How COVID-19 helped this Concordia student set his artistic path
It’s no wonder that Henri Bouchard has become successful so rapidly. His works are captivating, and make you fall in love with the images being depicted, like the human body and the environment. Bouchard is a third-year student in studio arts at Concordia.
Ever since COVID-19, he has had the time to develop his talent in painting and share it through social media. “I have a great audience,” said Bouchard. “It has grown since the first few times I posted my works online.” Before enrolling in university, he was already familiar with acrylics. Today, he predominantly works with oil paint, adding beeswax to make it dry faster, while still using acrylic paint for certain elements.
When COVID-19 shut down everything, causing people to stay in their homes, it was only the beginning for Bouchard. His mother rented a cottage in Saint-Anicet, where he stayed for a year, honing his craft. That’s where the magic took place: near the water, with breathtaking sunsets, all of which made him fall in love with the scenery.
Most of his paintings maintain the same colour palette. Bouchard is very much in love with pastel tones. However, this doesn’t hold him back from using darker tones, which are essential to creating contrast. “I’m crazy about pastel colors. There’s something about them that is so appealing to my eyes, and they are a necessity in my work,” said Bouchard.
Bouchard has attracted a variety of people online, especially on Instagram, where his page acts as a self-curated exhibition. He may not be the biggest fan of social media, but it has helped him and brought unexpected success: most of his canvases have already been sold.
“I once had an argument with my mother because I sold a painting to someone else instead of her,” said Bouchard. “She eventually understood that my clientele couldn’t revolve around family.” Something noteworthy about the artist is his portrayal of human bodies.
He also paints landscapes, but mainly portrays body parts. Freedom (2020) is a painting on a homemade canvas that displays the back of a person in blue tones, contrasted with light colors like pink, beige and white. “There has to be a presence of white; it brings brightness to the canvas,” added Bouchard.
Another remarkable work is Yu (2020) on homemade canvas, which illustrates Bouchard cheek-to-cheek with his girlfriend. This was inspired by a selfie they took together. On this canvas, skin details are highlighted with pink and blue, creating a vivid expression on both faces. When looking at it, one can tell that it was made with a lot of love.
“When I fall in love, I fall in love completely,” said Bouchard. “I’m really into romantic things, so maybe that can be something that viewers can see through my work.” This theme of romance can certainly be seen in Save my love (2020), where a woman is holding her partner dearly, capturing a tender, personal moment between two lovers.
In regards to his creative process, Bouchard often swaps his effort between works. He manages to start a canvas and proceed rapidly onto the next. This allows him to recharge and work on another painting, before getting back to the initial work he began. “Sometimes it’s good to step back for a few days, look at the work you’ve been working [on] and see what else can be added or modified,” said Bouchard.
When school began again, Bouchard relocated to Montreal, where he lives with his girlfriend. Here, he has the chance to work in his studio, a place where he is allowed to make a mess. “My workspace needs to be all over the place, it can’t be neat.”
For the moment, Bouchard envisions creating merchandise that promotes his artistic talent. During the summer, he established himself as a painter. Perhaps we’ll be able to see his future work in a gallery exhibition. “Living off my art is what I most desire, and with the audience that I have, it’s been so far very rewarding,” said Bouchard.
Viewers can access all of Henri Bouchard’s works here and keep up to date with his future projects on Facebook and Instagram.
Beatriz Santiago Muñoz’s exhibition reflects on the complex reality of Puerto Rico and adjacent communities in the aftermath of natural disasters, political disruption, and poetic disorder
Along with the excitement that comes from starting a new academic year, students also have reason to be excited about the reopening of Montreal’s cultural spaces. Excited as I was, I went to visit the Leonard & Bina Ellen Art Gallery’s newest exhibition, Poetic Disorder, the same morning it opened.
Presented in the context of MOMENTA Biennale de l’image, and within the theme of sensing nature, the exhibition by Puerto Rican artist Beatriz Santiago Muñoz takes over the entire gallery with four video projects. The exhibition is curated by Stefanie Hessler, in collaboration with Camille Georgeson-Usher, Maude Johnson, and Himali Singh Soin.
Each work, realized between 2014 and 2019, displays different facets, stories, and glimpses of life in the tropics through the sensitive, activistic lens of Santiago Muñoz. From specificity in daily life, like taking a nap in a hammock, to imaginative narratives blurring fiction and documentary, Poetic Disorder reveals the rich, wide existence and perspective of Caribbean life. The audience is challenged to see the world and these communities beyond colonialism and western thought.
Binaural is the first installation I encountered. In the dark, while my eyes adjusted, I was welcomed by a symphony of analogue projectors, emitting beams of light displaying silent videos on a loop onto four separate panels. These videos displayed a vertical horizon, a person resting on a hammock, a flickering light in a tunnel, and a view into the jungle.
When I reached the fourth video, I realized that Binaural extended to the next room on my right, featuring two more projectors. As I watched the last videos, I reflected on the artist’s intention to alter the perspective and the standpoint of the camera, noticing how this drew me in as both a spectator and as a Caribbean individual.
None of the videos last more than three minutes. Nor do they reveal much context. However, the collective narrative of the six-channel 16mm film installation says a lot. It made me think about the use of analogue processes as a vehicle to decolonize the foreign gaze, and reflect on Indigenous practices around sustainability, collaboration, land protection, resistance, and care.
I later learned that Santiago Muñoz shot these videos in Puerto Rico and the Solomon Islands, where she used the local flora to extract chemicals in order to develop the films. Amazed by this, I admired the work once more, reflecting on the power of nature and our responsibility to preserve it.
Walking to the left of the gallery, I encountered familiar imagery and sounds. I put on headphones for La Cabeza Mató a Todos, a seven-minute HD video, and heard the croaks of the coquí frog, a distinct and recognizable part of the Caribbean soundscape. The piece features a woman, played by artist and activist Mapenzi Chibale Nonó, and a cat (voiced by Nonó) engaging in what sounds like some sort of dialogue or spell-casting to end “the war machine.” This eerie scene is based on a local myth about a shooting star, alluding to ritualistic practices in co-existence with decolonial, feminist, and queer practices.
On the other side of the wall, I encountered Marché Salomon. This 16-minute HD video shows a dialogue between two young workers, Marcelin and Mardochelene, at a market in Port-au-Prince. A philosophical and mystical dialogue is surrounded by chopping sounds, hip hop, and “old technology” that is accompanied by dynamic camera work and the occasional voice interrupting the video with instructions to pay attention and “look.”
Finally, I went to the last room to watch Gosila. The piece is a “16mm film and HD video transferred to video and projected through a piece of lighthouse fresnel lens.” This creates a magical refraction of colours, distorting the image into a curved rectangle, and acts as a subtle nod to the devastation left by hurricanes Maria and Irma in 2017.
The following year was extremely difficult for Puerto Rico in every aspect, as it was left exposed politically, economically, and ecologically. By documenting the citizens and their small acts of care, reconstruction efforts, and the reclamation of their autonomy, the artist encourages us to think about the monsters we face both individually and as part of a community, and how to find light after the storm.
Before leaving the gallery, I was kindly greeted by the director of the gallery, Michèle Thériault, who conversed with me about Santiago Muñoz and her practice, sharing some afterthoughts about the curatorial experience.
After our conversation, I left the space with a lot to think and write about, confronting emotions of nostalgia and estrangement, with the motivation that, despite chaos, we shall find poetry in our everyday disorder.
Poetic Disorderis on display at the Leonard & Bina Ellen Art Gallery, located at 1400 De Maisonneuve Blvd. W. on the ground floor of the J.W. McConnell Building until Oct. 16.
Pacific, one of Colville’s most well known works, challenges viewers to be inquisitive and to derive their own meaning from this complex piece of art
I first encountered Alex Colville’s work in an introductory art history class during my second year at Concordia. Our professor had us observe several works from the Canadian artist, and try to decipher the meaning behind them.
Colville was primarily concerned with realism, deriving inspiration for many of his works from his life in the Maritimes, as well as his experience serving in the Second World War. Although Colville has quite a few noteworthy paintings, there’s one that has stuck with me ever since I first saw it:Pacific (1967).
This work features a man leaning against a wall as he vacantly stares out at a tranquil body of water. However, this won’t be the first thing that viewers notice. Behind the man rests a pistol on a table, its barrel angled towards the observer. Although Colville’s work often explores themes such as the use of power, postwar anxiety, and morality, coupled with his interest in French existentialism, it appears that the artist would prefer that his audience attempt to interpret what Pacific means to them.
In several of his paintings, Colville presents a landscape that is eerily serene, where he then juxtaposes it with a chaotic subject. His pieces, especially Pacific, leave us with questions that are uncomfortable to confront: what is the man in the painting contemplating? Why is the gun angled towards the audience? Will the man end up using it?
His work draws us in, and instead of providing clear-cut answers and satiating our desire for more vibrant, serotonin-boosting pieces, these paintings demand that we be inquisitive. They expect us to dig a bit deeper, and to get into the heads of the subjects that Colville so carefully crafted.
When viewers are unable to decide on a narrative and make sense of a subject’s motives, they may walk away feeling uneasy. But this isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
Art that gets us thinking, especially pieces that cause us to ponder existential questions we may try to avoid, might help us view the world a bit differently. Sure, it can be gloomy to try and make sense of a painting like Pacific, but our own interpretations of a piece often say a lot more about how we view our society and ourselves, rather than the direct intentions of the artist.
In a world where many things tend to move at breakneck speed, there’s nothing wrong with taking some time to engage with a complex work that requires careful introspection from its observer. You might even learn something new about yourself in the process.
Rediscovering life before digital technology, Internet and social media
Walking through the exhibition feels like traveling back in time. For some, it will seem like an unknown life, whereas for others, it will seem familiar.
Exhibited at the historical Musée de Lachine, La vie sans applis invites viewers to take a walk in a space that shows them life without the internet or social media. The exhibition is presented through different sections, which include social media, photos, music, games, e-mail, and more. It’s presented in a manner that displays the evolution of these different subjects. Each section also provides three types of information: a historical fact about Lachine, a “did you know,” and environmental facts.
When entering the room, viewers can see a blue wall to their left, where photographs of people are displayed. Pictures of hockey teams, as well as people fishing, playing tennis or running a marathon, can be admired among many other photographs. Ironically, in today’s world, this would be similar to an Instagram or Facebook feed. Perhaps it could also make visitors think of an old family photo album that they peek at once in a while.
When looking at the photo, video and music sections, there are a variety of objects that can be gazed upon. One can see the evolution of cameras, now old relics with different shapes and sizes. In today’s world, we are able to instantly take pictures with our cell phones. Still, some take pleasure in using a film camera, waiting with excitement for the shots to be developed. Aesthetically, old-school looks better.
Phonograph records dating from 1923, and an electric and battery operated radio circa 1937 are among other objects seen in the section. Today, there’s no need to worry when it comes to music, considering the multitude of apps that allow people the opportunity to listen to whatever they like. The internet has allowed younger generations to discover music from once upon a time, and help older generations look for their favourite older music with a better sound quality.
One downside of today’s music devices is streaming. According to an article published in 2019 by Rolling Stone, a researcher from the University of Oslo explored the environmental impact of streaming music and found out that “music consumption in the 2000s resulted in the emission of approximately 157 million kilograms of greenhouse gas equivalents.”
The exhibition suggests that the audience download and save the music on one’s device. Knowing the amount of music we listen to per day, it would be a challenge for everyone to go back to cassettes and vinyl when everything we listen to is on our devices.
The game section of the exhibition displays familiar pastimes, such as a chess board from 1910, cards from the 20th century, lawn bowling balls from the 19th century and more. Though video games appear to have replaced some of these old forms of entertainment, they are still enjoyed by many out there. In all sincerity, game night with your pals at your favourite board game bar is far more exciting.
The exhibition also demonstrates the way information was received in the past, how products were promoted and the way encyclopedia collections were equivalent to today’s search engines. Everything that is exhibited in La vie sans applis can be found on a cell phone. Whether you want to use a calculator, look at the world clock, or communicate with distant family members, everything can be done immediately.
Digital technology has shaped the way the world works as everything travels faster than ever. However, it is essential to take a break and recharge by doing an activity that doesn’t involve using our cell phones. La vie sans applis encourages the audience to think about the relationship people have with their electronic devices.
In the end, the real question is: would it be possible today to live without them?
La vie sans applis is being displayed at 1 Chemin du Musée every day from 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. until Oct. 10.
This exhibition features nearly 40 top-of-the-line VR works
For the second year in a row, the PHI Centre is hosting Venice VR Expanded, an exhibition that features nearly 40 top-of-the-line VR works. Montrealers have the exclusive chance to visit this unique exhibition as the PHI Centre is currently the only cultural venue in Canada to ever showcase Venice VR Expanded.
The exhibition is open to the public from Sept. 1 to Sept. 19. Each ticket affords visitors the chance to spend two hours in the exhibition. UK-based curators Liz Rosenthal and Michel Reilhac have worked hard this year to deliver innovative works that challenge previous conceptions of virtual reality environments.
When I arrived at the PHI Centre early on a Tuesday morning, I made my way up to the fourth floor. Lingering behind a group of nine masked visitors, I waited to be seated, where I would be handed a VR headset and two remotes. Despite my weak stomach and history of unpleasant experiences with VR headsets, I was determined to enjoy this outing. Before I knew it, I was transported into several peculiar and beautiful worlds.
The first work that I decided to explore was a short film titled Caves by Director Carlos Isabel García. This 19-minute film invites viewers to follow three explorers deep into a network of tunnels that are, to say the least, anxiety-inducing. This work was absolutely thrilling and granted me a newfound respect for those who are brave enough to risk their lives in the name of exploration.
The next work I settled on was a short animated film titled Bing mei guei (The Sick Rose) by Tang Zhi-zhong and Huang Yun-hsien. The emotional 17-minute film follows a young girl who is hell-bent on bringing a magical rose to her mother, a woman who is a courageous front-line hospital worker amidst a raging pandemic. Though the film’s theme is gloomy at its core, and at times uncomfortably familiar, the secondary characters, namely a tribe of rats and a handful of demonic beings, make for a lively addition.
Finally, I decided to watch Micro Monsters by Elliot Graves. With many scenes involving larger-than-life bugs, I found myself overtaken with fascination rather than repulsion (as I was originally prepared for). Viewers are given a chance to take in every minute detail of these creatures, ones that they may normally pay no mind to. This documentary did not disappoint, and I ended up learning quite a few interesting facts. I now know that scorpions glow in the dark.
Venice VR truly offers something for everyone, and I applaud the wide-ranging subjects that it covers. There are very few exhibitions that have managed to leave such a mark on me.
Walking out onto Saint-Paul Street after the exhibition, I felt different. Not in a life-altering way, but I felt as though I had been presented with a special gift: the rare opportunity to briefly escape the boundaries of everyday life, where I was free to delve into the unknown, absorbing and appreciating it in 360-degree view.
One thing is certain: I will be returning next year to experience even more cutting-edge projects.
The PHI Centre is located at 315 Saint-Paul St. W.
The Shock Value Collective projects images onto Maestria's sales office as a form of critique of real estate, May 30, 2021
Concordia students produce art interventions criticizing real estate in Montreal, encouraging the public to discuss housing issues.
An art intervention was staged on the Maestria Condominiums’ sales office in Place des Arts on Saturday, May 30. A group of four Concordia students and their professor were behind it.
Known as the Shock Value Collective, Thomas Heinrich, Gabriel Townsend Darriau, Christine White and Madelyn Capozzi, along with their professor, Marie-Sophie Banville, hope to stimulate discussions about an issue that Montrealers know all too well: the housing crisis.
Last week’s art intervention, led by Heinrich, is the first of four that will occur throughout the summer. These research projects are the culmination of the first iteration of Excess and the City, a course given by the Anti-Speculation desk of the Office of Rules and Norms at Concordia.
Heinrich’s intervention, Concrete Capital, projected images onto the luxury condominium project, located on a small yet highly valued piece of land.
Folks taking advantage of the end of the curfew in Montreal walked by the projection, some curiously lifting their heads to see what the buzz was about. Passerbys read “700 000 000” on several images — the projected cost of Maestria’s luxury housing project.
The zeros in the million dollar figure were sometimes replaced with the Google Street View screenshots of the piece of land over the last two decades; showing how little it has physically changed.
Heinrich views critiquing real estate through art as a “very unusual” way of approaching the subject. He explains that students who study financial real estate are normally those who wish to become developers, or simply, “financially savvy.”
Maestria, who’s major investors include the Fonds immobilier de solidarité FTQ (Quebec Workers Federation), also happens to be the largest real estate development to have set foot in Quartier des Spectacles, according to a press release from 2019.
Along with investing $700 million in luxury condominium projects, the Quebec Workers Federation recently boasted about investing in social housing projects. But in comparison, the Fonds immobilier de solidarité FTQ told The Concordian only a total of $116 million was spent towards building and renovating 6,091 low- and middle-income household units across the province.
The Fonds immobilier de solidarité FTQ said in a statement to The Concordian that they knew nothing about the art intervention, nor were they approached by the collective.
In fact, it was not the Shock Value Collective’s intention to shame Maestria, and by extension, the Fonds immobilier de solidarité FTQ. According to Heinrich, those who participate in these projects work within “what they believe is right.”
Their goal is rather to invite “regular people” to ask the following question: Why is there a growing housing crisis in Montreal?
The students’ professor, Banville, believes that not understanding why the housing crisis is happening adds a “layer of anxiety” to those affected by it.
The artist’s role in answering these questions, according to Banville, is by “making the issue visible, more understandable, and being able to feel [it].”
With that in mind, Banville has faith that the projects put together by the Shock Value Collective have the power to engage the audience on an emotional level.
Founded by Concordia Communications students Hannah Jamet-Lange and Shin Ling Low, Collective 4891 aims to foster a safe space for artists to create, regardless of their artistic medium.
“Our goal was always to create a safe space for people to share their art in,” said Jamet-Lange, adding that they wanted to make room for people who perhaps didn’t yet have the confidence to sign up for open-mics or more professional performance settings. “We felt like everyone was doing so many cool things, so many cool art projects, and we really wanted to see it in a context outside of school.”
The group initially organized art events in Jamet-Lange’s apartment. In fact, the collective is named after their old apartment number. In order to provide a platform for emerging artists to expand their practice and experience, the collective often took photos and videos, giving the creators a chance to add to their portfolio. However, despite being titled a collective, the team only consists of Jamet-Lange and Low, both of whom do everything from hosting the events to assembling their zines.
“We would love to make the collective a more literal sense of ‘collective,’” said Low, adding that they are interested in expanding their team in order to continue producing and hosting community projects and events.
“During [the open-mics] people would oftentimes build confidence during the event, after hearing other people perform and then decide on the spot ‘Hey, I’m going to perform something after all,’” said Jamet-Lange. “If people have the confidence and want to perform something they should have the availability to be able to do so.”
However, when the pandemic hit, they had to restructure the format in which their events were delivered, all while staying in line with their mandate of making art accessible to all.
Therefore, they decided to start a zine. The Community Care Edition of the Collective 4891 Zine features the work of over 20 creatives. In addition to serving as an art project to showcase the work of emerging artists, the zine also doubles as a fundraiser for Black Lives Matter.
How so? In order to obtain a copy of the zine, those interested are encouraged to make a donation to the cause of their choice — going local is highly encouraged — and submit proof of their donation. In return, those interested will receive their order by mail.
The zine features everything from paintings to poetry, giving people a chance to display what would have otherwise been placed on a wall or performed at one of the collective’s open-mics.
To accompany the launch of their inaugural zine, the collective will be hosting a virtual artmaking event and launch at the end of April. Here, artists who contributed to the zine will be able to share their work, in an effort to allow people to connect with the art and artists who contributed.
For more information about Collective 4891 and their upcoming launch event, follow them on Instagram or Facebook. Those interested in receiving more details on obtaining a copy of the zine or donating to a cause, visit this website.
How the Harrisons’ multidisciplinary practice tackled environmental issues
Known as “the Harrisons,” Newton and Helen Mayer Harrison were trailblazers in the eco-art movement. Their collection ranged from manifestos to maps, and sculptural installations. If a viewer didn’t know, they might interpret their work as data rather than art.
The couple’s multidisciplinary practice, which ranged a variety of disciplines, explored forestry issues and urban renewal, among others. This led them to collaborate with biologists, urban planners, architects, and more.
What makes their work particularly fascinating is not solely the aesthetic aspect of it, but rather the fact that each piece could be viewed as a solution to ecological issues.
“Our work begins when we perceive an anomaly in the environment that is the result of opposing beliefs or contradictory metaphors,” they said, according to a statement on their studio’s website. “Moments when reality no longer appears seamless and the cost of belief has become outrageous offer the opportunity to create new spaces – first in the mind and thereafter in everyday life.”
In fact, in the 1960s, the couple pledged they would exclusively create art that involved environmental awareness and ecosystems.
The Harrisons offered a unique take on art and its purpose, demonstrating the ways in which society’s inclination towards beautiful things makes them more likely to care about important issues if they are exhibited in a tasteful way.
“All of the sudden people are looking at the environment in one way or another, and they’re looking differently,” said Helen in a video of their sculpture Wilma the Pig. “In other words, it’s bringing their attention in a way that is meaningful.’”
The work was displayed at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles for their 2012 exhibition Ends of the Earth: Land Art to 1974, a remake of one of their earlier installations titled Hog Pasture, wherein the creative duo recreated a small live pasture within the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. They had intended on bringing a hog into the space, however, the museum refused.
Among their other large-scale projects is The Force Majeure (2007 to present). The ongoing series is a manifesto for the present and the future and offers proposals to adapt to a changing world.
In fact, the Harrisons started the Center for the Study of the Force Majeure at the University of California, Santa Cruz, a research centre that enables the collaboration between artists and scientists in an effort to design projects that respond to climate change.
Despite art being often deemed unimportant, the Harrisons’ works and legacy demonstrate the ways in which art can serve as an alternative way of discussing important issues.
“Why not artists?” reads a statement on the Centre’s website. “Art is the court of last resort – and our best hope.”
Four Montreal-based creators share the impact of COVID-19 on their analog media practice
The hashtag #printisnotdead on Instagram has accumulated over 395 thousand posts as of April 2021. Not too bad for a medium that has been accused of irrelevance for the entirety of Gen Z’s existence.
Yet, it still manages to stick around. The COVID-19 pandemic has highlighted the importance of physical touch, with some feeling negatively impacted by the lack of it. Print, or analog media, is often more labour intensive, hands-on, and time-consuming than digital equivalents, usually yielding less predictable results.
So… why would anyone painstakingly hand print a poster when you could design it in Photoshop, and have it printed in a matter of hours? Has the pandemic had any effect on print? What even is paper art?
Four Montreal-based creators who have adapted, reworked, or dove head-first into an analog practice during the lockdown explain the connection to The Concordian.
Caitlin Yardley / Disposable Film
Caitlin Yardley, a Journalism graduate, is experienced in digital media production. For a recent birthday, she was gifted a disposable camera to experiment with.
Like many ‘90s kids, she used a one-use film camera as a child, explaining that her family has albums upon albums of old photographs. But it wasn’t until the lockdown that she fell for film.
“I really want to preserve every moment now,” said Yardley. “I love the permanence of getting my film developed and holding onto a photo, or when I hand a photo to a friend I’ve had printed it feels really special. So that’s been what has led me to continue with the medium.”
Because of the pandemic, some of Yardley’s friends have moved away and she sees less of the ones that are around, naturally. She explained that the experience has led her to cherish the time she spends with loved ones even more and that film photography is an enjoyable way of making the moments “concrete.”
“I always lose the photos on my phone, or even on my [digital] camera, I’ll upload them somewhere and forget about it,” explained Yardley. “But I’ve been printing off these photos and sticking them on my wall.”
Something that Yardley likes about disposable film cameras is how accessible they make photography, especially compared to high-tech DSLR cameras or finicky 35mm film, which require the user to have experience and skills the former doesn’t.
“With some analog film it’s different, but if you just have a disposable camera anyone can get a super cool photo,” said Yardley. “If I’ve had a bit too much to drink I can snap a photo and as long as the flash is on I know it’s going to be good.”
Yardley explained that disposable cameras are very user friendly, requiring only two controls to function, meaning it’s also easy and quick to instruct others interested in learning about the medium. “As long as your finger isn’t over the lens that’s all that matters,” she said.
“With digital, you can take 100 photos to make sure you get the right one. With film, you have one moment realistically, maybe two, to line up the perfect shot and that’s it,” said Yardley. “You don’t know what you captured, you don’t know if it was just your fingerprint. Three weeks later when you hand the film in and it gets developed — then you know … It’s just not an experience you get with digital.”
Yardley explained that this is exactly what makes disposable film unsuitable as a tool for fast-paced, precise photojournalism required at a protest, but that she will continue to make sure she has a disposable camera ready for capturing special events creatively.
She encourages anyone interested but hesitant of the medium to try it out.
“Pick up a disposable camera and if you do have the pleasure of being around people you love, go out and try to shoot something,” said Yardley. “It’s going to be beautiful no matter what.”
@gorelickart / Linocut Printmaking
@gorelickart* is a Montreal-based artist, in her first year of Studio Arts at Concordia University. At the start of the pandemic, the multi-disciplinary creative found themself living in a small studio, shared with a now-ex partner and a cat. Painting, also a part of their artistic work, proved a good way to collect cat hair in a small space.
They took a printmaking course at Concordia during the fall term and started to learn more about the many distinct forms that fall under the umbrella term of printmaking.
“I didn’t use to draw or do any realistic work, but in printmaking, I’ve started to explore that with linocut and intaglio,” they explained.
Compared to linocut printmaking, which developed in the 19th century, intaglio is a grandmother, originating in the 15th century. Intaglio could be described as chemical engraving — the design is etched onto the plate and then acid is poured over it. Intaglio and linocut are on opposite ends of the printmaking spectrum because the former is an example of incision printing, where the design is essentially inside the plate. Linocut and woodcut, require the artist to carve away everything but the design, making it stand out from the cut-away parts in an almost 3-dimensional manner. They are examples of relief printing.
She was initially drawn to lino, which is short for linoleum, the same material also used as flooring, to create a @gorelickart 2020 stamp for her paintings.
“I bought a 4 by 6-inch piece of rubber, and obviously my stamp was tiny so I just started experimenting more with that,” said @gorelickart.
YouTube videos and a can-do attitude proved helpful.
“I just got the tools and started doing it. I was just carving on my couch, with the block in my hand. So whenever I would miss or [the block] would slide a bit I would stab myself and be like ‘Ahh!’ As I was presenting my piece someone in my class was like ‘You know you’re meant to use this thing to keep the block in place … That would have been good to know, but I guess that’s part of the process of teaching yourself.”
Like many analog methods, linocut printmaking involves several labour intensive steps. Carving a block and printing it are two separate tasks, and @gorelickart prefers the former. They use intaglio inks, which can be hard to clean up and stain easily. She chose a composition of a fish created earlier in the year as one of her favourites, as it is one of the pieces she has cared enough about to go through the process of printing and not just carving.
“I really love carving, I find it’s such a relaxing process. I can do it very absentmindedly, almost like knitting,” she said. “I just sit on the couch, [carving] my block and watch TV and it’s really relaxing. Versus printing that’s more technical, and I’m more stressed about not getting ink everywhere.” They use intaglio inks which can be hard to clean up.
@gorelickart explained they live alone and don’t see friends often with respect to the pandemic regulations. Tactile parts of their artistic practice, such as carving, working with stained glass, and clay have proved deeply helpful in terms of dealing with the difficulties that can lead to.
@gorelickart was inspired by another artist on Instagram using small scraps to make recycled stamps. It prompted them to start reusing their wine corks and linoleum scraps to make custom stamp-sized designs.
“When I was doing bigger blocks I would have so much waste from my carvings and I was like ‘Oh my God I need to do something with this’ … So I just started making tiny little carvings and putting them on the corks. They’re so cute and I love them, but now I have so many I’m like, ‘What do I do with these?!’”
In the future — commissioned stamps, or ones with letter grades for teachers are a possibility but, “Right now I’m just making them for fun when I have extras,” they said. “Printmaking is a pretty low-waste art form compared to painting but it’s important to use everything. Before I was just throwing my wine caps out, so I was like this is pretty perfect.”
Silvana Toma / Papermaking
Some might assume the term “paper arts” means art drawn or painted on a piece of paper. Not Silvana Toma, a lifelong paper collector who likes to leave journals and notepads empty, finding them prettier that way.
Toma visited Japan a couple of times and was fascinated by the process of washi papermaking, a thin yet super-strong paper handmade locally, using ancient methods.
“Even though I enjoy both, I’m more drawn to analog [than digital]. It’s so tactile and hands-on that it helps me disconnect from the world for a little while and only focus on what I am doing in the present moment. Because of this, it’s been super beneficial to my mental health too. It’s also as close to a form of meditation as it gets since I can never sit still for too long,” explained Toma.
She turned her affection for stationary into concrete action, launching NoteStorii, a handmade paper shop, in early 2021.
“In some aspects, lockdown helped since I probably wouldn’t have launched so soon if I wasn’t forced to stay in the house and actually work on this. In general, there’s no easy part about starting a business, especially when you’re a one [person] show,” said Toma, detailing the specific challenges the pandemic has imposed on her fledgling business. The physical store closures made it difficult to source materials, the increased use of Canada Post caused shipping delays and on top of everything, lost packages “didn’t help.”
Papermaking is a highly tactile art, requiring multiple technical steps to get to the final product. A benefit to small-batch paper is that it has a significantly lower eco-footprint than coated, commercially produced paper.
Scraps can be recycled into new paper, but it’s important to understand what its texture is before committing to making it into sheets. This wasn’t always possible with online shopping, sometimes leading to unusable supplies, paired with high shipping costs for Toma.
“I think I’m not the only one who’s been living through the lens of social media pre-pandemic, always plugged in, always going somewhere and checking items off of my endless to-do list. The lockdown forced us to face who we really are beneath the filter we put up for the world, and we either weren’t ready for the reveal, or we didn’t like what we saw. It can cause a lot of anxiety and unrest you know — realizing you don’t really know yourself? I think analog mediums help us tap into a creative side that we’ve perhaps forgotten about; we can take time to think clearly, instead of frantically searching for answers even though we’re too distracted to ask the right questions,” she continued.
“At first I saw papermaking as something only professionals with huge studio spaces could do. I’ve learned that a small workspace doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the process. It’s also an inexpensive hobby. You don’t need fancy equipment, big machinery or grade A pulp to start off. I began with a kitchen blender and still use the same one, recycled newspaper and a DIY frame from the dollar store. With a bit of patience and willpower it’s a rewarding process,” she said.
“My favourite part is peeling off the dried sheet and stacking them for the final press. The peeling sound and motion feel incredibly satisfying, and so is seeing the final product,” continued Toma. Making paper is physically intense and messy — but it’s a labour of love for the creative entrepreneur.
“I remind myself that cleaning up means I get to come in to a fresh start tomorrow.”
Le Lin / Book Arts + Print Media
Le Lin is a prolific presence in the print world. In their final year of Graphic Design at Concordia University, Lin has shown art books in several exhibitions, produced multiple zines, and co-founded the Queer Print Club (QPC) two years ago — to name just a few of their analog accomplishments. However, he’s also seen aspects of his communal practice, like participating in Expozine, or a print swap the QPC co-organized with Yiara Magazine, become impossible due to the pandemic.
Lin has approached book arts from multiple angles, studying binding and conservation methods that the average person has likely never heard of, seeing a book as a unique 3D artistic creation, as opposed to just a vehicle for other people’s words and images. The distinction is important.
“I always design for print … I use very specific papers. I really care about the transparency and the papers and the materiality of the book itself … A lot of my books you can fold stuff out or it’s bound in a particular way,” he explained.
Lin combines their skills as an artist and graphic designer to create art books. A set two, handmade by Lin, were recently displayed in Dear Family: twenty years ago was just yesterday, at the Pierre-François Ouellette gallery, from March 17 to April 3, as a part of the annual Art Matters festival.
“When [people] open [one of my books] and see that I’ve done the whole cover, embossed the cover, and screen printed most of the transparent pages and then digitally printed all of the other pages and sewed stuff in and they’re like ‘Woah you can do that!?’ and I’m like yeah, you can do anything!”
Lin is in Design, but they have made the effort to pursue printmaking classes throughout their undergrad career, emailing teachers tirelessly to get into the courses needed to further their practice.
“This year shifted a lot. I really wanted to take papermaking and 400-level screen [printing] classes and other hands-on classes like bronze casting but because of COVID, I can’t go in, so I’ve been taking more coding and web design classes. I have made three zines this year but they’re not printed by me,” said Lin.
“One of the projects I’m working on is making a web platform for zines, so you can upload PDFs and it turns into flipbooks online, so it’s kind of bridging that gap. I haven’t partaken in much printing at home but it’s more like translating my practice onto an online skillset,” he continued.
The site features zines by Lin, as well as some that others have uploaded. Taken from the word “magazine,” what makes a zine distinct from traditional media is that they’re self-published and have a long history related to activism or the dissemination of information that is helpful to marginalized communities. They’re known for their blend of educational, personal, artistic, and affordable content.
“I like making things that are accessible … With my work I try to make it super precise. If you can read it, you can understand it.”
*Identity has been withheld for safety/privacy reasons.
An artist who speaks her truth through intimate art-making
Social media does have its advantages; it allows people to discover and connect with the many talented artists that share their work on social platforms.
I came across Montreal-based artist Lana Denina’s Instagram account a few months ago while scrolling on the application’s explore page. The colour palettes she uses and her detailed illustrations of faces caught my eye.
Denina, who is of Beninese and French origin, is currently studying Marketing at Concordia. She remembers copying drawings from her childhood books when she was six. Then, she started painting.
Her style is unique. Denina’s art illustrates modernity and authenticity, exploring human relationships, body movements and morphological diversity.
My paintings are greatly inspired by our era of beauty and technology,” says Denina. “I also incorporate a lot of modern fashion into my art.”
Denina combines digital art and painting, representing people of colour is important for her as she feels they should be more included in contemporary art.
She looks up to different cultures. For instance, she gets inspiration from the art of the Shōwa era, a period of time in Japan that signified the reign of the Shōwa Emperor, Hirohito, from 1926 to 1989. Denina also admires Dan masks, traditional objects created by the Dan people, an ethnic group from Côte d’Ivoire and Liberia. According to The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the masks are integrated into the hierarchical system that governs political and religious life.
Her paintings are designed differently from each other. Some pieces are darker, whereas some are lighter; it all depends on Denina’s mood. The faces depicted in the artworks were envisioned by the artist, creating new beings. “They all are made-up faces from my imagination. It’s a mix of various faces I saw over the internet or in real life that I thought were unique,” said Denina.
Moi vouloir Toi (2021) is an animated painting depicting a woman with a snake on her head looking at a man. The background changes colour, from green, purple, to a fading red, giving life to the artwork.
L’ocean du regret (2021) is a self-portrait of Denina from the series Wet, a collection of paintings she created where water is always present. In this painting, viewers can observe Denina standing in the water, with a cut over her heart. The piece is about giving one’s heart to someone fighting personal battles and the way it can be harmful for both people. The piece is painted with dark red shades, making the painting seem more intimate since it’s a self-portrait and red is known to signify intimacy and passion. It’s as if Denina was portrayed in her vulnerability.
I want to show my process of evolving throughout adulthood but also tell love stories,” said Denina. “Love is extremely powerful because it transforms people into vulnerable beings. It unveils the true nature of people.”
Loving myself, suffering with myself (2021) is another astonishing work, illustrating a woman in a red background, sitting on a red couch looking at viewers. This painting is about self-love and the way it can be challenging to accept one’s self. “I mostly love my sad paintings,” added Denina. “ They express powerful feelings.”
Her most recent work, Puedes oírlo (2021), which translates to “you can hear it” in Spanish, is animated work, showing a couple sharing an intimate moment, while the sound of a heartbeat can be heard. This painting seems to be a remembrance of a past relationship, where one still remembers the heartbeat of a partner that they once heard; a sound that never left.
I’m attached to all of my paintings. All of them are unique and capture a particular emotion I was feeling at the time they were created,” said Denina.
She possesses the skills to fabricate her art with different materials. Duo Tone is a set of velvet rugs, each with a different illustration on them. She also designed a woven throw, inspired by the Suri tribe, a community from Ethiopia. A woman meditating can be seen on the throw.
“I want to tell stories about life, the good and the bad sides of life. Every human being on Earth is different and has [their] own story,” said Denina. “I want to represent people as much as I can.” For the moment, Denina is working on a silk scarf she is designing.“The sky really is the limit, I have so many ideas. Lots of new projects are coming up soon but cannot be revealed yet!”
Viewers can keep up with Lana Denina’s work on her website and Instagram.
CESSA’s upcoming series of workshops will explore the relationship between sound, music, and the environment
“How we live, what we consume, and how we interact with our environment has a direct impact on the world of future generations,” said Malte Leander, president of the Concordia Electroacoustic Studies Student Association (CESSA) and head of the club’s board association.
CESSA will be hosting Sustainable Sound, a series of workshops and lectures centred around the relationship between sound, music, and the environment.
CESSA represents students within Concordia’s Music Department, however those in other departments or areas of study are encouraged to apply. They aim to facilitate collaborations with other departments and student associations through initiatives that will benefit students in the program.
The presentations, which will explore acoustic ecology, sustainability, noise, and the interstices of the aforementioned, will take place throughout April and May and will feature speakers from around the globe.
The positive thing about virtual events is the possibility for people to join in from anywhere,” said Leander, adding that the guest speakers are from Australia, the United Kingdom, and the United States; each bringing their own perspective on the notion of place.
In Jordan Lacey’s lecture, Sonic Rupture: theory and practice in the urban soundscape, the artist and researcher will be discussing the relationship between urbanity and nature via sonic encounters. Lacey is a Melbourne-based sound researcher, curator, and musician. His work explores urban design and sound art.
In Acts of Air: Reshaping the urban sonic, Lisa Hall will be hosting a workshop where viewers will be invited to enact and embody sound-works within the urban environment. After her lecture, participants will be asked to perform one of the discussed artworks within their environment and subsequently share their experience with the group.
Hall is a London-based sound-artist who uses audio and performance to explore urban environments. She does this by using audio and performance to intervene and interrupt, in an effort to raise questions and explore possibilities within a space.
In Pamela Z’s lecture and presentation, the composer and performer will be discussing her work in the artist space. Z works primarily with sampled sound and electronic processing.
Though the artists all work in different capacities, they all aim to uncover the relationship between sound, our environment, and the place we hold in relation to the two.
“An area not nearly spoken enough about is how our sonic environments affect us; our health, concentration levels, and sleep patterns,” said Leander. “In the case for most of us, that sonic environment is the roar that is the urban soundscape of Montreal.”
With environmentalism becoming increasingly popular throughout many aspects of everyday life, Leander notes that there is equally a “green” movement within the topics of acoustic ecology and ecoacoustics, which have been around for quite some time.
The urgency of change for a more sustainable future calls for a bigger integration of reflection upon sustainability and a call for change; both through what means, and in what way that audio is produced and composed, but also how the topics are approached,” said Leander.
Leander added that purposefully producing reflective art around environmentalism can yield deeper reflections within the public and the listener. In turn, potentially contributing to acts of change within other aspects of life.
“We are wanting to raise awareness about these things in an attempt to make more people more conscious of our surroundings, also in the domain of sound,” said Leander. “The sounds around you affect you more than you think.”
For more information about the Concordia Electroacoustic Studies Student Association, follow them on Instagram or visit their Bandcamp. To register for Sustainable Sound, visit their Facebook page.
The 1960s movement popularized taking art outside of the museum
Upon first glance, Richard Long’s A Line Made by Walking (1967) appears to be a simple monochrome photograph of a grassy field with trees in the distance. The photo, however, only serves as a form of documentation of the artwork itself, which is Long’s interaction with the terrain. This avant-garde form of artmaking is classified as Land Art.
Also known as Earth art, Land Art is created with the surrounding landscape, often taking the form of a performance, sculpture, or installation, and serving just as great of a political purpose as one driven by aesthetic.
The genre gained traction in the 1960s as part of the conceptual art movement, characterized by the notion that the concept behind the work takes precedence over the finalized work itself. In the same respect, Land Art holds its significance due to the idea of the artist’s physical intervention with their environment.
Notable figures who contributed to the movement’s popularity include Richard Long, Nancy Holt, Michael Heizer, and Robert Smithson, all of whom used natural elements as a means of investigating and creating a narrative about humanity’s interactions and relationship with the surrounding environment.
One of the most acclaimed works of Land Art is Robert Smithson’s Spiral Jetty (1970). Situated on the shore of the Great Salt Lake, Utah, the installation uses over six thousand tons of black basalt rocks and earth to form a spiral-shaped sculptural installation along the shore. The otherworldly work resembles a galaxy and, according to Art & Place, published by Phaidon, the nearly 460 metre-long spiral was created by bulldozing material from the shore into the lake.
“Built at the mouth of a terminal basin rich in minerals and nearly devoid of life, Spiral Jetty is a testament to Smithson’s fascination with entropy,” reads a statement on The Holt/Smithson Foundation website, demonstrating the ways in which Smithson was greatly inspired by geology and the natural sciences.
The site on which the installation is located is owned by Dia, an art foundation dedicated to preserving artists’ visions by commissioning and exhibiting site-specific installations. The foundation welcomes visitors to the site and advises them to “leave no trace” behind. In other words, visitors mustn’t interfere with the environment or the art, leaving it exactly how they found it in an effort to preserve it for future generations of viewers.
Aside from the grandeur of Smithson’s work, what makes his collection particularly fascinating is its volatility; being made entirely of natural resources means that the work can dissipate at any given moment, should it be subject to a slight disruption.
Nancy Holt, on the other hand, explored the genre through a different approach. Holt’s series Trail Markers (1969) consists of photographs that document the artist’s journey through Dartmoor National Park in England.
“Holt resists the panoramic, all-encompassing view, offering instead an experience of the landscape that is at once dynamic and myopic,” states the work’s description on The Holt/Smithson Foundation website.
The photographs, which are all focused on very specific parts of the landscape, neglect the vastness of the mountains, instead giving viewers an encounter that is representative of the artist’s experience within the space.
Whether it be through photographs or an expansive installation, Land Art serves as a reminder of nature’s grandiosity and impermanence.
