Category: Arts

Categories
Arts

Veteran journalist Francine Pelletier on making documentaries

Documentary journalism workshop series invites students to become creative storytellers

The Department of Journalism held a workshop on Oct. 21, led by Francine Pelletier, the department’s journalist-in-residence, about different forms of documentary making, what makes a good documentary and what makes it a unique form of storytelling.

The workshop was the first of a visual series, through which Pelletier plans to increase the profile of documentary journalism within Concordia. Documentary filmmaking lies at the intersection of journalism and arts, where the artist uses creative storytelling to raise awareness and make an impact in the world.

“Documentary filmmaking combines the best of journalism, telling great stories, and the best of you, finding the creative side in you,” said Pelletier.

After leaving her job at CBC in 2001, Pelletier became an independent documentary filmmaker and has made 11 films so far. She made the switch because documentary making “had exploded” in the 1990s and was a hot medium. She also found it to be a more creative type of journalism and more satisfying to work independently.

Pelletier said the oldest feature-length documentary is perhaps Nanook of the North (1922), which captures the struggles of an Inuk man and his family in the Canadian Arctic. It established the cinéma vérité form, where the filmmaker is but a passive watcher. Pelletier said the film Harlan County, USA (1976), which narrates a coal mine strike in the US, is a notable example of this form. She emphasized that this does not mean the filmmaker is neutral.

“In fact, documentary filmmaking is often called point-of-view filmmaking,” she said. “In this case, [the filmmaker] is definitely on the side of workers and not employers.”

Michael Moore, with his first documentary Roger & Me (1989), invented a new documentary form, in which the filmmaker is the main character. Another documentary form, which is simply an extended television news item, shows an orthodox correspondent who represents the audience and interviews affected people of the story. An example is the Canadian film Just Another Missing Kid (1981), which won the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature in 1982 (Pelletier said it is “too corny” for today’s taste and would never win an Academy Award today).

Pelletier said that the 1990s was a wonderful decade for documentaries, as the equipment required to make one became more accessible, causing the number of independent documentary makers to explode. Digital cameras were invented, which are much smaller and lighter than analog ones. 

“[So] little women like me can go out and actually use a camera and not die from the 50-pound weight of the television cameras,” she said. Also, many documentary film festivals, like Toronto’s Hot Docs festival, the largest documentary festival in North America, started in the 1990s.

Today, documentaries have various ways of reaching people; they appear on newspaper websites and services such as Netflix. Pelletier said the first documentary she watched on Netflix was Blackfish (2013). It is about the consequences of keeping whales in captivity, and narrates the story of Tilikum, a captive whale at the marine park Seaworld, who was involved in the deaths of three people. The film was quite impactful, and in 2016, SeaWorld announced it will end its live performances involving whales.

“What’s amazing about documentary filmmaking is that anyone can do it; if you’re really passionate about something, it’s possible to do a great story and really make a difference,” Pelletier said. “I always joke that it is the easiest way for a nobody to become a somebody.”

Another reason to make documentaries is to keep the light shining in the right direction, Pelletier said. 

“There is a truth in the documentary because you aren’t telling people what to think; they’re seeing it for themselves.”

To make a good documentary, “The story is key,” Pelletier said. “The essential ingredient to any good story is conflict or tension.”

One does not need a huge scandal — even telling a personal story compellingly can make an effective documentary. For example, Dick Johnson Is Dead (2020) describes the decline of the filmmaker’s old father in a creative, playful manner.

Pelletier said that another ingredient of a good story is a strong character.

“Any story is carried by a character,” she said.

Finally, she stressed that there are many ways of making a documentary about a given story; the filmmaker needs to be creative and find a suitable form for their message.

The workshop was the first of a series of three. The second will be on Nov. 18 with Julian Sher, about making documentaries amid conflicts and wars, and the third will be on Dec. 9 with David Gutnick about radio documentary and podcasting.

Categories
Arts

Cercanía: All the different ways to bring people together

Rafael Lozano Hemmer’s newest exhibition is all about human connection

I entered Arsenal Contemporary Art on a sunny September day looking for a refreshing escape from reality during this pandemic, and that is exactly what I got.

Arsenal’s imposing building swallows you whole and spits you out after giving you a new experience. At least, that has happened to me every time I’ve visited, and this time was no exception.

When I entered the gallery space, there was no room for small thoughts, small artwork,  or small expectations. It was the perfect setup for an exhibition of Rafael Lozano-Hemmer’s work.

Blinded by the sunlight that illuminates the main hall of the gallery, my transition to the temporary exhibition was abrupt and numbing, in a good way. The entire right wing of the giant building is dark and furnished with Lozano-Hemmer’s artifacts, inventions, creations, innovations, tricks and treats to the senses. In other words: Art (with a capital ‘A’).

I made sure to take a picture next to the title of the exhibition: Cercanía. Through this souvenir, I can later savour the delicacy of that specific word in Spanish. The word literally translates to ‘proximity’ or ‘closeness’ but cercanía is much more than that, and denotes a sense of human connection beyond physical presence that is untranslatable. It is intimacy, vulnerability and honesty. And that is what the exhibition is all about.

Cercanía has been very judiciously adapted and created around COVID-19 protocols. Even though every piece is meant to be experienced while adhering to the two-metre social distancing rule, I felt connected to everyone that has passed through it and those who will pass later.

I walked to the main room where different rays, projections, screens, and spotlights created light and played with the senses. One of them had sensors that followed and projected my steps and shadows, combining them with those of other visitors. Another took a picture of my face and overlapped it with the faces of others creating new identities, connections and funny faces.

Another one captured my heartbeat through a camera — I didn’t even need to touch a thing — and placed me in a virtual space where I could communicate with other heartbeats around the world.

The piece in the corner translated data from people murdered by guns in North America into an inverted noose that vibrated every ten seconds. I wished it wouldn’t move at all.

The installation in the other room ephemerally recreated my portrait on water mist in the most magical way. I did it at least five times until I noticed people waiting in line behind me. My misty portrait stayed for others to see, so, actually, it is not that ephemeral.

The big work blinded me, in a way that was different from how the sun does. There were movement sensors that detected me approaching the two giant screens filled with random letters. As soon as I walked, they followed me. I lay on the ground facing this “tableau vivant” and let letters arrange, move and fill the space before me, under me, next to me and above me, until I saw sentences form and disappear in the same way they had come. I stayed until I got dizzy.

My favourite piece, Field Atmosphonia,  welcomed me to lay on the ground again and look up at over 2000 speakers (2304 to be exact) suspended from the high ceilings of the Arsenal. I didn’t care that the ground was cold because I heard the ensemble of arranged individual sounds coming from each one and it was mesmerizing. The experience was visual, audible, presential, intuitive, interactive, confronting and vulnerable. I wouldn’t expect less from Lozano-Hemmer.

I left the space while the speakers behind me resonated with the sounds of waterfalls, birds, children laughing and a breeze rustling through trees. As I walked away and increased the distance between me and Cercanía, I thought about the ways in which we can be close while being apart.

Due to government safety measures, Cercanía has been suspended until further notice. Learn more about Cercanía and Rafael Lozano-Hemmer’s work at https://cercania.ca/

 

Photos courtesy of Jean-Charles Labarre.

Categories
Arts

No Diploma: from a brand to a community

A brand that promotes following one’s own path

You may recall seeing a sticker of the brand on a street light, or their logo on someone’s T-shirt. Either way, No Diploma stays with people.

Montreal-based streetwear brand No Diploma was created three years ago by Benoît Brûlé. Originally from Ottawa, Brûlé enrolled at LaSalle College in 2013 where he studied Fashion Design. While participating in various internships, Brûlé discovered that his learning was more fulfilling when working with brands than it was in class.

“Every project [in school] was by the book, whereas I was more interested in creating my own projects with my own expectations,” said Brûlé.

After two years of being enrolled in fashion school, Brûlé went on a solo trip to Asia during the summer break to look for inspiration. The trip made him regain confidence as he was confused regarding what to pursue within his professional life.

“Traveling alone helped me connect with myself and my interests,” he said.

After his trip, he returned to Montreal with no diploma, leaving fashion school after two years, wondering what to do next.

Brûlé applied for internships and quit after two weeks to work with one of his favorite brands. While working for the brand for two years, he had the opportunity to understand the work behind a brand and how it is built. Brûlé even got to attend fashion week in Toronto.

“These brands were my school,” he said. “The people with whom I worked were like my teachers.”

While working as an intern, Brûlé created his own clothes on the side as a way to explore his own storytelling. Similarly to music, where a person gets to tell a story through a song, clothes are like different canvases where people can express themselves with various patterns and fabrics.

“No Diploma” are two words that resonated with Brûlé. He remembers printing the words on a T-shirt, which made him feel like he was wearing a superhero cape.

“There is a bad perception of people not having a diploma,” said Brûlé. “Those words were used against me and were once an insecurity of mine until I gave them a new meaning.”

He started wearing the shirt he had printed which sparked conversations with strangers, who would share their own stories about not having a diploma but who nonetheless achieved dreams such as owning businesses and building brands.

Brûlé made a few “No Diploma” T-shirts and hoodies and gave them to family and friends. Brûlé sold his made t-shirts to customers. Brûlé once met a guy at a coffee shop to whom he was going to give a T-shirt that he made. The person turned out to be a manager at a store where Brûlé used to work.

“I sold the T-shirt, I got back into my car and for me, that moment was a sign that I had to start my own thing. Beyond a t-shirt, this could be a brand,” said Brûlé.

The concept behind No Diploma is inspired by school — it’s been three years since the brand started, therefore, the brand is in its third semester.

“No Diploma was also inspired by me spending time in coffee shops and seeing people repping their university sweaters and college attire with so much pride, I wanted to create merchandise for an “academy” where everyone is accepted,” he said.

With No Diploma, Brûlé was able to build a community worldwide: people from Europe to New Zealand have reached out to the brand. People who support the brand and follow it are known to be classmates as they have become part of the brand’s family.

No Diploma has done a few fundraising projects, such as creating Photos for Australia to help the Australia Bushfires that occurred in January. The brand also raised over five hundred dollars for Black Lives Matter, donating the money to organizations such as Hoodstock Montreal and Nia Centre for the Arts, a Toronto-based arts centre that promotes arts from across the African diaspora.

Photo concepts and videos are shot to show the street wear for the online store and social media. For the last three years, there have been No Diploma pop-up shops around the city. In April, Brûlé was preparing for a pop-up show in Atlanta which was canceled due to the pandemic. Another one, which was also cancelled, was supposed to take place during the summer in New York.

Instead, Brûlé and his team organized a new podcast called “Class Discussions,” where they talked with artists from around the world during quarantine. Guests have included artist collective KidSuper from Brooklyn and Australian entrepreneur Yasmin Suteja.

“Whether it’s a career with no diploma or a career with a diploma, the important lesson here is to follow your path and staying true to yourself,” said Brûlé.

You can take a look at their shop here and listen to their podcast here.

 

Photo courtesy of Ana Lucia Londono Flores.

Categories
Arts

Our lives as mini-movies: Exploring The Soundtrack of Our Lives

Experience music and soundscapes of Quebec through an online exhibition

Music is typically a fundamental part of people’s lives. Through trying times, and uplifting times, it fuels many moments. Music carries a lot of meaning and can impact a moment instantly and is so easily accessible during our era. Yet, there are always new ways to interact with it. One new way to experience sound is through the Virtual Museum of Canada’s online exhibition called The Soundtrack of Our Lives. This particular exhibition stood out because it is focused on soundscapes and music, and not photos (though some do appear, they are not the focus), or sculpture. This exhibition focuses on the role of music in every aspect of our lives.

The Soundtrack of Our Lives is an online exhibition that is based around the music and soundscapes of Quebec. The exhibition is divided in three major categories that curate the overall experience: “Life,” “Year,” and “Day.” The category entitled “Life” focuses on the period of gestation to death, the “Year” category focuses on the four seasons, and the “Day” category highlights the moments from waking up to going to sleep. The exhibition mentions that the focus is for people to explore the way music operates in Quebec and how sounds have changed over time.

One of the elements that makes the exhibit so interesting is how it highlights the intersection of an overarching narrative and the individual narrative. In the category of “Life” there is a subcategory called “Childhood,” which features an opening piece with the sounds of xylophones and kids playing outside, creating a sense of nostalgia. Further subcategories for listening feature nursery rhymes and music in schools. These sounds are common in childhood, and allow for a more focused understanding of the various elements of childhood. The more specific the piece, the more individual it gets. However, they are still part of the overarching subcategory of “Childhood,” which is part of the overall narrative of this stage of life.

In the section on the seasons there is a similar structure. For the category on “Fall,” the first piece of music is loaded with heavy rainfall, blowing winds and an owl’s hoot. If you choose to go further into the section, there is a subcategory called “November, The Month Of the Dead.” There is a funeral march that plays, which is very sombre but fits the overall tone of what this month represents. According to the exhibition’s website, in November the Christian faith focuses on celebrating the dead. For example, the two first days of November, All Saint’s Day and All Soul’s Day, are set to honour saints and those who have passed away. While the funeral march that is played and the opening Fall piece are different, they both capture various elements of the season.

The part of the exhibition that stood out was in the category of “Day,” which features sounds of everyday life. During the COVID-19 global pandemic, where many people are spending more of their days at home, the sounds that encompass day-to-day life are especially relevant. In other words, people are generally more encompassed by these sounds because they are surrounded by them more. These sounds are the ones that shape the day, whereas before it may have been more focused on sounds outside the home. There is a subcategory called “The Appliances” that focuses on the sounds of a microwave oven and coffee machine. Both of these are sounds most of us hear often, and can sometimes ignore how essential they are to the course of our days. Also, for students, these two sounds are related to such important appliances in our lives.

Another element in the “Day” category is the part called “Waking Up.” There is a piece called “The Early Bird Catches the Worm” that features the many sounds that wake people up in the morning. These sounds can be annoying to most of us because we just want to sleep. However, hearing them in this context, we can reflect on how different our lives would be if we did not hear them.

There is also a brief activity that the viewer/listener can take part in, which involves filling a form that can be submitted. There are some basics that need to be filled in, but the focus is on the other questions that are asked. For example, there are questions about how you would like to spend the perfect Saturday, or what your favourite type of movie is, and these questions are accompanied by a drop-down menu with various selections. Once you have completed this, it creates a small trailer that would be your own personal soundtrack. This activity, while brief, allows for another element of interaction within the exhibit. It also highlights, once again, just how music can be a personalized experience. Of course, this activity is not perfect, and could be improved, should they keep it. One improvement could be to have more options in the drop down menu, to allow for more possible outcomes. More outcomes would mean that people could truly have a personalized experience in doing this activity. However, the activity still allows people to have a deeper interaction with the exhibit and music itself.

How does music play a role in our own lives? Music is no longer outside the self, but rather it becomes intertwined with every aspect of our lives. This exhibition captures that essence and allows those who partake to step outside of themselves and see how music can shape the various aspects of real life. It allows for people to potentially see their lives as mini-movies, and connect more deeply to the music and sounds they hear daily.

To experience The Soundtrack of Our Lives, visit thesoundtrackofourlives.ca/.

Categories
Arts Uncategorized

Le théâtre Québécois is now online

Three weeks ago, I went to see a play. And by “went”, I mean that I went home, walked upstairs … and watched a live performance through my computer screen

In August 2020, the Théâtre du Nouveau Monde (TNM) announced that their fall 2020 program would be available online to a ticketed audience. Initially, it had also planned to welcome spectators at a reduced capacity, in compliance with the government’s health recommendations. However, now that Montreal has re-entered the red zone, going out to the theatre is no longer an option.

Times are extremely hard for the local artistic community. Since the beginning of the COVID-19 outbreak, cultural stakeholders have had no choice but to adapt quickly to this new reality. And that’s when modern technologies came into play – no pun intended.

During the pandemic, digital platforms and online streaming services allowed artists to keep sharing their passion virtually. This year, viewers and consumers of art were gifted with many online film festivals and concerts. The TNM decided to follow this trend by streaming five plays and live performances for the season.

But livestreaming theatre comes with its own unique challenges. It is quite easy for the film industry to transfer everything online: Netflix does it all the time, and movies are made to be watched through a screen. In contrast, plays are made to be seen in person. Some could argue that livestreamed theatre makes the “real” theatre lose its essence. Moreover, it also makes viewing difficult for senior spectators (the TNM’s main audience) who may be less familiar with computers.

Suzanne Lebrun, 90, has been a TNM subscriber since the 1980s. When she tried to log in on the platform for the first play of the season – Zebrina. Une pièce à conviction – everything went smoothly… up until the moment the video started lagging. Before the play had even started.

She had been able to get to the correct webpage thanks to her niece, who stayed on the phone with Lebrun to help her adjust the image and sound settings. They hung up just before the beginning of the performance, and that’s when Lebrun noticed that something was wrong.

“Everything was pitch-black. I could see the stage and a moving shadow, but I had no sound, and there was this circle that kept coming back again and again,” said Lebrun.

The circle she is referring to is the loading icon. At the time, she didn’t know what it was, and had no idea that a connection problem was the cause of these technical difficulties. She tried refreshing the page multiple times and had to navigate through the website by herself to get back to the play. After an hour and a half of failed attempts, she completely gave up.

The worst part of this story? Lebrun wasn’t able to access the page in the days that followed because the link was good for one use only. The performance was live, and just like “in real life,” she couldn’t go back to see the play for a second time for free.

Nevertheless, she doesn’t regret paying for the $65 dollar livestream subscription (for five shows). Even though she is extremely disappointed with her first experience, she believes it is important to encourage the artists any way she can. But she admitted that she still missed going to the TNM: “It’s not the same. My usual seat is right in the front, it’s like I’m part of the play. I can see them [the actors] sweat, cry and spit… Once, there was even a sword that flew all the way to our row, at the bottom of the stage!” she said.

For Marielle Lussier, 65, the experience was enjoyable. She says she was able to watch the play in the comfort of her house for a fairly low price, and that she is happy that she didn’t have to deal with Montreal parking.

“Sure, the visual and sound effects are not as amplified, but in the light of the specific circumstances, I prefer it this way [online] than no way,” said Lussier. Still, she would’ve gone to the theatre if she had had the option.

Theatre regulars and enthusiasts seem to think unanimously that something is missing with online plays. A screen is a wall between the public and the performers: the emotions and the intentions can be lost in translation. And frankly, it is way harder to feel the theatrical spirit when you are vegging out in your pyjamas in front of your 27-inch TV. Despite all of this, this could be a great opportunity for theatre companies to reach a new audience since the easier and cheaper access could appeal to the younger generations.

As J. Kelly Nestruck tweeted: “Rehearsals and digital capture are still permitted during the 28 days [partial lockdown].” The TNM will be moving forward with its online programming.

Do you like orchestral music or classic literature? Whether you are a French speaker or a French learner, you should go check it out!

Categories
Arts

Fine Arts Stories: sharing work and ideas

An online forum to bringing Fine Arts students together

Fine Arts Stories is a space where Fine Arts students can openly share their in-progress work and projects. The initiative was created by installation artist and Fine Arts coordinator Tricia Middleton with the help of Gabriel Castelo, a Computer Science and Electroacoustics student.

The idea of creating a space to share thoughts and ideas was born during summer.

“I realized that something semi-centralized that could encompass all forms of making and doing, thought and conversation – perhaps in the way architecture might function as the support for our peer-to-peer relationships within the institution – would probably be needed,” said Middleton.

While working with Fine Arts’ student-run organizations, Middleton generally attempts to bring all students together through organizations focusing on relationship building within the faculty.

With the pandemic being out of anyone’s control, it seemed like a great opportunity to create a space to foster relationships.

“I wanted to see if I could facilitate a semi-centralized, hybridized outlet that could help people connect in new ways that takes into account [that] many of these people have not yet met one another and will not have the social space of campus to do so this year,” she said.

So far, the initiative has been well received. Fine Arts Stories creates organic engagement through a website, where students can share what they are working on, leaving platforms such as Facebook and other social networks secondary.

“I think people are ready to try something more gentle and fluid in a non-brand dominated format, and the wider internet is still a place to find connection and intrigue,” said Middleton.

There are unlimited spaces for submissions. Submissions are non-juried and are being accepted on a rolling basis. The goal is to facilitate engagement between students. Students send their materials to Castelo, who is also helping shape the project, and uploads the works to the website.

Once physical distancing is no longer an issue, Middleton is looking forward to continuing the initiative. For the moment, Middleton is flexible and open to any good ideas to further develop the project.

“Art and thought is the mediator we usually use to conduct such relationships in our faculty, and this online forum is intended to facilitate this if possible,” said Middleton.

Students can submit their work to Fine Arts Stories here.

Categories
Arts

Last and First Men: a warning to humankind

Not your usual sci-fi movie

“Listen patiently.” Tilda Swinton’s voice reverberates against an orchestral score while the camera pans out on a sculptural installation. Then, the screen goes black.

Directed by Jóhann Jóhannsson and originally released in 2017 prior to his passing, Last and First Men, presented by the Festival du nouveau cinéma, is not your average sci-fi movie.

Based on Olaf Stapledon’s 1930 science-fiction novel Last and First Men: A Story of the Near and Far Future, the film tells a message from billions of years into the future. The message is an alert to humanity, warning them of their inevitable extinction.

If you’re looking for an action-packed sci-fi movie, this is not it.

The experience resembled that of watching a nature documentary (Swinton might just be David Attenborough’s female counterpart). Her narration, which is similar to a dramatic audiobook reading, spans the length of the film and can be heard over the liturgical-style instrumental music composed by Jóhannsson himself.

The film offers an abstract anecdote of a post-apocalyptic world; there is no acting, there are no characters. Throughout the film, the camera pans over grayscale futuristic architectural details and archaeological sites. The stark architectural elements, which are socialist-era monuments and can be recognized as Spomeniks from the former Yugoslavia, contrast Swinton’s smooth voice. Her narration is at once compelling and deadpan.

Like watching a documentary or walking through an exhibition gallery, Last and First Men requires full and undivided attention. Jóhannsson’s film captures what it means for a film to be considered art.

Categories
Arts

Bidgala: breaking the rules of the art market

Building a community for artists and entrepreneurs

“Community, empowerment and innovation,” I say to myself three times for luck after I end my interview with Sam Tenenbaum and William Lande. I repeat it as a mantra because after our talk I, as an artist, feel excited and hopeful for the future of the art world that they have helped create. Its name is Bidgala.

You may be wondering, what is Bidgala? Co-founder Tenenbaum explains it as “An online community and marketplace that empowers artists to take charge of their careers and their artwork.” What better way to describe the project than that?

Now, you may wonder where my new mantra appeared. “Community, empowerment and innovation,” the founders replied when asked what three words describe Bidgala. All of this came from the idea of bringing innovation to an (already) powerful community of artists missing a better platform to rise.

This story starts with entrepreneurs and ends with entrepreneurs supporting other entrepreneurs. Long-time friends Tenenbaum and Lande not only grew up together and with the same entrepreneurial vein in them, but also weren’t interested in 9-to-5 office jobs, like many artists feel.

They went from making profit reselling shoes, school supplies and anything they could find, as teenagers, to being students at John Molson School of Business, as young adults. They are currently finishing their undergraduate degrees, while simultaneously founding the very first business of its kind that doesn’t need another platform to stand on its own. It will certainly break all the rules of what we know of the art industry.

What do I mean by that? If artists use many platforms to sell their art already and that the “rules” are constantly changing, what new does Bidgala bring to the table, you may ask? I may respond simply by saying there was never a place where an emerging artist could be representing themselves, creating connections and a clientele, exchanging with other artists, building their brand, fulfilling their own criteria and no one else’s, and making money all in the same website. Now there is.

The project, born from this friendship, started at the beginning of 2020 as they “saw all of these artists doing what they love to do but [not] generating any income with it,” said Lande. They realized that most of their artist friends were struggling to enter the art market and sell their work because the industry is very limiting and lacks the opinions of the artist themselves. Tenenbaum and Lande decided to change that by asking them about it.

They have conducted interviews and focus groups, and research on the different social media platforms that artists currently use to promote their work in order to identify the specific needs of artists. They assert that they will continue to do so to constantly improve the experience where the focal point is the artist’s agency.

Before Bidgala, artists wanting to sell artworks outside of their immediate circle often needed an intermediary that would link the buyer to them, like galleries do. This has been changing for a few decades as a result of artists’ centers, collectives and community-based exhibitions, as well as the arrival of social media and online marketplaces like Etsy, Instagram and Facebook. Tenenbaum and Lande thought of Bidgala as an original and independent platform that creates direct communications between the artist and the buyer with all the features of a social network. Those who create can now sell their artwork from the comfort of their homes while interacting with the community.

Bidgala will officially launch for sales at the end of October but is already available for artists to create their profiles. Artists have complete control of their uploaded artworks as they decide the prices, the descriptions and the handling of the pieces, as well as the general image of their brand. The site is designed to be easy to use for both sellers and buyers, and will include features of commenting, liking, sharing, bidding, and even live chatting with agents and curators about the artworks.

The commission of 30 per cent in each sale presents a competitive and fair option, not only to artists who are often imposed a 50 per cent commission in many galleries, but also to the creators and members behind the platform.

Bidgala aims to be a safe, accessible space that welcomes every individual that wishes to interact within the community, without any restrictions or criteria. There will be a section of the website where the users can exchange, interact and learn from each other about art and all its branches, as well as special features for different communities like LGTBQ+ people, Indigenous folks, and more.

Bidgala has also been selected to be part of District 3, a program that supports and empowers initiatives that create social impact because they consider it important to contribute to causes like Black Lives Matter through events, donations and fair opportunities in the industry, as a way of giving to the community they want to help build. Pre-quarantine, the launching of the website was planned to be an event with the goal of raising funds for different groups involved in the Black Lives Matter movement. Even though the physical event was cancelled, Bidgala still plans to donate part of its commission towards this cause.

“Artists need a community now more than ever, especially with COVID,” said Lande. “Artists are one of the most powerful communities in the world and when something resonates with them, they share it,” he told me, explaining why the community aspect of Bidgala is crucial in this new system. “We wanted to give artists the tools and support that they need to follow their dreams.”

When you say “Bidgala,” that is what the future of art sounds like. Now repeat with me: community, empowerment and innovation.

Bidgala is set to launch at the end of October. Visit thebidgala.com for more information.

 

Graphic by Lily Cowper.

Categories
Arts

Projet Pangée presents Although the wind

A trip into Darby Milbrath’s daydream

The paintings might remind you of a place that you have already visited in your dreams, or maybe an image you have already imagined while daydreaming, perhaps on the road or in nature.

Although the wind is held at Galerie Pangée at 1305 Pine Ave. West. The exhibition takes you into Darby Milbrath’s imaginary world, where the public can feel a sense of comfort while admiring the paintings.

Milbrath is a Toronto-based artist that has exhibited her work nationally and internationally. In Although the wind, the oil paintings evoke a sense of nostalgia. In her works, viewers can admire imaginative landscapes and perceive a few figures in some of them.

Her paintings evoke memories of her childhood, when she spent most of her time with her sisters. Some of the pieces portray the landscape of the West Coast Gulf Islands, a group of islands in British Columbia, where she was raised.

“The paintings are memories of sacred places I’ve been to or grown up near, on the island, surrounded by the sea,” said Milbrath. 

Last summer, Milbrath lived on a farm on the west coast, on a small gulf island where she had time to work on her paintings. There, Milbrath was able to remember the times she spent on the island with her sisters. The smell of the fields and the images of the landscapes are part of her souvenirs.

At the exhibition, the works are displayed in three rooms; the big canvases are mostly together in one room, and the small and medium paintings are exhibited together in the next rooms of the gallery.

In the main room, an extraordinary painting can be noticed on the back wall: Starry Sky Over the Archipelago. It depicts a starry night with the moon shining in a dark blue sky. One could have the impression that the painting is moving. This sense of movement in her work is rooted to her background as a professional contemporary dancer. The artwork seems to project the tranquility of the night through various shades of blue. It is very dreamy.

Canvases such as Still Life with Apples and Still Life with Melons were painted with warm colors and contrasted by a dark blue background, emphasizing the fruits. The paintings depict inspiration that she takes from nature.

The Path is displayed between two long windows, which gives viewers the impression that there are three windows showing a mountain. At the bottom left of the canvas, there seems to be two women talking, surrounded by nature. Trees line a long path that looks enlightened by the light of the day. The road seems to lead the way to an unknown place, giving a sense of mystery and magic.

“This is where the magic emanates from and where I long to be, where I imagine I am if I’m not,” said Milbrath. 

Although the wind is in reference to Izumi Shikibu’s poem “Although the wind…” from The Ink Dark Moon, translated by Jane Hirshfield and Mariko Aratani.  The poem was recited to Milbrath by an old woman who owned the farm. The poem resonated well with her works in which she explores the concept of hope in darkness.

“She recited the poem to me about the moonlight and the ruined house and I thought about the barn,” said Milbrath. “How the wind howled through. How dying animals would find their way between the crooked planks to die in shelter.”

Although the wind is open to the public each week from Wednesday to Saturday until Oct. 31 from 12 p.m. to 5 p.m. or by appointment at 1305 Pine Ave. West. The exhibition is also available for viewing online.

 

Photos by Kit Mergaert.

Categories
Arts

A conversation with Kent Monkman

The artist discusses his exhibition and Canadian history

Thousands of people from around the globe tuned in to a Zoom session held on Sept. 26, 2020 to listen to Kent Monkman speak. The interdisciplinary Cree artist is known for his provocative works, which explore themes of sexuality and colonization as a means of retelling contemporary Indigenous experiences.

Presented in partnership with Indspire and the Museum of Anthropology (MOA) at the University of British Columbia, the live discussion covered topics surrounding Indigeneous and Canadian art, reconciliation, and Monkman’s exhibition Shame and Prejudice: A Story of Resilience.

Indspire is a national Indigenous charity that invests in the education of First Nations, Inuit, and Métis people. By partnering with Indigenous private and public sector stakeholders, they “educate, connect and invest in First Nations, Inuit and Métis people so they will achieve their highest potential.”

The conversation was mediated by Roberta Jamieson, the President and CEO of Indspire — and the first Indigenous woman to earn a law degree in Canada — and Jennifer Kramer, Curator, at the MOA, whose work focuses on First Nations visual culture and with First Nations on the Pacific Northwest coast.

“I never set out, as an artist, to be an educator, but I certainly found myself stepping into that role with [Shame and Prejudice] because the erasure of these colonial policies was so effective that most Canadians are still in the dark,” said Kent Monkman at the virtual conference.

His exhibition, which was on display at the McCord Museum during the spring of 2019, revisits Canadian and Indigenous history through the eyes of Monkman’s gender-fluid alter-ego, Miss Chief Eagle Testickle. His book of the same name guides readers through the history of New France and the dispossession of Indigenous lands through Canadian colonial policies.

Accompanied by historical artefacts, his paintings and installations reinterpret, and make reference to, a multitude of well-known works, artists, and significant objects. Among his references is Caravaggio’s renowned 1604-06 Death of the Virgin, which depicts the Virgin Mary lying on her deathbed.

In Monkman’s version of the piece, titled Death of the Virgin (After Caravaggio), he swaps the Virgin Mary for a First Nations woman. In his 2016 work, The Daddies, Miss Chief Eagle Testickle poses on an iconic Hudson’s Bay blanket, surrounded by Canada’s founding fathers, leaving the viewer to raise questions about Confederation.

“I wanted to touch on very specific chapters of the last 150 years because so much of the art history told on this continent is told from the settler perspective and the art that’s upheld and hung in our colonial institutions, effectively, is an erased version; it’s like a version that omits Indigenous perspective and Indigenous experience,” said Monkman.

“That was what this project really set out to do, was to canonize and to authorize, into this history of the continent, Indigenous experience, both contemporary and historical.”

A Talk with Kent Monkman is available for viewing on Indspire’s YouTube channel here.

 

Photos courtesy of Chloë Lalonde

Categories
Arts

An interview with Far from Bashar director Pascal Sanchez

The filmmaker, screenwriter and documentarian opens up about his latest feature

Filmmaker and screenwriter Pascal Sanchez sat down with The Concordian to discuss his newest feature film, Far from Bashar, ahead of its Sept. 25 premiere at the Cinémathèque Québécoise.

Sanchez’s career began on the TV series La Course destination monde, a television competition focused on young burgeoning filmmakers. Sanchez won the competition and went on to make a number of short films and series. His first feature, The Ailing Queen, won an award at the Montreal International Documentary Festival (RIDM) and received the Gémeaux for best documentary in the nature/science category.

Far from Bashar documents the lives of the al-Mahamids, a Syrian family forced to flee the Bashar al-Assad regime in Syria and relocate to Montreal. Though they are far from the war, they remain haunted by both the conflict and the life they left behind. Sanchez’s film is a beautiful and delicately observed chronicle of a family’s new beginnings and the past that continues to plague them.

The Concordian: In the film’s press kit, you state that Far from Bashar was initially imagined as “The daydream of a Syrian child … plunged into new surroundings.” What drew you to this concept for the film?

Pascal Sanchez: Basically, it was an intuition. It was a curiosity and a desire. I wanted to get closer, to film the gaze of a child discovering the city for the first time. I wished to document a child that must create a new life, but at the same time, live with their past and the war, which is something very difficult to live with. So for me, it was an important context. I thought that there was something there, something that I wanted to discover. During the research of this film, I asked within the Syrian community to meet some families and to have contact with a child, and then I met the al-Mahamid family. When I met the family and Adnan [the father of the al-Mahamid family], I changed my mind immediately and the project then became a film about the whole family. But I think it’s still the same film, because I wanted to be as close as possible to the inner life, the thoughts of these newcomers in Montreal. And the film is still that. So, the contact with the family was a normal part of the process.

TC: Many films about the conflict in Syria focus on the background and history of the war. Your film takes an opposite approach by instead giving attention to those impacted by its violence. At one instance in the film, Adnan even tells the camera, “people always ask about the historical city, but they forget about the people.” Was this something you had in mind when you set out to make the film?

PS: I didn’t want to make a report or statement about the war. My focus was to be as close as possible to the individuals and their inner life. To document the way they live and their experience of being away from their home and having to build a new life. Also, dealing with some sense of guilt about being survivors and their anxiety for the people left behind. So for me, it was a very difficult and complex situation. I never wished to make a statement about that, I really wanted to let their reality, let them, speak for themselves. It didn’t feel legitimate to make some sort of statement about the war, to say it is one way or another, even though I have my opinions. But at the same time, one thing that was really compelling to me was that Adnan was an activist for democracy in his country and he had to face a lot of repression, a lot of loss. And in my opinion, this part of the conflict was really largely hidden. We didn’t know, and we still don’t know, a lot about that aspect, so it was important for me to follow Adnan and the family.

TC: The film documents the al-Mahamids through several different seasons. We see the youngest daughter celebrating Halloween and later we see their neighbourhood enveloped in snow. How long did the filming process last? Did the presence of cameras and crew pose any problems for the family?

PS: Yeah, it was a long process! Almost one year of filming. I had to adapt to their schedule and to their needs and realities. But they were very open to my presence. They opened their door to me and let me film. I would ask “Can I come and film this? Can I follow you to the university?”, and they would tell me either yes or no. It was a long process, but it was also a kind of cohabitation and we learned to know each other.

TC: You say that Adnan agreed to be filmed because he wished to show that “We [Syrian refugees] are good people.” However, the film does not outwardly tackle issues of prejudice or discrimination. Was it a deliberate decision to avoid such discourse in the film?

PS: I didn’t want to make a statement about that, but it’s a really strong background to this film, sure. And I think the common ground that we have with Adnan and the family is also that, to change the perception of Muslim families. I didn’t want to address it directly in this film, but if the audience notices that, I will be very happy. The family will be too. And the way we film by going softly, and by going also in a truthful approach, it makes a real sense of the encounter with them. So, the answer is yes. It’s a really strong background to film.

TC: Despite the gravity of the film’s subject matter, I could not help but feel a sense of hope emanating from the film. We see the family thriving in their new environment and their firm conviction that they will one day be reunited with their lost loved ones is nothing short of inspiring. Would you consider Far from Bashar to be an optimistic film in that sense?

PS: Yeah I think so. It’s a difficult question because in the film, the family shares their very private moments. It was a very particular and difficult period of their lives. But we also see their courage and the way they deal with those issues. So yeah, I think it’s optimistic. I think it gives a sense of what is good in humanity, in what is good in people.

Far from Bashar is now playing at the Cinémathèque Québécoise. For showtimes and tickets, visit www.cinematheque.qc.ca.

Categories
Arts

MURAL Festival became an “Estival” during COVID-19

Even in the midst of a pandemic, art prevails

Montreal’s MURAL Festival was founded in 2012, beginning as “a love letter from Montreal to the world” with a goal to democratize street art. It is known for its celebration of the arts, with renowned artists from all around the world contributing and showcasing their live art, music, and exhibitions.

“We are the meeting place of creative minds and we represent the festive and innovating soul of a booming artistic scene,” its website states.

Whether you’re a tourist or a Montreal native, this annual 11-day event is an excellent way for people to discover great art and artists. During a normal summer, these festivities would consist of huge crowds attending music shows, talks, performance art and more. However, this isn’t a normal summer, and the MURAL Festival adapted accordingly.

Although the usual festival was cancelled, the Estival, derived from the French word for summertime, was created in its place. The MURAL Festival believed that even with this past summer’s conditions, it was important that people still had the freedom to express themselves and for others to take time to relax and appreciate the art. Only this time, safe distances were mandatory.

So, instead of an 11-day festival, the Estival would take place during the three months of summer, without gatherings of any kind. There would still be physical street work going on, but many of the music performances and conferences were streamed online so that citizens could watch their shows safely. Guided tours of the artworks were available as well.

Towards the end of August, I picked up my camera and explored the streets of downtown Montreal in search of large, beautiful murals. As a Video Editor for The Concordian, I decided to check out murals from MURAL Festivals of years’ past to make a video, but I also went to satisfy my own curiosity. I started on St-Laurent Boulevard .

Most of the art I encountered was in great shape; they were huge, bright, and beautiful. Some artworks, like Daniel Joseph Bombardier’s Denial, just off of Prince Arthur Street, had powerful messages embedded in them. Other artworks, likely because of their age, were damaged or covered up with graffiti in some way. Zilon, which was named after the artist, created in 2014 and located at the corner of St-Dominique Street and Marie-Anne Street, was covered in white and black spray paint, leaving only small parts of the image visible.

One thing I realized while documenting all of these pieces of art was the importance of street art. The MURAL Festival itself is a celebration of art in all its forms, but the murals that remained served as a subtle reminder to appreciate the art that we’re surrounded by. Street art is a way for people to enjoy cities and neighbourhoods, whether foreign or local to them, and, especially now, admire artwork safely outside.

Murals fill city streets with colour and life, and as someone who hasn’t lived in Montreal for long, murals help me see the beauty in the ordinary; a normal walk to work can turn into a walk through culture and art. Even amid a pandemic, the MURAL Festival was able to maintain its yearly tradition and add more art to the city. So, even though the Estival is over, and past Festivals are long gone, their stamps on the city remain, and it makes the world a slightly brighter place.

 

Photos by Christine Beaudoin

Exit mobile version