I’ve always been obsessed with abandoned and dilapidated buildings in “safe” neighbourhoods, and the way construction sites just pop up out of nowhere, only to leave a big mess. Nothing is more beautiful to me than a building’s skeleton up against a flat blue sky. I walk around the city taking photos of the tops of buildings against such a blue sky, sometimes I turn them into drawings, but I’ve never really thought about it much.
Last week, I was walking up the stairs in the library to return a book and was taken aback by what I thought was construction taking place on the wall facing the stairs, where people tend to sit on the floor and finish their uncovered drinks and snacks. I noticed that it was in fact, not a two-person construction crew, but a conservation team updating the public art piece that extends from LB’s lobby throughout the building.
But what made this seem like construction? It could have been a performance piece. You never really know unless you talk to the artists.
Not long afterwards, I was passing by the FOFA Gallery in the EV building and noticed they were installing the new exhibition. Large pieces of drywall leaned against the vitrine and the floor was covered in plastic and spotted with buckets. A team was busy working away, patching walls and removing the old work. I thought about how interesting that was, them installing in the vitrine. They could be the art.
I wasn’t too far off with this. As a couple days later, I passed by again and noticed the large slabs (now covered in pink sludge,) plastic and buckets were still there, and the gallery was open.
It didn’t take me long to accept the piece as an ingenious—although highly wasteful—installation. The slabs of drywall were bare before. The pink sludge was spread across the surface specifically for this work. Would the artist reuse these panels in another exhibition? What would happen to the pieces?
MFA student, Lauren Chipeur’s s e e p a g e / s u i n t e m e n t came to be from a similar wavelength. After a happy accident in her studio, when Chipeur’s fridge leaked onto a material exploration, the artist began her infatuation with the removal (and spread) of one substance with another.
I like this kind of process-based work, when the act of making and that of installing becomes a performance in and of itself. And there is no good reason it shouldn’t be. (I later found out that Chipeur’s installation seeped out through the vitrine and into the carpet on the other side—amazing. And her website is still under construction, also very on brand here.)
We didn’t do Nuit Blanche together, but we might as well have. Two arts writers vs Nuit Blanche. The apathy is real. We were slightly amused. And we’re still thinking too much about the colour green (and outer space?)
Chloë Lalonde, Arts Editor, etc., The Concordian
Nuit Blanche only really came onto my radar when I was in CEGEP, I guess some would consider that a late discovery. My best friend and I visited the Musee d’Art Contemporain (MAC) for one of their fantastic nocturnes. We had special drinks, I don’t remember much of the exhibition (it might have been David Altmejd) and exited the museum directly on Ste-Catherine Street. Little did we know of the wonderland that waited for us outside. Ah, a time when you didn’t have to book your slide/ferris wheel/zipline experience in advance… It was the best surprise.
Since then, Nuit Blanche has been lackluster, ridden with food anxiety, too much beer, long lines and the wrong activities (yeah, I’m talking about “wand-making” at Lockhart).
This year I decided I would spend my Saturday evening after a long day of teaching and laying out the arts and opinions sections of the paper, visiting as many galleries as I could manage with my sister. We met up quite early at the Belgo building (372 Ste-Catherine St. W.), before things were popping, and managed to pass by every gallery that was open, before stopping by the very crowded MAC, UQAM’s art gallery, a surprise performance we weren’t expecting and finishing off with Le Livart.
The Belgo is unassuming, if you didn’t already know it was home to 27 galleries, several artist studios, savvy startups and dance studios, it would be hard for you to find out. The exterior isn’t necessarily inviting, neither is the lobby and the adjacent cafe (I found a hair in my crepe and they gave me a free latte.)
It was my sister’s first time there and she had no expectations, but I didn’t want to disappoint. I did force her to cancel her unmade plans with her friends to hang out with me, after all. We rode the elevator up to the fifth floor (which is truly the sixth), and wove our way in and out of galleries uninterested until I started to notice a grand theme. Every gallery featured some kind of moon print. Drawings or lithographs, etchings, paintings––like craters on the moon––everything felt geographical, alluding to the earth and the landscape.
AMER, an artist from Montreal, paints with rust in their exhibition at Galerie Luz, using hydrogen, oxygen and carbon—what AMER considers among the essential elements for the appearance of life. Their work returns to the origin of the medium, with natural hues and industrial materials to reference ancient cave paintings and transmit modern messages over time.
Past a wall separating Galerie Luz in two, lived fibre works that felt entirely alien to AMER’s practice. White and fluffy, interrupted by copper threads and plastics, Mariela Borello’s tapestries connect to the body.
Later, at UQAM’s art gallery, the moon prints returned. Only this time they were in the forms of massive paper tapestries and sculptures disappearing into the floor. These rooms of earth and stone, on until March 21, compiled the incredibly similar practices of Michel Boulanger and Katja Davar.
Boulanger’s Girations, Rouler 1 was absolutely mesmerizing. A jeep-esque vehicle sinks and resurfaces, only to sink again, creating new landscapes with each dip. Davar’s drawings resonate on the same frequency. Each piece is like witnessing the plans for a new earth, land and soil.
The theme this year was “vert,” and events and exhibitions generally referenced the colour, sustainability and the environment throughout. Green is symbolic for many things, most notably, growth, whether natural/environmental, economic or personal, it’s said to be healing and inspire creativity.
Some works were all too literal; Le Livart had an exhibition up the whole month of February based solely on the colour green, and others were just flat out unrelated and overpopulated (collection exhibitions at the MAC).
Oh, and I can’t forget the performance we walked into on our way home, which was, arguably, my sister’s favourite part. Mourning of the Living Past, performed by Inflatable Deities, Canadian artists Jessica Mensch and Emily Pelstring, shook their futuristic “organic sparkly energy” all over UQAM’s Judith-Jasmin pavilion. It truly infected my 18-year-old sister. She danced along with them (behind the crowd) as I filmed her. She also changed her Instagram bio to “organic sparkly energy,” which I’m pretty sure is what the glittery duo chanted into their electronic amplifiers.
Vida Simon, too much/not enough at CIRCA Art Actuel (Belgo)
Vida Simon, too much/not enough at CIRCA Art Actuel (Belgo)
Centre Skol (Belgo)
Katja Davar and Michel Boulanger, These Rooms of Earth and Stones, Galerie de UQAM
Katja Davar and Michel Boulanger, These Rooms of Earth and Stones, Galerie de UQAM
Katja Davar and Michel Boulanger, These Rooms of Earth and Stones, Galerie de UQAM
Surprise performance at UQAM
Vert, Le Livart
Renaud Séguin, Vert, Green, Le Livart
Life on the green screen, Centre Phi
Sophia Arnold, Contributor for The Concordian and CUJAH Editor-in-Chief
For the past five years, since I moved to Montreal, Nuit Blanche has been something to look forward to in the depths of your depressive episodes at the height of winter, mostly because the metro is open all night and the thought of riding public transit at 4 a.m. is overwhelming for a green-minded, uber-despising person. It gives a cosmopolitan New York vibe that Montreal aspires to everyday but can only afford to cave into twice a year (the other night being New Years Eve).
Nuit Blanche attracts all kinds of people: those who have kids and want to take them on the mini Ferris wheel at Place des Arts before retiring after “doing Nuit Blanche,” tourists who are just happy to be wherever they end up (admittedly, me the first two years…), and Montrealers who know where to be and will not give you the time of day if “you’re not from Montreal.”
My night started at Le Livart. I had been there a few times before but never on Nuit Blanche, although my partner had and was enamoured with the basement dance floor. The layout of the place reflects its roots as an old residential home, and still allows for artists-in-residence to use the upstairs rooms as studios. For Nuit Blanche, they had many artists exhibiting their works on the ground floor, and opened the upstairs, inviting you to speak with the gallery’s resident artists.
The exhibition went through all the various interpretations of this year’s theme, green, in all its facets. Livart expanded on the ideas presented in Vert, Histoire d’une couleur by Michel Pastoureau, who highlights green as a central colour in the role of art history. As you enter, Renaud Séguin’s green, ‘cabinet of curiosity’ style room welcomes you into a literal green space. Filled with found objects, from candy wrappers to paint colour samples, and some iconic references, like a picture of The Green Lady (@greenladyofbrooklyn), it’s like entering a commodity forest; our new image of green.
Other rooms in the gallery welcomed the interpretation of ‘green’ to be detourned headlights, bricolage wreaths placed on the ground and large-scale photography. Due to the variety of mediums included, when you left Le Livart you were very aware what role the colour and ideology of green plays in contemporary art.
Next stop was Palais des Congrès, where we saw some of the works featured in this year’s Art Souterrain underground exhibitions, running until March 22. The piece we spent the most time with was the automated metro doors in sequence that opened as you walked through the hallway of them. It was an unexpected yet retrospectively predictable surprise seeing as the delapidated metro cars are the subject of many interactive installations throughout the city, highlighting the history and development of an iconic feature of Montreal daily life.
Next on the agenda; Phi Centre. I don’t really know where to begin with this one. As a self identifying ‘antenna,’ Phi Centre hosts a variety of events showcasing the latest tech developments, and this night was no exception. The show, Simulation/Acceleration, was built on the premise of human connectivity, digital capitalism and environmental degradation, exploring the topic with Virtual Reality (VR), augmented reality and a green screen interactive performance. DJ sets also took place throughout the night with visuals.
Life on the green screen was the highlight of the show. Mesmerized by the piercing gaze and dynamic movement of the performers in an array of outfits and positions, it was an ominous presence that rarely broke—apart from when viewers were invited to enter the green screen setup and the rare drunk guy did a peace sign. The screen showing the results of the green screen performance embodied the premise of the show, deconstructing the commonplace ideas of humans as apart from the environment and autonomous players in a hyperconnected world.
After a necessary food detour, we headed to Places des Arts, which was a short stop. Eying it through the crowds of people, we decided to skip it this year as it has an overdone, commercial vibe that we weren’t looking for (signified by the giant maple syrup cans).
Final stop: Eastern Bloc. The event aimed to create an urban oasis and safe space for freedom of expression and being, which it did through Allison Moore’s installation, The Enchanted Woods and various DJ sets with a dance floor in the usual exhibition space. Running until 4 a.m., it felt like a liberation from winter and greyness, taking you out of time and space to a utopic non-place—even though they ran out of drinks and you had to wait 30 minutes for the bathroom, which kind of brought you back down to earth.
All in all, it was an extensive, involved and jovial evening. But, we wish this programming was accessible at a substantial level throughout the year. In one evening, you go to four events before your corporeal limit is reached and you miss events that cannot be experienced again. In an ideal green utopia devoid of money, the metro would run 24 hours a day and every night would be an opportunity to engage with your local and international communities in such a monumental way, like the way you can on Nuit Blanche.
Thoughts on the Fondation Phi’s current exhibitions
Listen and be amazed. These words from The Meaning of Style followed me home after seeing the Eva & Franco Mattes and Phil Collins’ exhibitions at the Fondation Phi pour l’art contemporain. (No, not Genesis’ Phil Collins, this Phil Collins is an artist and filmmaker, and yes, they are both from England.)
The title of the video [The Meaning of Style] doesn’t seem to fit with the piece. The short, four minute and 50 second film “features a group of anti-fascist Malay skinheads who appear to transcend reality and representation, circulating between the imaginative and literal spaces of cinema,” according to Harvard’s Carpenter Center for Visual Arts.
the world won’t listen (2004-2007), Phil Collins. International tribute to The Smiths.
This specific information, about all of Collins’ shorts at Phi, isn’t as readily present, even in the exhibition’s programme. Instead, you’re left to wander from screen to screen and soundproof booth to soundproof booth wondering if Genesis’ Phil Collins had a secret filmmaking practice. It would make sense if he did, all the videos in the exhibition are about the relatability of music and creating various intimate installations to sit and listen.
Juxtaposed with Eva & Franco Mattes’ What Has Been Seen, the Collins’ exhibition becomes even more intriguing. According to the duo’s website, “the title refers to the “What Has Been Seen Cannot Be Unseen” meme, an internet axiom which states that repulsive, disturbing, or horrific sights can never be erased from memory once they have been seen.”
Their work forces the viewer to change the way they approach, view and generally interact with, and on, the internet. Viewers are first confronted with a smashed old desktop computer looping videos you may or may not recognize from the early 2000s. Then, you’ll walk into an open, white room, entirely empty except for a large screen and an orange cable. The individuals on the screen look back at you in shock, and you’ll wonder if they can actually see you; if Eva and Franco Mattes installed a webcam and instructed people at the other end to react to your presence. I won’t ruin the surprise.
Then you’ll continue onwards, heading up Phi’s four floors, and maybe you’ll notice the Ceiling Cat, or then again, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll just climb up the stairs and be totally thrown off guard by the TV tents and the fuzzy red carpet. Are you supposed to lie down on the ground and actually watch these videos? Or appreciate them as a sculptural object? You can definitely hear them.
Your choice. Either way, you’ll be confused. All the different Phis (Fondation Phi, Centre Phi), Phil Collins, and now this?
The way objects occupy space will really change the way you interact with them, in art museums, online and out and about in the world. We go about our lives intrinsically knowing what is okay to sit on and what isn’t. The floor usually isn’t it, especially in galleries and museums. But I’m a big floor-sitting advocate. Eva & Franco Mattes appear to be too.
Follow their collection of personal photographs upstairs. You won’t be able to actually see the images, but they’re there, through the wires and under the floorboards.
Data surrounds us at every turn, but we rarely confront it physically. Eva & Franco Mattes’ maze forces us to but doesn’t privy you to their contents. They are personal photographs after all.
The last stop is entirely different. Finally, wall art, something normal. Except it’s not. Oh and there’s another cat. Turns out they’re taxidermied (yeah, the Ceiling Cat too), creepy.
This last piece forces you to sit on the floor and look up at the video.
Abuse Standard Violations depicts images and text leaked from the duo’s interviews with web content moderators. One of these things is not like the other? Which images are ‘clean?’ How should they be classified? To flag, or not to flag?
Content moderation is one of the most interesting, mundane and horrifying professions that exist in today’s internet-dependent world. What has been seen, the three videos that follow Abuse Standard Violations, truly cannot be unseen—the duo’s way of forcing you to connect to these works in the most uncomfortable way. They moderate your behaviour. (Unless you live by a strong politics of refusal, are no fun or have bad knees.)
The work forces you to confront a world you aren’t familiar with, a world of the matrix, the other side of our crystal clear, greasy and cracked screens, changing the way we relate to our physical surroundings and to each other.
Now is your last chance to visit both exhibitions at the Fondation Phi pour l’art contemporain (451 and 465, Saint-Jean Street) until March 15. The gallery is open Wednesday to Friday from 12 p.m. to 7 p.m. and from 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. on the weekends. Admission is free.
Bubbly with a twist: Grimes’ new album might be the Grimesy-est yet
Grimes is unapologetically herself. Yeah, she’s pretty weird, but she’s committed. She’s committed to her own aesthetic, sound and digital perception. Quite frankly, it’s impressive.
Miss Anthropocene brings back the artist’s darker side, similar to her older music, but continues to evolve ideas present in Art Angels (2015). This new album includes an array of sounds, some trendy mixes and continued collaboration with Japanese rapper 潘PAN, painting the twisted and cynical content of her tracks in an upbeat light.
Grimes imagines a digital future populated with AI robots and fast moving vehicles, and the songs on Miss Anthropocene speak true to that. “4AEM” feels as hazy and dreamy as “Genesis” with a busy twist. The album is certainly existential, and her climate anxiety, or anxiety in general, merges with a dark and tacky feel, especially in “New Gods,” that makes this album feel like a joke and a masterpiece all at once. The name itself is an obvious play on “misanthrope” and “anthropocene,” and each song is a biography for one of the four horses of the apocalypse (except there are 10).
Changing the culture of representation for contemporary artists
Benjamin J. Allard, BA Concordia Communication Studies alumnus, former research assistant and Art Matters curator, currently runs Radio Atelier for CIBL 101.5. Radio Atelier a podcast about local artists and current exhibitions in the greater Montreal area, and Quebec at large.
Allard recently put forth a change.org petition, as part of the INVISIBLES group, to highlight his concerns with arts representation in the media. INVISIBLES is specifically asking Radio-Canada to rethink their approaches to coverage of artists and arts events.
The petition, which now holds 10,572 signatures (and counting) is in French, and begins as follows; “we would like to draw your attention to the fact that the coverage of the visual arts on Radio-Canada contravenes your journalistic standards and practices by not respecting the principles of equity, impartiality and integrity.” Its clarity and strong language demand attention.
“INVISIBLES is an umbrella organization for people and institutions interested in the subject of visual art representation in the media,” said Allard.“It’s super new, they had a meeting in Quebec and we’ll have our first meetings in Montreal [soon].”
The petition has also made headway with the Canadian Radio-television and Telecommunications Commission (CRTC), which opened a public platform, from Nov. 25 to Feb. 20, where individuals and collectives had the opportunity to suggest ideas and provide feedback on CBC/Radio-Canada programming as they renew their broadcasting licences, which expires on Aug. 31.
“We want to make sure that the content produced and distributed by CBC/Radio-Canada reflects the diversity of Canada’s population, while meeting its needs in both official languages,” read the platform. The forum will hold and record a public hearing on May 25 in Ottawa to further address the issue of representation.
Allard, along with a team representing INVISIBLES, was invited to meet with Radio-Canada on Feb. 20 to discuss their demands. They proposed a document of suggested practices, which was received well by Société Radio Canada/Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (SRC/CBC), L’Association des galeries d’art contemporain (AGAC) and the Artist-Run Centres and Collectives Conference (ARCA). However, SRC/CBC explained that contemporary artists need better press relations in order to receive accurate representation.
“There are some projects on their way to create something to help at that level, but nothing is confirmed,” said Allard. “AGAC and ARCA had things to say about that, it’s not something really new they told us. However, they also offered to meet radio producers, which (according to them), they never did before. It is very generous and it’s the sign that it’s the beginning of a dialogue.”
But, if pre-existing government-funded arts programmes, in and of themselves, are not exploring diverse audiences, how can we expect the media to do the same?
Since its conception, the petition has also attracted the attention of MAtv’s “Mise à Jour Montréal” who invited Louise Déry, the director of UQAM’s art gallery, to discuss the issue.
In a segment of Feb. 17’s episode, Déry reflects on how art writers for The New Yorker, The New York Times and The LA Times attend art schools’ graduating exhibitions to get a sense of emerging artists. Quebec media, on the other hand, doesn’t do that.
In most of Quebec’s newspapers, the arts section has been merged with culture, leading coverage to typically include generally inaccessible events, such operas, plays and symphonies. Rarely do they immerse themselves in art galleries outside of Montreal’s larger cultural institutions.
Allard argues that it is always the same artists who are put forward on the Quebec scene, and this way of thinking starts in university.
Allard attended Concordia’s MFA Open studios on Feb. 19 and noticed that all their visiting artists were from Montreal. “This is unacceptable,” he said. “I think that [the] university should strive to create new networks and this passes by inviting people outside current networks.”
On their social media platforms, INVISIBLES showcases a Quebecois artist or art collective a day for a project called 366 jours/366 artistes. Among the 366 artists are multi-disciplinary, video, performance and screen printing artists like Rachel Echenberg, Marc-Antoine K. Phaneuf and Dominique Pétrin. Also featured in the project are some that are well represented, such as sculptor David Altmejd and Concordia Studio Arts professor, painter Janet Werner. Both artists have pieces at the Musée d’Art Contemporain in Montreal and the Musée national des beaux-arts in Quebec.
Tune in to Radio Atelier on CIBL 101.5 on Mondays at 6 p.m. for more from Allard, or find them wherever you get your podcasts. For more information, or to listen/download episodes online visit www.radioatelier.ca/
First thing: when I say arts writing I don’t mean art criticism. You’re allowed to have an opinion, but keep that out of it, for the most part. Who are we to judge work? Who is anyone to judge work? I don’t care how many years you went to art school for, it’s not your place.
Write about art. Tell its story, tell the artist’s story. Look and listen to what they have to say. How do they want their name spelled? Any capitals? Make sure. Arts writing has its own quirks.
Writing about art and reporting on art is not the same. Don’t report, it’s boring and impersonal. Get personal. Talk to the artist, get sensitive, ask questions or don’t. Feel out that vibe, observe, react and research.
Take notes, sketch things out, make connections to other artists, to writers, to music, to things you learned in school. Eventually, it all mirrors itself and you’ll be able to start noticing thematic patterns everywhere you go.
Look at everything like it’s a work of art: the city, the skyline, architecture, the way windows expose an interior, how light falls in a space. Who occupies that place? How do they occupy it?
A person’s art is intimate, it’s personal, sometimes it’s a secret. Share your connections with them, sometimes a tit for tat really loosens up a conversation.
It’s important to share your perspective. Otherwise, everything is the way I see it, and that’s not very inclusive is it? We all have our biases, and it’s okay, in arts writing, to use those biases in our favour. Write about something you care about, but demonstrate that without having to use things like “I think” and “In my opinion,” those are for opinion pieces.
Be self-reflexive in the process. How did this work speak to you? Put visual ideas into words. Don’t be too fluffy, be concise. Don’t be as poetic as this text you’re reading right now.
Thank you for reading this all the way through! If you would like to give arts writing a try, email me arts@theconcordian.com! If not, well that’s cool too! Thank you for your time and attention.
Happening in and around the White Cube this week… should art history roll over and die?
During the Art History Graduate Student Association (AHGSA) Symposium, keynote speaker, Lindsay Nixon, spoke about their current work with Indigenous memes and digital futures. They spoke of the ethics of the dissemination of information and Indigenous knowledge and how apps like TikTok allow Indigenous youth to connect with communities across Turtle Island and the world.
But how does this bridge the gap between artist and influencer? Where does art history come into play?
Nixon, who graduated with a Specialization in Women’s Studies from the Simone de Beauvoir Institute, and has completed their MA in Art History at Concordia, places the ethics of making first. The maker, the artist, before the art. Meaning over aesthetics.
While TikTok videos and memes are not always works of art, Indigenous TikToks and memes are a different category. They have the power to create a community and disseminate Indigenous knowledge, objects and experience in a way that was almost impossible earlier in the century. Nixon highlighted artists, like Dana Claxton and Fallon Simard among many others, who work in these ways and pull apart notions of what Indigenous art is.
When speaking about Indigenous art and memes, Nixon opts for “Indigenous digital humanities,” as opposed to contemporary art and art history. And when their talk was finished, a member of the audience raised their hand and said, “Art history should roll over and die.” Nixon, who is also the Indigenous Editor-at-Large for Canadian Art magazine, laughed and agreed.
Art history is definitely rooted in colonial notions of high art, and while craft practices come into the art historical discussion, Indigenous art cannot be looked at in the same way. Art history contends with an institutionalized space that Indigenous digital humanities tries to dismantle.
In Indigenous Art is so Camp, an article in Canadian Art from earlier this fall, Nixon wrote, “Art became my career. Somewhere along the way, I lost the joy of Indigenous art, of art generally, and the initial emotions that drew me to the gallery became conflated with the day-to-day grind of contending with an industry.” Indigenous art, unlike many art historical and anthropological thought, is not limited to a series of symbols and narratives but shares a universal love for camp, and all that is theatrical and truly extra.
These narratives—think of Kent Monkman’s paintings and his alter-ego, Miss Chief Eagle Testickle—surpass western knowledge and notions of art history.
Art history is, like so many other fields of study, one that should “roll over and die.” There’s still a lot of work to do to redefine the art world and beyond.
Do you have an internal monologue? Can you have a mental argument with yourself? Talk yourself in and out of things? Amp yourself up?
A recent Twitter trend has shown that not all people do.
A 2017 study led by Elinor Amit, researcher for Harvard’s Department of Psychology, explains why some individuals think visually—sometimes literally in pictures—and others more conceptually abstract.
To summarize the study, “people create visual images to accompany their inner speech even when they are prompted to use verbal thinking, suggesting that visual thinking is deeply ingrained in the human brain while speech is a relatively recent evolutionary development.”
While this research focuses on the interdependence of visual and verbal thought processes, Twitter users were fascinated with the idea that not everyone has an inner monologue.
At The Concordian, five out of 21 staff identify explicitly as only having interior monologues, 13 out of 21 have both, and four identify as having no inner monologue at all. Those without inner monologues said that they don’t have one unless they think about having one and most of their actions, written and spoken ideas are based off instinct or what feels right in the moment.
This thought variation is described as a “robust phenomenon,” meaning that these results are highly dependent on a variety of circumstances, making it an unreliable statistic. For example, the number of languages learned and spoken as a young child, and one’s connection to visual, auditory, and written media can have an effect. It is also possible for one to think tactically, having to actually be doing or saying something in order to absorb information and really understand it.
The very phenomenon is linked to a part of the brain that processes external sound, and in overactive brains can cause overthinking or anxiety. Researcher Mark Scott from the University of British Columbia explains how auditory hallucinations—hearing your thoughts—can be associated with schizophrenia, but picturing thoughts—thinking abstractly—on the other hand, isn’t necessarily linked to visual hallucinations.
Are your thoughts like sentences you hear? Tweet us @theconcordian
We’re all familiar with the magnificently mesmerizing sculpture outside of the Hall building. If you haven’t stopped to stare at it while it’s moving, I really recommend that you do. But that isn’t what this is about.
On the opposite corner, on Mackay St. and De Maisonneuve Blvd., nestled between the construction and M4 Burrito, is another sculpture, one that I didn’t really know existed until I read the sign covering it, protecting it from the adjacent construction. Although this sculpture doesn’t move, it is home to a clock!
Commissioned by the Bank of Montreal in 1966 to “beautify an air vent” connected to the metro, Claude Théberge’s untitled sculpture completely blends into the environment, even when it isn’t hidden for its own protection.
Théberge also has similar mural-sculptures at De l’Église metro and Viger Square, as well as several other 2D works around the city. All three pieces are made from concrete, which was poured into styrofoam moulds to determine their shape. The slabs are carved with funky geometric designs reminiscent of cubist paintings.
This untitled wall was likely only erected to decorate the surrounding area, which is filled with people bustling to and from the university’s buildings, hardly noticing its presence.
Concordia is home to many such artworks from local artists and alumni, faculty and staff. Among these are Geneviève Cadieux’s metallic leaves on the exterior of JMSB, Holly King’s chromatic print in the tunnel to the EV building from the metro entrance, which is commonly mistaken for a painting, and the bronze busts in the Hall building’s ground floor.
According to Art Public Montréal, public art is intended to be discrete, “affirming their formal, conceptual or temporal characteristics,” and can be found permanently installed outdoors and indoors in common areas, typically in relation to or in contrast with the surrounding environment.
While public art does play a role in decorating the city, and our campus, what’s the point of art that blends in? What then, differentiates public art from good architectural and urban design?
Danse Cité One Kind Favor (generale)
George Stamos, Karla Etienne et Radwan Ghazi Moumneh Montreal Arts Interculturels 2020.01.20
Collaboration and kindness do not always go hand in hand
Two figures stood in translucent neon shirts, a third stood beside them in your average button-up, blowing pink spotted feathers. On their feet were sequined slippers, and around their wrists or in their shirt pockets hid sequined eye masks.
ONE KIND FAVOR, performed from Jan. 21-25 at Montréal, Arts Intercultural (MAI), brought together three very different artists. With a background in West African dance, Karla Etienne is Zab Maboungou / Nyata Nyata Dance Company’s administrative director. Her movements were poised, controlled and professional. Choreographer George Stamos received his Bachelor of Fine Arts in contemporary dance and performance art in Amsterdam and went on to continue his graduate studies in communications at Concordia. His background in performance comes through in his theatrical and expressive manner of movement in ONE KIND FAVOR. Lastly, moving simply and naturally is Montreal-based Omani musician, Radwan Ghazi Moumneh.
“Experience, have faith in discomfort,” said Moumneh in the Q&A following the final performance at MAI on Friday, Jan. 24. “Discomfort doesn’t always mean it’s wrong, leads to trust and surprising results.”
While Etienne and Stamos slid across the floor in their sequin slippers and blinded by their sequin masks, Moumneh sang in Arabic; some understood, some didn’t, but feelings of nostalgia and kindness were transmitted nonetheless. Behind them, on the black wall in chalked Arabic, Moumneh wrote;
رائحة الهواء بعد المطر
رائحة البحر بعد المطر
The smell of the air after the rain
The smell of the sea after the rain
This set the tone for the performance to follow.
Danse Cité One Kind Favor – Karla Etienne
Danse Cité One Kind Favor – George Stamos
Danse Cité One Kind Favor George Stamos and Radwan Ghazi Moumneh // Montreal Arts Interculturels
Designing such an intimate group performance requires harmony. The collaborative process, led by Stamos, wasn’t always a kind one. It was frustrating, they had to be patient with each other and trust that it would flow smoothly.
There is an evident risk taken in moving blind, “c’était pas évident comment on passait d’un état à une autre” said Etienne, “Le bruit, on le fait, on l’entend.” Which translates to, “It was not obvious how we passed from one state to another, the noise, we make it, we listen.”
Forcing to make things fit sometimes just doesn’t work. Stamos made it his goal to remove boundaries.
“Nothing really connected without an audience, the show didn’t click, there was no one to be kind to,” said Moumneh, who was the most out of his comfort zone, claiming that he doesn’t really know how to place his body in the context of dance.
Moumneh used elements from his own work, based on excerpts from Stamos’ initial text, which was removed from the performance to balance “cohabitation.” First, based on Stamos’ personal story, he saw the need to create space for his fellow performers’ voices. Most choreographers approach dancers as blank slates, but Stamos wanted to meet them in dance without changing them. Instead, he invited Moumneh and Etienne to come as they were, heavy with their own stories, cultural background, artistic practices and languages.
“Le text, c’est ressentie. Communiqué, pas de traduction,” said Moumneh.
They recited words and acts of kindness in English, French and Arabic, and transcribed them onto the stage’s wall and floor.
Kindness among the performers lay in their commitment and their limits, what they could each take on before going into an unhealthy place. They moved erratically with each breath, marking them with a harmonica stuck between their lips as they shook their shoulders, chests, and eventually their whole bodies.
“On part avec ce qui compte pour nous, c’est une manière d’être,” (we take away what we choose, it’s a way of life”), said Etienne.
Tune in for noise, esoteric conversations and a weird time
“Warning, you are not ready,” began Mc.pale’s hour long slot, F*k*ng_De$troYed_4ever at 3 p.m. on Jan. 22. IMCA RAYDEEOH, started by Sam Bordeleau and Ale O’Sullivan, is a new web radio program running on a submission basis intended to bring together Concordia students, faculty and staff with experimental audio work. After working together at the IMCA depot, Bordeleau and O’Sullivan saw a need for community within their program, and sought to create a community-oriented space that would transcend physical boundaries. Without the contribution of Matt Halpenny, who coded the website (and designed by Bordelau), the radio simply wouldn’t exist.
F*k*ng_De$troYed_4ever is one of a handful of truly weird shows. Mc.pale, the show’s host, describes their piece on the radio’s schedule as “two extra-terrestrial humanoïd-cyborgs listening to their local Top 40 Hits radio in their flying dark matter plasma bubble; this is what they hear. Punching DVDs, dropping a VHS from the top of, drilling a hole in a USB key. Slowly inserting a needle in one’s ear.”
Keeping the spirit of the Intermedia program, which has abandoned its old name, Intermedia and Cyber Arts, in favour of the former, IMCA RAYDEEOH promises to play any and all original submissions as long as they are respectful, accessible, inclusive and accountable.
As stated in their policies, IMCA RAYDEEOH “will not accept any material that supports violent, discriminatory or oppressive behavior such as (but not limited to) racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, ableism, ageism and religion or culture discrimination.”
The radio program was inspired by platforms like BUMP TV, a public-access web broadcasting station based in Toronto, run entirely on a volunteer-basis. The platform accepts all sorts of bizarre audio and visual work.
From static to screeching, old French-Canadian children’s music to lo-fi ambient, dancey stuff IMCA RAYDEEOH has it all, like Boioioing! , O’Sullivan’s playful mix, which sounds quite reminiscent of Montreal’s Biodome.
In Postamateur, IMCA student Louis Felix works with spoken word, interviews, conversations and field recordings. Their work is comedic, and in O’Sullivan’s words, “sort of like meta-institutional critique.”
ESOTALK, hosted by the anonymous iced t dove into “A Thousand Plateaus” by psychoanalyst, Félix Guattari and French philosopher, Gilles Deleuze, a book that, according to the hosts, is so overly academic it has lost meaning, mocking academia. They discuss the role of media in our lives as seen in the Netflix Original, The Circle. In the show, eight people are housed in a building and they’re only allowed to interact with each other through social media.
“Social media has actually become so pervasive, such a part of our reality that we don’t even think of it any more,” said iced t. They predict that in this decade we will see the virtual connect with the physical, mixing virtuality and actuality, past augmented reality.
After their trial run in December, last week marked IMCA RAYDEEOH’s first official time on air, playing from 1 p.m. to 5 p.m. daily. But, because they’re just starting out, they currently only have enough content to run bi-weekly, replaying old episodes every other week. The next week of new sounds will be in February. Until then, listeners are encouraged to explore episodes on the IMCA RAYDEEOH mixcloud.
Ceramic student association hosts drop-in make-a-thon
You can find ceramics students nestled in the far corner of the VA building’s basement at all hours of the day. It’s a patient art. Trial and error is to be expected.
Every year, the Concordia Ceramic Student Association (CCSA) hosts a 12-hour make-a-thon where students, faculty and staff are invited to participate in handbuilding and spinning. This year, I joined them for a half hour or so, and had the opportunity to create a weird flower-like bowl, before I decided to crush it and deposit it in the clay buckets to be reused. I don’t have much experience handbuilding but I do really enjoy the act of making, once I surpass the intense feelings of frustration I associate with the medium.
“Ceramics classes are very hard to get into at Concordia, especially as a non-ceramics student,” said Fiona Charbonneau, who took ceramics in CEGEP but hasn’t yet at Concordia. “I came down to talk to people and get to know the medium more by participating in the making, it’s for a good cause.”
The funds raised from the many cups and bowls made during the make-a-thon go towards the department’s participation in the annual National Council on Education for the Ceramic Arts conference. This year, held from March 25-28 in Richmond, Virginia, students attending the conference will have the opportunity to view demos, share techniques with other ceramicists, attend artist talks, gallery tours and buy special equipment.
According to its website, “the Visual Arts Center of Richmond […] has helped adults and children explore their creativity and make art since 1963. Each year, the organization touches the lives of more than 33,000 people through its classes, exhibitions, community outreach programs, camps, workshops and special events.”
Rooted in tactility, clay is a very therapeutic medium that teaches balance, stability and how to centre oneself. Even the act of cutting into clay has the serene power to calm me down. As someone who teaches basic handbuilding to children with very limited experience, I’ve learned to not sweat the small stuff, finding freedom within the “rules” (and trying not to blow up all the pieces in the kiln because of a tiny air bubble). Within this, there are techniques that are, overall, pretty helpful in day-to-day life.
