Visit—A Handful of Dust

On a visit to Toronto, I had the opportunity yesterday to visit an interesting exhibit at the Ryerson Image Centre. Curated by David Campany, A Handful of Dust: From the Cosmic to the Domestic brings together work from a broad range of artists (Man Ray, Marcel Duchamp, Jeff Wall, Walker Evans, Rut Blees Luxemburg, Mona Kuhn and others), all connected thematically with dust. Campany has also published a book of the same name as a catalogue and further exploration of the theme.

The pieces, mostly photographs but with one or two paintings and a couple of video installations, seem to have been selected by Campany as conceptual responses to a photograph by Man Ray (Dust Breeding, 1920) of a piece by Marcel Duchamp. The monochrome photograph looks like it may be an aerial shot of a wasted landscape, but it is hard to get a sense of scale because of the lack of reference points and the uniformity of tone and colour. All the viewer has to go by is line, form and texture. In fact, the photograph depicts a glass plate that had collected a thick layer of dust while lying on the floor of Duchamp’s studio. Viewers are informed that the two artists may not have agreed who was ultimately responsible for the work and later agreed to share credit.

Robert Burley - Implosions of Buildings 65 and 69, Kodak Park, Rochester, NY [#1], October 6, 2007 — Robert Burley – Implosions of Buildings 65 and 69, Kodak Park, Rochester, NY [#1], October 6, 2007

The selected images are set in two rooms and, apart from a few dust-related quotations painted on the gallery walls, visitors are largely left to derive their own meanings from the display (which I welcomed). The sources of the dust vary—sand, destroyed buildings, human beings—but the overall message is one of human impermanence and mortality: sand covers everything in its path, the built environment doesn’t last forever, humans shed skin and eventually shed their lives.

At the same time, the dust that gathers can both conceal and reveal. It can cover tracks but it can also heighten our ability to see texture and form.

Nick Waplington - from the series Patriarch's Wardrobe, 2010 — Nick Waplington – from the series Patriarch’s Wardrobe, 2010

I went to the exhibit because I have often appreciated the shows that the Ryerson Image Centre hosts, although I have to admit that I was a bit doubtful because of the subject matter. In the end, I was won over and came away thinking that it amounted to an excellent meditation on aspects of the human condition. The images on display also served to show the power of abstraction and the role of imagination in interpreting what appears in front of us. In short, the show works.

A side benefit of the visit to the Ryerson Image Centre was a chance to see Extending the Frame: 40 Years of Gallery TPW. The show is a history of the founding and evolution of the Toronto Photographers Workshop (TPW), a group which has worked diligently to advance photography as an art form and has involved such people as Edward Burtynsky, Robert Burley, and the duo of Carole Condé and Karl Beveridge. It was fascinating to see how the dedication of a relatively small number of people has had such an impact on the direction of photography and art more generally in Canada.

Visit—Àbadakone | Continuous Fire | Feu continuel

Àbadakone (Algonquin for “continuous fire”) is the second exhibition “in the National Gallery of Canada’s series of presentations of contemporary international Indigenous art, features works by more than 70 artists identifying with almost 40 Indigenous Nations, ethnicities and tribal affiliations from 16 countries, including Canada.”

According to the National Gallery, “the title Àbadakone was provided by the Elders Language Committee of Kitigan Zibi Anishinabeg. They felt that its connotation of a fire within each artist that continues to burn would be an appropriate title for the second presentation of this ongoing series of exhibitions showcasing Indigenous art from around the world.”

Indigenous art and culture is drawing a lot of attention in Canada and other countries dealing with the history and ongoing impacts of colonization of the “New World” by European powers.

I found the exhibit exciting as it opens up a broad range of discussions that are important not only for Indigenous people, but for anyone who has an interest in place, identity, the construction and evolution of culture, and the importance of narrative for creating and bearing meaning. The introduction at the entry to the exhibit indicates that the broad theme behind its curation is one of “Relatedness, Continuity and Activation.” In brief, this refers to the interconnection of all things, the links across time and generations, and “how an artist animates a space, an object, or an idea through performance, video or viewer engagement.”

(All images taken on my cellphone.)

For me, there were several threads that ran through the exhibit, particularly the challenges of:

colonization;
industrialization;
globalization;
environmental degradation;
technology;
migration; and
tradition.

Without taking anything away from the specific issues and questions facing the Indigenous artists who created these works, it seems to me that many of the challenges are also faced by non-Indigenous people. As a result of the challenges I’ve listed above, very few of us can simply take for granted the place where we stand, the identities we have inherited, the histories that have shaped us or the futures that lie before us. In a time of profound uncertainties, it will be important to draw selectively on our knowledge of the past, on our best understanding of our times and on the most promising paths forward. It is fascinating to see that while Postmodernism rejected meta-narratives, we continue to need overarching stories to interpret the past, create meaning in the present and have hope for the future.

Àbadakone has given me a number of ideas for the theme / concept I would like to explore for C&N A5 (“Making it up”), and perhaps even an approach for realising my ideas. I see Indigenous artists opening long-overdue conversations and I think we will all do well to participate in them honestly.

My first exhibit

A bistro in my town held an open “call for artists” last fall and I decided to take along a selection of images that I had made for EYV, along with some others that I was pleased with. I had never done anything like this before, so I didn’t know exactly what to expect or how best to present my work. In the end I took along one large canvas print (24″ x 36″) and a selection of 12″ x 18″ prints in a borrowed portfolio case.

It seemed to me that many of the people who brought their work to the call had done this before and a number appeared to be well-established, if their work and preparation were anything to go by. Nevertheless, the little review committee (the bistro owner and her artist friend) liked the colour and humour in my work and left me with the impression that I had a chance of being selected. A few weeks later I received an e-mail asking if I would display my photographs in the bistro for six weeks in fall 2019.

Well before the exhibit, I made a to-do list of tasks and questions that I wanted to cover well in advance:

Do a comparison of canvas prints for price/quality
Do I need to look at alternate prints?
Short explanatory text for each image
Look into changing my e-mail address and using my domain name
Have cards printed with contact info, etc.
Prepare a distribution list to get the word out (my Facebook, wife’s FB, Instagram, Twitter, colleagues, church, local English theatre group, networks of friends and family)
Create an event on Facebook
Reminders at intervals leading up to the exhibit
Create a title for the exhibit (thematic?)
Any lessons learned from OCA people re: exhibiting work?

Two months before the opening day I created two Facebook ‘event’ invitations (one ‘private’ to directly invite friends and family; one ‘public’ that could be shared more broadly) to encourage people to come. I also used Twitter and Instagram to help drive online traffic toward the public Facebook event page.

One of the three large canvases. Also used on the Facebook invitation and small promotional posters.

The bistro provided me with diagrams outlining the two rooms where I could exhibit, along with the maximum dimensions that each wall space could accommodate. Since there were two rooms and space for 11 of my photographs, I decided to give the exhibit the theme of “Night and Day,” knowing that I could use one room for ‘night’ and the other for ‘day.’ This worked well and viewers seemed to understand the division easily.

Diagrams provided by the bistro to outline placement and maximum dimensions of works.

One month before the event I bought eight 18″ x 24″ black frames and made new 13″ x 19″ prints (matted to a “12 x 18″ window). I also ordered a 24″ x 36” canvas print to go with the two large canvases I already had, bringing the number of works for display to 11. At the same time I made two smallish posters to hang at work, one on the glass wall outside my office and the other on the cork wall of the kitchenette. I wanted to use my workspace to promote the vernissage without overdoing it—and I wanted to be sure that the people who report to me felt welcome to attend but not compelled. During this time I also used a design my wife created to create business cards (both for people to take away and to affix prices next to the photographs) and to create a small poster for the exhibit area to outline my approach to the works on display. The design was clear and mirrored the key elements on my website.

The owner of the bistro is generous and offers the display space freely to selected local artists without asking for a percentage of any sales. She leaves transactions entirely to the artist and purchaser. It was also good of her to make snack food (chips/crisps and small plates of sausage, cheese and olives) during the opening.

With the help of my wife and the owner’s artist friend, we hung the exhibit in about two hours on the morning of the opening. The hanging system the bistro uses is simple, easy to use, adaptable and very strong: it consists of a length of wall-mounted, steel ‘rebar’ with a length of chain dropped from it. Art works are attached to the chain with ‘s’ hooks and then secured at the right height with plastic tie-wraps. Once the pieces are checked for placement and levelled, the two bottom corners of each frame are lightly attached to the wall using putty.

Placement of two photographs for display.

Leading up to the opening I had two contradictory fears: the first, that no one would come; and the second, that people would come. As the day got closer I found that I had two or three moments of real doubt that I should be doing this (who would want to come to see my photographs, never mind buy them?), but I forged on. I had promoted the event to a lot of people I know and I had made a commitment to the bistro owner. I knew that someone else had recently decided at the last moment not to exhibit their work and had no intention of doing the same.

As it turned out, I needn’t have worried. Some 60 people attended the opening and a good proportion stayed to have drinks and order a meal at the bistro. I sold three pictures during the event and there is a chance that a fourth sale may be in the works. All told, I need to sell at least five photographs to cover my costs for printing and frames, so there is still a good chance that I will manage to do so (there are roughly four weeks left before I have to take down my pictures).

I am very pleased with my first foray into exhibiting and will do it again. The bistro was a low-risk way for me to get my feet wet and allowed me to bring friends, family, colleagues (and some people I don’t know at all) to a local place that means something to me. “Come for the photography and stay for the beer—or vice-versa,” may not be the usual marketing ploy for an exhibit, but it worked just fine for me. Now to sell the fourth and fifth prints…

World Press Photo 2019

The World Press Photo 2019 travelling exhibit is currently on show in the Canadian War Museum in Ottawa. I have had the chance to visit the exhibit a few times in previous years, but I found that I saw it with different eyes this year.

Although the specifics of the images change from one year to the next, depending on where the latest trouble spots are in the world, I find that there is a sameness to the images, exhibit after exhibit. Conflict and violence occupy centre stage, as you’d expect from the world’s journalistic businesses—if it bleeds, it leads. The environment is also an area of photojournalistic attention as exploitation of the planet continues at a furious pace (one image of frogs dismembered alive for restaurants illustrates our appetite for destruction particularly well).

There are less shocking, but still dramatic, images every so often from the world of sport and there is the occasional human interest story about people with colourful costumes, interesting diets or religious practices that the media tend to depict as quaint, disturbing or both.

The difference for me this year had to do with the way I looked at the images: how they communicated as a body, rather than one by one.

The first thing I noticed is that there is still an audience for this type of photography. No matter how violent, graphic or disturbing we are fascinated by this type of photojournalism. I suppose that part of this feeds into the idea that we must document the happenings in our world, no matter how terrible they are. Or perhaps it is especially when terrible things happen that we must bear witness to them, although the witness has had little discernible success in keeping similar things from happening—how many times have we said “never again!”? Maybe the best we can hope for is that the perpetrators of this particular outrage might be brought to account, and the victims might receive some degree of recognition or vindication.

The next thing I noticed about the exhibit is that much of the coverage is of things that happen to vulnerable people in or from the developing world. Whether it is migrants to Germany turning to the sex trade just to live, a baby boom among former Colombian guerillas, or the plight of Mayan beekeepers, the collection suggests that bad things are going on among them, far away over there. Sure, Donald Trump shows up—by implication in a caravan of refugees heading to the U.S. border, or leading Emmanuel Macron by the hand—but most of the really bad stuff is happening somewhere else.

After recently reading Roland Barthes’ “Rhetoric of the Image” (Barthes and Sontag, 1989), I was also struck by the power of the caption to “anchor” and constrain the interpretation of an image. The best example of this is the first image one sees when entering the exhibition, which is Brent Stirton‘s picture of an African woman at night, heavily camouflaged and carrying an assault weapon. Is she a guerilla? A jihadist? A government soldier? Is she attacking or is she preparing to defend? Where exactly is she? The image itself could be read in any of a dozen or more ways, but the caption ends the questioning and settles the matter (in a surprising way, for me):

https://www.worldpressphoto.org/collection/photo/2019/37622/1/Brent-Stirton

Petronella Chigumbura (30), a member of an all-female anti-poaching unit called Akashinga, participates in stealth and concealment training in the Phundundu Wildlife Park, Zimbabwe.

I realized how often we simply we accept such captions as Gospel. But what if the caption writer gets it wrong, accidentally or by design? Is the caption a reliable guide? Has the photographer understood all the implications of his or her image, and the complexities of the context? The viewer has no way of knowing (but may accept or reject the authority of caption depending on how ‘reasonable’ or palatable it may sound).

Finally, one of the signs in the museum set me thinking about the role curation plays in an exhibition like this. The sign read, “The stories that matter.” We can take that statement at face value, but the obvious question is: to whom do they matter? Who decides? On what basis? This is certainly not a kick at the organizers of the World Press Photo Contest, but it is a reminder that we never see an unmediated or unselected image. We don’t have to cast aspersions on the motives of the people who choose images to remember that they do indeed have them. And so do we.

Reference

Barthes, R. and Sontag, S. (1989) Selected writings. Fontana.