?
AD: There’s definitely nothing nationalistic in the Canadiana series, but there’s nothing anti-nationalistic in there, either, just as Jay-Z’s Hard Knock Life, which samples Annie, isn’t pro or anti broadway musical. The point of my work isn’t to bolster up or pull down any of the subjects. Instead, it’s to play with pop culture’s expectations using tropes as a way to draw out the viewers own beliefs and judgements.
HW: I believe a lot of the art made famous by the Group of Seven effaces issues of First Native land claims in their portrayal of untouched and barren land ready to be colonized. Do you think your work serves to subvert these issues especially with your artistic style?
AD: The subversive quality in my work is generally only in regards to the artist’s original intentions, or it’s place in pop culture, as opposed to political theories imposed on the work by others. The only political message in my work exists in the fact that there is no political message in my work.
HW: In the [same] Huffington Post interview, I like that you compared your use of house paint to a bad amplifier. Are there other ways in which music and art intersect in your work?
AD: Definitely. Everything I do has an undeniable shadow of the things I learned in the punk scene. I think the most important theme is that, in punk music, academically defined technical prowess isn’t often a goal. The punk music I made wasn’t about impressing an audience with raging guitar solos – it was about tapping into a certain energy and portraying certain emotions. Anyone can lock themselves in their room for years and learn how to play their guitar faster and tighter, but it doesn’t mean that he or she will make good music – music that can make someone feel something. I learned at an early age that technical doesn’t mean good, and I have been on a quest to define that magical thing that makes art actually good ever since.
HW: I think back to the composer Arnold Schoenberg and the influence his atonal music had for Kandinsky. In a sense, I feel that you act as your own Schoenberg and Kandinsky with your use of dissonant noises and off key notes during your time at d.b.s. and as a DJ. Do you think this idea applies to your practice?
AD: It’s possible, yes, that I have a certain penchant for dissonance which translates visually as well, but I also think that a lot of the music I’ve made in the past is actually quite melodic. I do agree with you, though, that I am both musician and artist, playing off one another, in a way.
Andy Dixon by Grady Mitchell
HW: What’s next for Andy Dixon?
AD: I’ve just relocated to New York for an undetermined amount of time. I have a solo exhibit here in November and have begun working on it. Other than that, my plan is to paint every day and continue exploring the themes currently present in my work.
I meet with Vancouver-based artist, consultant and event planner Jamie Smith at her sunny Main Street studio above Gene cafe. Glancing out her window, I count six toques, two Hershel backpacks, and one beautiful, black fixed gear. Yep, I smile, turning back to my host, we’re definitely in Mount Pleasant.
People-watching aside, I’m here to interview Smith about ROVE, the community art walk she’s planning for May 22. From 6 – 10 pm this Friday, seven local galleries will open their doors to the public. Armed with ROVE maps—complete with instructions for finding the closest breweries, of course—ROVE-ers can gallery hop to their hearts’ content, mingling with artists, curators and other artsy folk. The best part? The entire event is 100% free.
SM: So tell me about ROVE. How did you get involved in the project?
JS: I made it up! It started when I went to Portland in the fall of last year. Every first Thursday of the month, they do an art night. There’s a map, and you walk around—it’s called the Pearl District—and it’s all really close together. That’s what I liked about it; it was going to galleries, but all in one area.
Some cities have these art walks every month. I think that’s a very exciting thing, because it becomes a part of people’s month; they have something to look forward to and they see a lot of different work. I thought that would be very cool for Vancouver.
At first, I was like, “Every first Thursday: ROVE!” but it’s so much work. So I’m doing as many as I can. They keep getting easier and easier, and hopefully, at the end, it will just keep going.
Rebecca Chaperon (on display at Gene Studios, 2412 Main Street)
SM: Can you tell me a little about the event? The venues look amazing.
JS: I’m definitely excited about the venues; they’re great. There are people in Mount Pleasant always doing openings, always doing things. But something like this—like ROVE—really brings it all together. Hopefully we get a lot of people out who normally wouldn’t come to just one art opening.
SM: How do you choose the venues?
JS: It’s kind of been developing over time. The first time I did it, I just went to people that I knew were doing things in the area and tried to find places around here. And then throughout this time, people have actually come to me, which has been really nice. I’ve started going to openings at BAF (Burrard Arts Foundation) and Field Contemporary, so I just approached them and said, “This is what I do.” This is the first time I’ll be working with some of these galleries, but I think it will go well.
SM: Is there an overarching theme to the evening?
JS: The way ROVE works is that these spaces are doing their own thing all the time, so when I say I’m going to do a ROVE, it’s what they’re displaying at that time. It’s actually kind of nice because Kafka’s and Make both have photography showing, Field and BAF are all painters, in here (Gene Studios) we’re all painters, and then there’s Lawrence Yuxweluptun and Graeme Berglund. Lawrence is one of the most famous painters in Canada—a First Nations artist—so it’s a real treat that they’re going to be around. Actually grunt is doing a show of First Nations art as well. So there’s actually some really lovely cross-overs, but that was just luck. I’m really excited about it.
SM: What are you most excited about for this upcoming ROVE?
JS: What’s really cool is this time around, is that if you’re roving around and you have your map, you can go into Brassneck or 33 Acres and get a drink special. And then there’s the after party at 10 pm at the Projection Room, above the Fox.
People just need to go on the website and pick where they want to start. I think you should start at Gene Studios (2414 Main Street), because it’s central.It is an unique experience to see artist’s studios where the work is actually made. The other locations are galleries which is a more traditional way of viewing artwork.
Steven Hubert (on display at Field Contemporary, 17 West Broadway)
SM: Do you have any other advice for first-time ROVE-ers?
JS: The event is from 6-10 pm, and you can definitely do it in that time. It’s fun if you start at the beginning, because then you have the full four hours. The breweries are going to get really busy, because it’s Friday night, so I’m encouraging people to actually get out here at 6 and start at Brassneck, even. Most locations are going to have some wine that you can buy. It’s seven galleries, so you can do it all in one night, and you shouldn’t be rushed. And it’s Friday night, which is fun!
SM: Why do you ROVE?
JS: What I like about ROVE are the conversations that happen, because instead of going to one show and seeing that work in one way, you’re going from location to location. It’s really interesting to have a comparative, where you can go and see photography and think, “Why did they take these photos?” and then you can go see a painter. They’re both artists, but why do they work so differently? I’ve heard lots of different things, like, “I really didn’t like that show,” and that’s good to hear, or “That was the best.” I think it’s interesting as artists that we can hear the feedback from people attending—especially from people who don’t always come out. The art scene, especially for opening nights, is a lot of the same people. I like ROVE because it’s a totally different crowd. You get a lot of different people who aren’t necessarily here because of art, but it can often become that. I’ve had people show up to [later] openings because they were there for the first time at ROVE, which is really amazing. We just want more people to come out.
SM: Will all the artists be attending on Friday?
JS: They should be. Definitely at the studios, and then the galleries have asked the artists to come. You’ll [also] meet the gallery owners and curators.
Mira Song (on display at Gene Studios 2412 Main Street)
SM: What do you look for when you view art yourself?
JS: When viewing art, I think it’s looking at it really open-mindedly and taking it for what it is. But when it’s buying art, it’s just, you see it, and then you just feel something, and that’s really exciting. And I don’t think it matters who it’s by or why it’s there. It’s just those feelings.
I think buying original art is a very important thing for humans. Especially locally, if it inspires you and it’s a special night, I always encourage people to actually—actually—buy it! Because these are the stories you tell people when they come over for dinner, not the ones about the Ikea print.
SM: So all the art will be for sale?
JS: Yeah, it will be, but ROVE is definitely a community event. The hope would be that people would have this experience and want to purchase something, do, because supporting the artists just keeps these things going. But it’s really just about coming out and enjoying. Sales definitely happen, but it’s not the focus.
SM: What would you like to see more of in Vancouver’s art scene?
JS: The galleries here are doing a great job, and they’re showing really quality work, but I’d like to see more events like this that bring people out. I’d like to see an enlivened art scene, not just for people who feel really comfortable in it and go every week. I would just hope that events like ROVE make this possible.
This interview has been edited and condensed.
ROVE takes place May 22 from 6-10 pm in Mount Pleasant. For more information, visit ROVE’s website.
This month, the annual Capture Photography Festival in Vancouver welcomed exhibitions to galleries across the city. The festival focuses on celebrating local and international photography and lens-based art, making it a great way to get acquainted with Vancouver-based art galleries and artists.
The Hadden Park Map Exchange
On Friday, I attended the opening reception at Access Gallery for their exhibition Field Studies: Exercises in a Living Landscape. Walking into the gallery space, I was immediately confronted with a dozen maps of Hadden Park, a local park at the north end of Kitsilano Beach. The series of unconventional maps were produced by specialized practitioners and community members as part of the Hadden Park Map Exchange, a project orchestrated by local artists Rebecca Bayer and Laura Kozak. In this “field study,” each practitioner used the same template to organize the park according to his or her own background. Each map highlighted different aspects of the park, ranging from an exploration of the sensory experience of walking through it to a tally of electrosmog emissions in the area. By using identical templates for each map, the artists called attention to the subjectivity of individual interpretation. The collection successfully documented the inventive ways in which our everyday landscape can be experienced and imagined.
The Act of Constructing a Telecommuning Object by Emilio Sepulveda
The next wall housed a video installation by Eden Veaudry, a multi-disciplinary artist based in Vancouver. I watched as the artist’s hands wove together still photographs and tapestries on screen. Next to Veaudry’s work were beautiful weather kites by Emiliano Sepulveda, another Vancouver-based artist originally hailing from Mexico City. His works emphasized the way in which photography operates, documenting everyday landscapes through the interplay of light and colour. Both Veaudry and Sepulveda effectively used the gallery space to create a landscape of their own, allowing viewers to immerse themselves in their own perceptions of the works. Much like the Hadden Park maps, the installations encouraged viewers to develop unique interpretations and perspectives. The eye, these artists remind us, is just another lens with which to “capture” the environment.
Field Studies: Exercises in a Living Landscape takes place at the Access Gallery until May 23rd. The related Hadden Park Open Field Mapping event will take place on May 9th, followed by and an artist talk on May 23rd.
Capture Photography Festival runs until April 29th. For upcoming events and current exhibitions, visit the festival website.
David Balzer’s thought-provoking new book, Curationism: How Curating Took Over the Art World and Everything Else (Coach House Press/Pluto Press), explores what it means for the verb “curate” to be adopted by popular culture. Whether liking a friend’s post on Facebook, purchasing a cookbook on Amazon, or interacting with one of Subway’s “sandwich artists,” we’ve all become “curators” of our own identities. And with the advent of the Internet, it seems like we have more power over the choices we make than ever before. But is that really the case? And if everyone is a curator, then what is art? Is there any room left for spontaneous experience?
Balzer tackles these massive existential queries in the pages of his book, and will be exploring them during a talk at Vancouver’s Contemporary Art Gallery on April 10. Sad Mag’s Shannon Tien sat down with Balzer for a sneak peak of Friday’s event.
Shannon Tien: Can you explain how the term “curate” has changed over time?
David Balzer: So there’s the traditional curator who studies art history, gets their PhD, does a museum studies certificate, and then they work in the back rooms of museums with restorers and they’re kind of custodians of art historical works. That isn’t really what I’m interested in.
I’m interested in the contemporary curator. That idea can be traced back all the way to the Roman Empire. The Latin root of “curator” means to care for something. So the curators in the Roman Empire were basically caretakers.
The curator has never been easy to define; it’s only nowadays that we think of the curator as a “real” job. So I argue that the curator becomes super contemporary when the curator’s asked not just to care for things, but to give value to them. That happens in the early to mid-20th Century. Then the real birth of the curator in terms of how we understand it happens in the conceptual art movement of the 1960s and 1970s. And at this point, curators are not just giving value to objects, but they’re also performing the value of art. That aspect of performance in curating is the thing I think is kind of key in understanding how curating transitioned from the art world to popular culture.
Basically, using “curate” as a verb—saying that you’re going to “curate” something, or that “I curated a collection of hats”—the Oxford English Dictionary traces that usage back only to the early 1980s. And the usage that they find for their draft edition is from the world of performance art, which I think is really telling. It’s a dance performance at this New York avant-garde space called The Kitchen being written about by The New York Times. From that point on you see the word “to curate” or “curated by” used in the context of dance or music festivals and then by the 1990s, when the contemporary curator becomes a really important part of the institution, that word is used more and more and then the Internet happens and everyone sort of appropriates its use.
ST: When exactly did our own cultural consumption become a curatorial act?
DB: You know the saying in retail, “The customer’s always right”? I think that it’s changed to, “The customer must always feel as if they’re choosing.” When you “curate” something you’re “choosing,” and businesses have really latched onto this as a means of superficially empowering consumers. I think we can pinpoint it in the late 1990s going past Y2K, when all of a sudden we were made to choose a lot as consumers. There’s deep sociological and demographic research that needs to back it up, but generally the Internet has become a fact of life for a lot of people. At the same time there’s a crisis in terms of cultural consumption. In the art world, art institutions are not being funded the way they like, and in other spheres such as book buying, for instance, you’ve got these huge chains emerging in the ‘90s like Borders and Chapters and they just swallow up the little brick and mortar stores. So culture’s getting really homogenized at the same time that everyone’s going online and wondering who they are and interacting with people in a more active and global way than ever before. But whenever I’m talking about “choosing” I’m being a little ironic because I think that the idea of cultural curating is not necessarily the most empowering thing in terms of giving us choice. It kind of provides us with this illusion of choice.
ST: Can you talk about the rise of “normcore,” or the idea that taste is irrelevant because the Internet makes everything available to everyone?
DB: I don’t think the idea of curating would ever become completely obsolete. But what I do argue—and these ideas are present in the work of K-HOLE, the group that birthed the term “normcore,” and they’re present in post-Marxist Italian theory—this idea that we’re online and we’re asked to perform what we like and what our taste is. But people who are thinking about it, who are aware of possibly inhabiting the Matrix or whatever, can easily sense that what we’re doing online is prompted by similar algorithms, and what we like is highly influenced by what other people like. In fact we’re encouraged to like what other people like. When we buy something on Amazon, Amazon tells us what other people bought in addition to what we’re buying as a prompt to see if we might want to buy that too. It’s a bit of disingenuous uniqueness that online curating promotes. And if you think of it for five seconds, you realize that the sorts of choices you’re being asked to make as a social media user are pretty flattening.
ST: Are algorithms robot curators? Are they the future of curating?
DB: Well in a way I think that the algorithm is curatorial but also anti-curatorial. If you program something that can do the choosing for you in a semi-cognisant way, this choosing is only based on what’s been chosen before. But I like the idea that a program can show us that curating is not the most unique or difficult thing that one can engage with. I think that it can really call into serious question our precious notions of what it means to curate. But I also think that a good thing to come out of it would be to bring us back to a more thoughtful meditation on what it actually means to curate or choose. It’s maybe the end point of this discussion where curating has reached such an accelerated moment that now we’re getting computers and software to do it for us.
ST: How has this book affected your own “curationism”?
DB: I think that as someone who as been a critic for a long time, who’s a voracious consumer of film, art, music, literature, and talks about it all the time, I’ve sort of reached a moment, and it was when I was writing the book—and maybe it had to do with a personal element of this [which] was that I just exited a very long term relationship that was very much built around the expression of taste—where I thought, “Why is taste so important? And why am I always trying to perform what I like for everybody? Why does it matter? Isn’t there a better way to engage with culture and show how much it means to me?” So this book maybe represents that existential crisis.
This interview has been condensed and edited. Catch David Balzer at Vancouver’s Contemporary Art Gallery on April 10 at 7 p.m.
