New exhibition at the McCord Museum guides the viewer through a designer’s creative process
“Behind each and every item there is a story to tell,” said Jean-Claude Poitras as he entered the Jean-Claude Poitras: Fashion and Inspiration exhibition at the McCord Museum, on Oct. 22.
The exhibition, a product of Poitras’ life and work, brings the viewer inside the mind of the Montreal-born fashion designer and tells the story of his life through his creations.
It features over 140 pieces, accompanied by the designer’s sketches. Rather than being displayed in the chronological order of their concept, the garments are displayed in three sections; Childhood Memories, Muses and the Cinema, and Around the World – each marking a significant source of inspiration in Poitras’ life.
Each of the three rooms features a cubicle, the walls lined with screens wherein the viewer can enter and sit to enjoy a variety of video clips so as to put themselves inside the mind of the designer. This idea is meant to allow the viewer to experience the full fruition of the garments, from a plan to sketches, fabric samples, the photographic process and ultimately, the piece itself.
The simple silhouettes of the clothing contrast against vibrant prints, textures and fabrics; demonstrative of how garments that are reminiscent of the period in which they were created can still have their own personality.
[Through the exhibition] I discovered things that I did not suspect in my fashion,” said Poitras, speaking of inspiration drawn from cinema and attending church as a child; his silhouettes were greatly evocative of old Hollywood glamour and outfits traditionally worn to Sunday mass.
Rich and opulent tones fill this part of the show; every mannequin features items made of sheepskin, deep jewel tones and long coats constructed of heavy fabrics.
A collection of delicate, sheer blouses hang within a transparent box at the center of the room. Their wispiness makes them appear as though they are floating in the wind. Poitras described the garments as resembling kites or mobiles.
La mode, c’est du cinema,” said Poitras, who later described fashion as a passageway; falling hand-in-hand with love, cinema and humour – his main sources of inspiration.
Images of models wearing the clothes accompany the collection. In one series of photos, numerous models are featured wearing the same item in a different way.
“Show me the possibilities that clothes can have,” said Poitras. He added that his aim was to create items that were personalizable, a desire that originated from his boredom of the monotonous repetition of outfits from the 70s.
Orange is the colour of life, we bite into an orange,” said Poitras.
A bright tangerine colour was chosen for the walls of the Around the World section of the exhibition, which displays numerous designs inspired by his travels in Europe, North Africa and Southeast Asia, where he sourced the majority of his fabrics.
Poitras noted the significance of Japanese culture in his work, where he drew inspiration from the search of the essential and purity, as well as a passion for material and texture.
One wall is lined with wide silhouettes featuring interesting details such as asymmetrical sashes. He noted how they share similar qualities to garments produced by renowned designers Issey Miyake, Comme des Garçons, and Yohji Yamamoto, all of which are known for their attention to detail, use of organic lines and suppleness.
Another wall, inspired by his travels in Italy, features structured dresses in pastel tones or the colour of sorbet, as Poitras described them.
While this portion of Jean-Claude Poitras: Fashion and Inspiration is dedicated to Poitras’ travels, it is impossible to neglect the intermingling of inspiration stemming from retro cinema and the silhouettes reminiscent of those from his childhood.
Thanks to you, I am remembered while I live,” said Poitras.
The show, which guides the viewer through Poitras’ life and work through his depiction of a personal and collective history, marks the importance of the designer as a key figure in Montreal’s creative industry.
“Today, I am completely reassured,” said Poitras, speaking of his work as a designer. “This is not my job, it is my life.”
Jean-Claude Poitras: Fashion and Inspiration is on display at the McCord Museum, at 690 Sherbrooke St. W., until Apr. 26. The museum is open Tuesday, Thursday and Friday from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m., Wednesday from 10 a.m. to 9 p.m., and Saturday and Sunday from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.
The Concordian attends an art show put together by Concordia fine arts students for the Festival du Nouveau Cinema.
One of the shows depicted in the video is Vertige, a short film and live performance by Eva Myers and Mark Durand, and performers Candice Riviera and Olivia Jean Flores.
Video by Calvin Cashen
Feature photo shows dancer Olivia Jean Flores performing in Vertige
The evil now resides within our own region and we ourselves are the threat
In the immensely vast and expansive canon of the horror genre, there are perhaps few films as significant as George A. Romero’s 1968 landmark title Night of the Living Dead.
Romero’s first ever feature-length film was responsible for the creation of the modern day zombie; the shuffling, re-animated, flesh-eating ghoul killed only by a blow to the head. The filmmakers’ gritty, uncompromising vision helped usher in a new wave of horror films that shifted their focus from the fantastical to the more realistic, grounded and gruesome.
Night of the Living Dead was released at the tail end of a decade marked by cultural phenomena and paints an acutely unsettling portrait of a country marred by civil unrest. In the years following the film’s release, Romero has spoken extensively on how Night was influenced by the era’s political climate. In a 2010 interview with film critic Peter Keough, Romero called his zombie films “snapshots of the time they were made.”
With Night, Romero set out to provoke and to reflect on the qualms and anxieties of the American public, while simultaneously offering a grim prediction of where things were headed.
The script for Night was developed by Romero and collaborator, John Russo, over the course of three days in 1967. That same year, a series of 159 race riots exploded across the United States in what became known as the “Long, hot summer of 1967.” Concurrently, the Vietnam War continued to rage on, being regularly broadcast to homes across America in vivid, graphic detail. As author Geoff King details in his book New Hollywood Cinema: An Introduction, the image of America as a place of freedom and democracy had been irreparably damaged, and lead to widespread anti-authoritarian and countercultural sentiments across the western world.
The collective impact of these events in a relatively short period of time influenced many filmmakers during the latter half of the decade, Romero included, whose criticisms come across in many of the film’s creative choices and thematic elements. Perhaps most telling of all is Romero’s decision to have the film take place within America. Horror movies prior to Night of the Living Dead had always been set in far-off, unfamiliar lands.
As film critic Robin Wood reflects on in his book Hollywood from Vietnam to Reagan, the foreign threat in horror during this time period suggests that, while evil does exist, it is certainly not American.
In Night, the evil now resides within our own region, we ourselves are the threat. Despite its reputation as the progenitor of zombie films, Night never outright refers to its monsters as “zombies.”
For Romero, the movie’s ghouls were always intended to be dead neighbours, fellow citizens turned violent. Some, such as critic Douglas Winter, have even drawn parallels between the films’ zombies and soldiers fighting in the Vietnam War; violent, eager to kill and lacking in individuality or moral values. This theory is supported by the filmmakers’ decision to film the movie in black and white, mimicking the realism and grittiness of wartime newsreels.
The socio-political context behind the film has also allowed for readings through the lens of race relations during the 1960s. Of course, lending credence to this interpretation is the casting of Duane Jones, a person of colour, in the film’s lead role. With the Jim Crow laws having been abolished only a few years prior, this was indeed a bold move by the filmmakers.
Though Romero has stated that this decision was merely based on Jones’ acting abilities, having a person of colour in a lead role alongside a cast of white actors was incredibly uncommon at the time.
Night’s ending, in which Ben survives until sunrise only to be killed by a group of vigilante rednecks, remains startling to this day and, as noted by slate.com writer Caetlin Benson-Allott, is shockingly reminiscent of lynch mob photos. Critic Ben Hervey, in his book Night of the Living Dead (BFI Film Classics), states that Romero shot the ending sequence with politics consciously in mind, suggesting that this was a parallel made intentionally.
Over 50 years later, Night of the Living Dead remains a startling depiction of a society at war with itself, one fraught with distress and anger. To dismiss it as your run-of-the-mill zombie affair would be doing the film a great injustice. Romero and company soaked in the influence of a tumultuous time to craft an enduring classic that still has a lot to say. In times as divisive and uncertain as these, Romero’s opus is still as relevant as ever.
Night of the Living Deadis playing at Cinéma Moderne as part of its“Halloween at Cinéma Moderne” series. Screenings take place on Oct. 30 and 31 at 9 p.m. Tickets can be purchased online or at the ticket counter for $11.50. For more details, visit them online at cinemamoderne.com or on location at 5150 St-Laurent Blvd.
The Concordian’s selection is coming to our big screens this fall
With the end of the Festival du Nouveau Cinéma (FNC) last week comes excitement about the films we will have the chance to see this fall. The Concordian picked three of its favourites from the 2019 programming, which spanned Oct. 9 to 20.
Although some other impressive films also caught our attention, we decided to focus on the ones we will be able to see outside of the festival.
Bacurau – Kleber Mendonça Filho and Juliano Dornelles, Brazil, 2019
This story of a small Brazilian town which finds itself in the middle of a bloody and spooky manhunt is a must-watch. It certainly deserves all the praise it has been getting this year.
Winner of the FNC Temps Ø Public’s Choice Award and Jury Prize at Cannes, Bacurau is a unique and provocative picture.
Named after the small and isolated village of Bacurau, the film starts as its inhabitants are grieving their matriarch Carmelita. As we get to know its strange characters, we begin to sense an imminent danger. More and more people mysteriously disappear. Even the village itself somehow vanishes from all maps and gets cut from civilization.
The inhabitants of Bacurau suspect extraterrestrial involvement or a divine intervention of some sort, but never what really causes their town’s disintegration
The film manages to provoke one of the most surprising, exhilarating and funny finales of this year’s FNC lineup. The last 30 minutes of Bacurau are worth the movie ticket, encompassing murder, mystery, vengeance, psychedelic drugs and occult forces.
Although it might seem innocent and joyful at the beginning, Bacurau becomes a profound meditation on social inequality and colonial violence towards the end, while remaining coherent, unpretentious and entertaining.
Pain & Glory – Pedro Almodóvar, Spain, 2019
If Pain & Glory were to wind up as Pedro Almodóvar’s last film, it would end the filmmaker’s career beautifully. But after watching the Spanish artist’s last opus, one is undoubtedly touched and has to want to see more.
Pain & Glory relates the existential tribulations of Salvador Mallo (Antonio Banderas), an old and deprived filmmaker who struggles to get past his health problems and to get to work again. It is very close to the director’s own life and ruminations. Antonio Banderas said it himself as he received his award for best actor at Cannes last year, “it is no secret that Salvador Mallo is Pedro Almodóvar.”
The film goes back in time, showing the young Mallo growing up in a small village in the south of Spain. We also see many characters of the director’s past reappearing in his present life. One scene is particularly moving and feels very personal to Almodóvar, as Mallo meets his ex-boyfriend who he had not seen in decades. They talk about love, sexuality, growing old and battling drug addiction in a thoughtful and beautiful way.
The movie also charms with the naïveté and liveliness emanating from its use of light and color, specific to the work of Almodóvar.
The very last shot of Pain & Glory feels like one of the most dazzling and bittersweet movie endings of the year. Probably our favourite picture of the entire 2019 FNC programming.
I lost my body – Jérémy Clapin, France, 2019
With I lost my body, Jérémy Clapin creates a poetic, yet relatable and universal first animated feature film.
It starts as Naoufel, a young man trying to survive by himself in Paris, remembers his childhood. He appears scared by the loss of his parents but also marked by a rigorous musical education from his mother. We see him fascinated with various sounds of nature as a child, recording everything he encounters.
In parallel, a lonely hand escapes from a lab, where it is being stored. We then embark on two journeys, which connect at the end of the movie. We see Naoufel doing everything in his power to seduce a young woman named Gabrielle, as well as the hand, roaming the streets of Paris in search of the body it was once attached to.
Although its narrative is sometimes predictable, and dialogue somewhat cheesy, I lost my body still deserves attention. It shows beautiful poetic imagery, and impressive sound design. The sound effects and music immerse the viewer in the story and embellish the often dark and dirty streets of Paris suburbs.
While it does not have more screenings planned in Montreal yet, I lost my body will be available on Netflix later this year. The trailer is already on the website and really inspires to see the full picture.
Praised Canadian content to follow
Canadian films from across the country were also very much put forward by the festival this year, some of which will be in cinemas in Montreal this fall.
The Grand Prix of the National Competition was won this year by The Body Remembers When the World Broke Open, by Kathleen Hepburn & Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers. With two First Nations women as its protagonists, it raises awareness about domestic violence issues Indigenous women face in Canada. Presented at the Toronto International Film Festival and Berlinale earlier this year, it has amassed considerable critical acclaim.
The Twentieth Century, which will be presented in Montreal theatres in December, has won the most promising Canadian feature film prize at FNC this year. It takes an original look at the life and career of Canadian Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King.
Finally, the short film The Physics of Sorrow, winner of the Prix National Dada at FNC, would be another one to try to find. Theodore Ushev’s last film centers on a man remembering his childhood in the midst of an existential crisis. Winner of an honourable mention for the Best Canadian Short Film at TIFF, it is sure to attract more praise for the already successful director.
Pain & Glory will be presented all week in Spanish with English subtitles at the Cinéma du Parc and Cineplex Forum. Bacurau has been presented again at a few screenings in Montreal last week, including at the Brazilian Film Festival on Oct. 28. It will be shown in Toronto on Nov. 3 for the same festival. More screenings should follow this year.
Concordia students have a discount at Cinéma du Parc, setting the price of a ticket at $9.75. Many FNC films will be in their programming in the next few weeks. Visithttps://cinemaduparc.com/ for more details.
The 2019 South Asian Film Festival of Montréal (SAFF) is back for its 9th edition, kicking off the first of two consecutive weekends of films from South Asia and beyond, on Oct. 25 at Concordia University’s J.A. de Sève cinema.
The SAFF aims to bridge geographical and cultural distances through film, and the festival itself is a celebration of filmmakers from the Indian subcontinent, as well as diaspora filmmakers all over the world. This year’s film selection includes both fiction and documentary, ranging from shorts to feature-length films. The broad thematic range covers subjects of activism, aging, women’s rights and more.
“We try to include films from as many countries as possible and also in as many languages as possible,” said TK Raghunathan, President of Kabir Centre for Arts & Culture, the non-profit parent organization of SAFF. India, Afghanistan, Nepal, New Zealand and Pakistan are a few of the countries of origin appearing in the credits.
The popular Diaspora Panel will continue this year, with filmmakers, academics and activists from the diaspora present after selected films to discuss their work with the audience. Among this years panelists is Thomas Waugh, Professor Emeritus at Concordia’s Mel Hoppenheim School of Cinema, English Professor Jill Didur, and Yasmin Jiwani, Communication Studies professor and Research Chair in Intersectionality, Violence & Resistance at Concordia.
“In the past few years, audiences have been incredibly responsive and we are gaining quite a following in Quebec,” said Dipti Gupta, Director of the SAFF. “We have managed to bring films for all ages and from different parts of South Asia.”
Along with a selection of new films, the 9th annual festival is ushering in a few changes to the program as well; this year, each film will be subtitled in both English and French, and a new section called “Cinema Of Art” has been added to highlight films about art and artists. The festival will close with a screening of Neel Akasher Neechey, to celebrate the legacy of its director Mrinal Sen, who died last December.
Here’s a preview of what’s in store, and if you like what you see, check out the full list of films here.
WEEKEND 1 (Oct. 25-27)
Sir
Oct. 25 @ 6:30 p.m.
India
“In modern Mumbai of glass skyscrapers, the young widow Ratna works as a maid for Ashwin, a young man from a wealthy home, who apparently has everything it takes for a comfortable life. On the other hand, Ratna has one thing above all: the desire to work for a better life and to realize her dream of becoming a fashion designer. When Ashwin’s carefully arranged storybook wedding bursts, Ratna seems to be the only one who understands Ashwin’s deep melancholy. Ashwin falls in love with the housemaid and discovers in her a strong-willed and sensual woman who is ready to stand up for her dreams.”
The Soundman Mangesh Desai
Oct. 26 @ 6:30 p.m.
India
“Mangesh Desai, one of the top ten sound mixing engineers of the world according to the New York Times, was a colourful character whose understanding of the craft and technique was unparalleled. The film narrates the fascinating story of how he created sounds for iconic movies such as Sholay, Pakeeza, Kabhi Kabhi and many others. His dynamic range of work goes from the artistic extremes of Satyajit Ray and Shyam Benegal’s art films to Manmohan Desai’s commercial films. He could blend himself according to the needs of the subject, the film and the director, but no one could proceed without receiving his approval and availability.”
The Orphanage
Oct. 27 @ 12:00 p.m.
Denmark/Afghanistan
“The Orphanage is a beautifully photographed, quietly methodical portrait of 1989 Kabul and tells the story of young Quodrat rounded up by the cops and sent to a public orphanage. The movie was shot in Tadjikistan, mixing natural splendors with the starker institutional interiors. A grainy look makes the film feel like it was actually made in the 80s, adding to its historical authenticity. When, at the end, the orphanage risks tumbling along with the Soviet regime, you’re left with the harrowing feeling that for Quodrat and his friends, it’s out of the frying pan and into the fire.”
After Sabeen
Oct. 27 @ 6:30 p.m.
Pakistan
“Karachi, Pakistan. 24 April 2015. A car stops at a red-light. Inside are two women: Sabeen and her mother Mahenaz. Two men on a motorcycle stop and open fire. Sabeen dies on the spot; her mother gets wounded but survives. Moments before she was killed, Sabeen Mahmud, founder and director of the non-profit cultural institution Peace Niche, had hosted a discussion on the unexplained and ongoing disappearances of more than 20,000 activists and civilians in the country. Sabeen had been warned and advised to cancel the event but she went ahead insisting, “someone’s got to do this!” In the wake of the killing, the director tiptoes ”After Sabeen“ following her mother and friends to record not only their memories and grief but also their ongoing impetus to continue Sabeen’s work.”
WEEKEND 2 (Nov. 1-3)
Elephantbird
Nov. 1 @ 6:30 p.m.
Afghanistan
“A mini-bus is on a journey across the mountains to Kabul. Each person on the bus has a reason to make this journey. An old man is traveling to give a turkey to his grandchild, as his last wish before dying. However, the main road is blocked by insurgents. They decide to use an alternative road, which is not very secure, and there is still the possibility of getting caught by insurgents.”
Shit one Carries*
Nov. 2 @ 2:30 p.m.
India/New Zealand
“Avinash, a Silicon Valley engineer, returns to India to care for his bedridden father. Unlike the warmth his father shares with his professional caregivers, the father and son’s relationship is prickly. One afternoon when the usual attendant is unavailable, Avinash confronts awkward intimacies for which he was never prepared.”
Untying the Knot*
Nov. 2 @ 2:30 p.m.
Bangladesh/Canada
“Untying the Knot tells the powerful story of Rumana Monzur, the blinded survivor of a domestic attack, and her courageous pursuit of a career in Canada. A powerful exploration of marriage in Bangladesh, the film also follows three women in Dhaka as they struggle with abuse and social pressure, laying bare the sacrifices made by women in the name of marital expectation.”
“When a young, exiled Tibetan woman unexpectedly sees a man from her past, long-suppressed memories of her traumatic escape across the Himalayas are reignited and she is propelled on an obsessive search for reconciliation and closure.”
Tickets for each film are available online, with the option to purchase an all-access festival pass for one or both weekends.
Reflections on Gordon Matta Clark’s Rough Cuts and Outtakes
As usual, I was arriving late, not stylishly late, just expectedly late, as is expected of me. I have gotten better at this, and I had real justifications for it. I was swinging by from the FASA general meeting which happened to coincide with the vernissage of Rough Cuts and Outtakes, a collection of Gordon Matta Clark’s work exhibited by Hila Peleg, but by a couple of minutes.
So, as I was outside of the Canadian Centre of Architecture (CCA), I started to freak out a bit. The whole entrance was completely desolate, except for a pair of young boys who were kicking a football around and telling each other to go f*ck themselves. The buildings impressive white facade dwarfed them, making it feel even lonelier.
Considering this was the opening of an exhibition, I had expected at least a couple of stragglers waiting outside, having cigarettes or whatever people waiting for shows do – and considering I was a mere 10 minutes off it didn’t seem like an impossibility. I entered the reception lobby and greet the ticket sellers. Embarrassed by my tardiness, I hesitated at first but asked if the exhibit opened the following day, thinking I was a day off. They assured me that no, I was there at the right time and that the speaker had began, I just had to turn to the left. While I was momentarily relieved, I was still sent on a scramble down the long empty corridors of the CCA, accompanied only by fake plaster corinth pillars and victorian decor.
The speakers had begun, I could see from the far most right corner of the amphitheatre. It was dark and impossible to see if there were any seats left. An usher assured me there were seats but at the leftmost corner of the room, right at the front. I still could not see anything. I crossed the back row and stopped, seeing there was a cameraman aiming down the catwalk towards my expected seat. The usher finds this unacceptable, comes to me, and asks me what’s up. I said that everything was alright I just didn’t want to get in front of the camera and that I was happy to remain standing, but she wouldn’t have that and dragged me promptly to an empty seat.
When I finally settled, it was not just my cheeks that were relieved, but I had skipped out on the terribly boring introduction and hadn’t missed any of the juicy stuff. Hila Peleg, the curator of the exhibition, was only then walking towards the podium. Simultaneously, a large grey projection screen slowly scroll downwards. The lights on the stage went off and a projection flickered to life as grainy images of a sad looking and dilapidated house appeared. These were the cuts and extras from Clark’s famous work Splitting (1974), an intervention piece in which Clark and collaborators vertically sawed their way through the entirety of a New Jersey suburban residency that had been abandoned after residents were evicted in the wake of an upcoming urban renewal project.
Except again, this wasn’t Splitting proper. These were outtakes, the waning moments before the cutting began as the camera explores masses of personal objects strewn about by the yard of the residence while Clark and his collaborators crawl along the residence roof making measurements. The clips are few, damaged, and collaged together. Their only identifiable feature was that they are all images of the same house. But perhaps these off-hand shots are more defining and revealing as to the nature of Clark’s work than his mystical and anonymous spatial carvings will ever appear to the uninspired viewer. The great truth of his works lies in the old mattress, left to right in the cold sun. It speaks of people evicted and their homes and neighborhoods destroyed,and perhaps in their vernacular simplicity, they embody their energy and troubles better than any house ever could.
The city of Englewood, where the film shooting took place, is composed of mostly working class neighborhoods. The area has an almost equal number of African American residents to white of the city population. The particular neighborhood where Splitting was done was mostly of African American descent, according to census readings, hence it shouldn’t be surprising then to see how exclusionary social policies ended up mostly clearing out the neighborhood.
Other snippets of Clark’s work drew some of the same conclusions in different ways and forms, but it all came down to the same thing. Has architecture failed us?
This is the same question that resonates from the abandoned clutter of household items to the tired mistreated structures that star in Clark’s work. This is an amusingly loaded question coming from an ex-architecture student, a heated discourse that is a mixture of both personal feelings of shame and maybe relief.
I love architecture, don’t get me wrong. I love looking at buildings and losing myself in their mysterious contours and repetitions, but my question aims more towards the general policy of most architecture in the 21st century. Undoubtedly, construction is linked with urban planning, but for something meant to be a force of beauty and social cohesion, architecture usually comes down to money and time (as most things sadly). A surrounding rhetoric has been that of speedy cheap construction.
In a vain pursuit of grandiosity and efficiency, much has been overlooked. Splittings’ few, second-long outtakes capture this in the refuse pile, pulling our attention away from the building by refocusing on the original subjects, the inhabitants. Despite all its ambition, architecture and to that extent construction is about making spaces that promote the health and prosperity of people. While they are definitely important, maybe the lofty ideals architecture claims to promote are utopian delusions. Through his life, Clark criticized established architectural practices,most notingly with his group Anarchitecture. In its manifesto and ideology, Matta rejected the orderliness and efficiency of modern cities, and celebrated the disorder of densely packed inner city life. I believe this celebration can be felt in those veering shots of the forgotten personal articles. The structures that are supposed to keep us warm and safe are bargaining chips that can be tossed at any moment with little regard for the tiny beings that inhabit them, much less for their few personal belongings. Conical Intersect (1975) is another display that shows buildings in pain, mutilated and left for dead, which isn’t too far a cry from the people evicted from those very structures, and left out in the cold.
Additionally Clark displayed a longing interest for ethnography and, in particular, archeology. Some of the secondary material that will be shown in January of next year will include a great deal of the photographs he took during his trips to South America. From the snippets shown, these include the gloomy images of Inca and Mesoamerican relics.The importance of these is that constant interest in people, their customs, vestments and the role that they play or represent in the imagined spaces left by their ancestors. But this is nothing new, there has always been a profound interest in ruins by poets, writers and artists. From biblical descriptions of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and their damning implications, the fantastic imaginings of the members of the mostly italian capricci movement in the 16th century, to the apocalyptic prophesying of european artists in the inter and post war period. There has been a historical shift in the portrayal of ruins, from one of mystical and nostalgic allure to one of foreshadowing of destruction, ironic considering the fate of most of Clark’s work.
Perhaps the haunting beauty of contorted shapes and spaces is the promise for narrative,and ultimately, human connection. We search tirelessly old sites and tombs to see that timeless connection between us and our ancestors, to see our humanity echoed generation through generation. Ruins, for this reason, could almost be seen as universal places of worship. But these places are perhaps disappearing faster than we realize, or more accurately, less future ruins are being produced.
Toronto-based architect Brandon Donnelly, and Canadian/American architect, professor and writer Witold Rybczynski, both commented in architectural blogs on the shortening lifespan of buildings in our day and age.
Concrete, steel, and glass, for all their scale, are a lot less durable than one might imagine. Projects built even 60 years ago require major renovations that can come to be several times more expensive than the original costs at their conception.
Put this next to the impressive basilicas of the renaissance, the pyramids or the temples of Teotihuacan that have lasted for hundreds to thousands of years. Now, it is simply cheaper to knock down ugly buildings that we make for whatever necessary reason. For the community of Englewood, it was urban renewal. In Beauburg, Paris, a facelift was ‘needed’ around the then anticipated Centre Pompidou. And constantly a problem that arises is that there was a lack of foresight. Useless or unneeded structure are built, that have little consideration for local communities and necessities. For example, one only has to look at the many failed housing projects in the US (Pruitt Igoe, Cabrini Green), Chinese ghost cities, or Venezuela’s Mission Vivenda. Perhaps the buildings in question were not the most beautiful or impressive. Perhaps they weren’t the most economically efficient use of space, nor the greatest investment. But perhaps that also speaks of a culture that isn’t building things meant to last. The human element is trampled, again and again.
There are still historical societies remembered through the preservation of their architectural structures today, but is there any concern for the preservation of our present or future structures, or will rebuilding every forthcoming day reach the point where history ceases to exist? And to that, what can be said about us, the tenants of these badly built structures. Are we to remain prisoners of badly constructed homes or should we demand better quality construction meant to foster better social equality?
The CCA is open from Wednesday through Sunday from 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. except Thursdays, during which they are open until 9 p.m. Admission is free for students any day of the week. For more information visit their website.
Collecting Loss: Weaving Threads of Memory celebrates life and death through clothing
I remember when my grandfather was in the hospital. In the final weeks leading up to his death, my grandmother taught herself how to knit. She had never knit before and yet, during the long days spent in the intensive care unit, she had managed to create a scarf for everyone in my family. At nine years old, I did not understand. “Why couldn’t she just read a book?” I would ask. “She is grieving,” my mother would answer.
Many years later, I understood. The practice of weaving offers the mind rest and focus, it is at once creative and emotional. Collecting Loss: Weaving Threads of Memory demonstrates this need to create something that will hold together during times of loss. On display at Yellow Fish Art Gallery in the Plateau, the exhibition is a public art memorial that celebrates life and death through clothing.
Embroidered and patchworked, the garments offer individuals and community a place to mourn and remember together, and demonstrate the possibility of death as something that “weaves” people together. Photo by Britanny Clarke.
The space feels very much like a memorial; a place for grieving and remembering. Clothes hang from the ceiling, holding shape as though they were recently worn and leaving the viewer with a feeling of emptiness. Framed poems are on display at the foot of each garment, and lit candles are scattered throughout the room. It is at once eerie and wholesome; while the items represent loss, many people are gathered to celebrate life.
The items, created of donated clothing once belonging to loved ones, were cut up and sewn together. Embroidered and patchworked, the garments offer individuals and community a place to mourn and remember together, and demonstrate the possibility of death as something that “weaves” people together. From teddy bears, to child-size dresses, to pants, each item is unique and expresses different experiences and memories.
At the far end of the room, Christy Thompson’s work Shroud hangs from the ceiling. An homage to the artist’s brother, Kelly, following his death, the piece is five metres long and composed of his knitted garments. The work, which took Thompson over three months to complete, demonstrates the creative process that helped the artist develop an understanding of their relationship and his loss.
Purple, yellow and green threads make the warp of this 5 metre long piece. Close up of Shroud, photographed by Chloe Lalonde.
Christy Thompson unravelled her brothers knitted garments, which included a woolen tuque and sweater. Close up of Shroud, photographed by Chloe Lalonde.
Thompson’s goal was to create a dialogue surrounding grief and loss, while simultaneously exploring alternative ways of dealing with loss and mourning.
Collected, gathered, disassembled and reassembled, the creation of the works follow a similar pattern to the ways in which one’s life is changed when experiencing loss. However, being given the space to share memories and stories, and to fill it with items that have been repaired, offers individuals a place to remember and honour their loved ones, both individually and collectively.
Collecting Loss: Weaving Threads of Memory demonstrates the possibility of creating meaning and bringing people together to create a community of tightly woven individuals.
Collecting Loss: Weaving Threads of Memory is on display at Yellow Fish Art Gallery, at 3623 St-Laurent Blvd., until Oct. 27. Additional information and open hours can be found at https://www.yellowfishart.com/.
Chris Dainty’s short film is a mesmerizing tale of grief, friendship and inventiveness.
For his first film in collaboration with the National Film Board of Canada (NFB), Chris Dainty tells the story of his departed best friend and queer artist Shannon Jamieson, who committed suicide in 2006. He reanimates her art and poetry, and does it with innovative techniques and poignant storytelling.
Shannon Amen seems like a very suitable title for the film. Not only does it feel like an elegy, but it also relates Jamieson’s struggles with religion and sexuality.
“I believe every word of the Bible and still desire a relationship with God but feel like I can’t because I’m gay.” Those are the words of Jamieson which the film uncovers. Dainty only realized the gravity of his best friend’s inner battles after her death.
“She felt like a different person almost,” said Dainty, when talking about his experience of going through Jamieson’s art and poetry, after her suicide. He had never known about most of what he found, and never suspected how tormented she was.
The film recreates some of Jamieson’s relationships and art projects. It starts as she climbs inside a church in Lyon, France, and sings, with her guitar.
One of the key settings in Shannon Amen is a farm, probably inspired by the rural town of Hawkesbury, Ontario, where Jamieson and Dainty grew up. Over the years, they worked on many art projects. One of them is beautifully told in the film, mixing animation and archival footage, when Chris went to take pictures of Jamieson and her girlfriend, portraying queer love gently and candidly.
Jamieson was a multidisciplinary artist who delved into poetry, music, painting and more. One of her paintings, Self-portrait, becomes animated in Dainty’s film, and seems to perfectly encapsulate her struggles with her sexuality and fierce personality.
Self-Portrait, Shannon Jamieson.
The artist graduated from the Faculty of Fine Arts at Concordia. She exhibited her artworks in various solo and group shows, most notably in Montreal, Vankleek Hill, and San Francisco.
While Dainty didn’t follow his best friend to Montreal, he still pursued an artistic career and has been living in Ottawa for most of his life. He has been practicing ice sculpting there for many years and, for the first time in his life, has combined that skill with his animation film career.
He developed a technique for Shannon Amen that he calls “icemation.” He literally animated ice sculptures, which allowed for more poetic possibilities, gorgeous images and unusual sound effects.
Dainty said he and his team carved up to 30 blocks of ice, which weighed about 300 pounds. It would take them three to six hours for each. Luckily, even though we only see them for a few seconds, the animated ice sculptures were worth all the effort. The scenes they create are quite beautiful.
It felt more organic, more natural, to use frozen water to represent the character of Shannon,” said Dainty. “The ice was her essence, her soul […] It was strong, yet fragile. It was the perfect analogy for Shannon.”
Dainty was very happy the NFB decided to take on his project. The desire of developing icemation was just one of the very challenging goals he had in mind when thinking about making Shannon Amen, and he thinks he could not have done it without them.
“They are the only ones that would support a project this ambitious,” he said. He also talked about how his producer would always question him and challenge his ideas, which resulted in them making “the right decisions” for the movie and making it as good as it could be.
The entire process of making Shannon Amen was supposed to take two years but turned out to be a four-year journey, because of the various technical developments and script rewrites.
Despite all the work and all the wait that it took before he could see his film come to life, Dainty said he is now very happy about it. It is indeed a beautiful film that will certainly resonate with the public. It not only tells a touching story, but also redefines the power of art and film, transcending purely temporal issues and giving a new life to important memories.
Shannon Amen will be presented at the Festival du Nouveau Cinéma on Oct. 17, at the Cinémathèque Québécoise, in the national short films competition. Chris Dainty will also host one of the free Artist’s talk of the Sommets du cinéma d’animation, where he will talk about animation filmmaking, at the Cinémathèque, on Oct. 24.
As fascinating as it is disturbing, this standalone film is a lot more than it seems
I don’t see Joker as a movie about a Batman villain. For some reason, I have trouble even connecting Joaquin Phoenix’s portrayal of Arthur Fleck with the classical Joker.
Above all else, when I watch Joker, I see a film about mental illness, childhood trauma and the consequences of inadequate social support. Say what you will about the film, maybe you thought it was flat, too disturbing or not disturbing enough. Before Joker was even released, there was a lot of criticism of the movie saying that it glorifies and encourages white men who feel disenfranchised to turn to violence to be noticed. Joker brings these issues to light in a way that forces you to confront them as well as your morals. There is also an interesting commentary on poverty and class which ties into the main themes and asserts itself as a significant theme throughout the film. Arthur Fleck is depicted as a struggling, lonely mentally ill man trying to make sense of his place in the world, but the film never uses this as an excuse for the actions he commits. His villainy or innocence is up to the viewer.
Now, I need to address the most extraordinary force in Joker: Joaquin Phoenix. To get straight to the point, his performance is phenomenal. He beautifully conveys Fleck’s internal pain and uses movement to emote specific emotional atmospheres. Phoenix reels you into the character’s head and makes you understand his state of mind and his actions, moral or not. It’s almost messed up how he’s able to make you feel empathetic for Arthur when you feel like you shouldn’t, but that’s just part of the magic of Phoenix’s performance. An Oscar Nomination for Best Actor is guaranteed, and I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t win. The way he makes you feel certain emotions with the simplest gestures and expressions is astonishing.
The soundtrack by Hildur Guðnadóttir, the cinematography by Lawrence Sher, and the direction by Todd Phillips brings you right into the era, location and most importantly the feeling of this film. Guðnadóttir creates a dark and distressed cello-heavy soundtrack that makes you feel like you’re in the murky depths of Gotham City… and of Arthur’s mind. Along with her previous work, like TV mini-series Chernobyl and Sicario: Day of the Soldado, Guðnadóttir is a force to be reckoned with. With Phillips, the pacing was excellent. I appreciated that he allowed some scenes to play out without much dialogue and let Phoenix use movement to flesh out the scene. Sher’s stunning cinematography was the final selling point for me to decide that, on a technical level, Joker is a masterpiece.
Ultimately, I think that Joker is one of the more important films to come out of 2019. Phoenix delivered a powerful performance, Guðnadóttir gave us a stellar soundtrack and, ultimately, I got a film that I will be thinking about for a long time.
Expressing trauma through creation, of any form, is healing – How Karina Lafayette is writing and directing her way through trauma.
Inspired by classics like Charlie Chaplin and Stanley Kubrick, Karina Lafayette has been chasing her dreams of filmmaking since she was a teenager. Following her studies at Dawson College, Lafayette studied in Concordia’s film department until 2015, when she was forced to work full-time, dropping out for personal reasons.
She had the opportunity to create several short films, all published on her Youtube channel, Carus Productions. Among those are a series of vlogs and video diaries, tutorials, and responses to events taking place in popular culture, including a short romantic-comedy, titled A Good Man (2014) and experimental short, Give Me a Smile (2017.)
After creating a documentary about the 2012 student strikes in Quebec, Lafayette made the decision to move to Toronto. There, she began doing short term work in the industry, serving popcorn at film festivals and freelancing on various sets, where she met her now ex-husband.
It was during this time that Lafayette began writing poetry, which would eventually become her first book, Queen of Hearts. She wrote in order to process her experiences. Her relationship, once idealized, was beginning to become increasingly toxic.
Her work speaks to the emotional abuse she experienced while juggling her hopes and dreams for her career, and her relationship.
About a year after the couple separated, Lafayette lost everything, turning to the streets and shelters with her dog.
Following Queen of Hearts, Lafayette began working on a second project to continue documenting her story. Persephone Rises, available Oct. 16, is a first-hand account of empowerment and perseverance. The name draws from the Greek myth of Persephone, the goddess of vegetation, and Hades’ wife. Persephone’s story is one of unwitting love. Hades, ruler of the underworld, set his sights on her, keeping her as his lover and prisoner in the dark depths. To keep her there, Hades feeds Persephone pomegranate seeds, binding her to him.
It was in this story that Lafayette found comfort, a character that she could relate to. Expressing trauma through creation, of any form, is healing. An article written by artist Terry Sullivan in The New York Times elaborates on four steps to use art to process trauma. Choose a medium you are comfortable with and work when you feel relaxed, don’t be hard on yourself, date and document your work to keep track of your progress and finally, be selective of who you show your work to.
If you are experiencing trauma you would like to express in a safe space, visit the pop-up zen den in the Counselling and Psychological Services room 300-22, Guy-De Maisonneuve building (1550 De Maisonneuve W.)
Ground Work offers students a unique platform to showcase their work
The launch of the first edition of Ground Work, an art criticism journal published by the Fine Arts Reading Room (FARR), was celebrated last week.
Artists and writers alike were encouraged to write about art that they encountered on and around Concordia, whether it be at the VAV Gallery, during a studio class, or anywhere else on campus.
“At Concordia, there isn’t a journal dedicated to art criticism within the fine arts community,” said Le Lin, who works at the FARR, noting that the form of art criticism that takes place within the faculty is more theoretical, aimed towards Art History students.
“When you interact with different spaces within Concordia－during critiques, at FOFA, Leonard and Bina－you sometimes have a lot to say,” said Lin, adding that Ground Work aims to offer a place for fine arts students to express themselves through writing. “[We wanted] Ground Work as something to offer everyone, and not just Art History students.”
Five versions of Ground Work are available, described as “collectibles” by Lin. Designed by Van Le, another employee of the FARR, the graphic concept originated from a cracked phone screen. A vibrant red arcade font and black fine line detailing adds an interesting and unexpected pop against the off-white paper, which folds out into a poster.
Each of the five printouts features a single text, ranging from works exploring contemporary art within urban landscapes, to review-type features about art exhibited within the school’s galleries.
Eva Morrison’s “Desire Lines” delves into user experience, in regards to the large “C” sculpture outside Concordia’s Sir George Williams Campus. Hea R. Kim’s “The Inner Presence of Absence: Dominique Sirois’ Sous Verre, Sous Terre III, IV, V” is an article about multimedia artist Dominique Sirois’ works, featured at Galerie Laroche/Joncas in downtown Montreal.
The texts, which are at once academic and personal alongside the DIY-approach assembly of the journal, convey expression and theory in a way that does not feel like an essay.
Despite offering publication grants to students, Ground Work is the first publication by the FARR. “I do see more programming [for the FARR] being done in the future,” said Lin. “We definitely see [Ground Work] being continued… or another FARR publication, maybe.”
The FARR is a student-run library-meets-resource centre, located on the second floor of Concordia’s EV building, offering resources, and publication and residency grants to students and clubs.
“A lot of resources come to us, so that we relay the information out,” said Lin, adding that the FARR’s catalogue is currently expanding to fill gaps of what is missing in the Webster library, and noting that they currently have a wide selection of new resources available from their trip to NY Art Book Fair.
All students interested in submitting work can expect to hear callouts for the next issue during the Winter semester.
Copies of Ground Work can be found at The Fine Arts Reading Room, at EV 2.785. The FARR is open Mon to Thur, from 10 a.m. to 7 p.m., and Fri from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m.
A contemporary and refreshing approach to the iconic ballet
The first time I heard Carl Orff’s interpretation of the medieval manuscript, Carmina Burana, was on the soundtrack of Oliver Stone’s 1991 film The Doors. My best friend and I were creating the Blink-182 logo with Hama beads, small hollow colourful cylinders that could be used to create designs on plastic plates covered in little pegs. The design would then be ironed, buffered by parchment paper, leaving it solidified. Before ironing, the design is quite delicate and any movement can cause pieces to fall out of place.
The Blink-182 logo was quite a difficult project, with its arrows and paint splatters, but we were ambitious. The moment we picked up the plate, that very intense part of O Fortuna came on and we quickly, but carefully, returned the plate to the floor before we buckled down laughing ourselves to tears.
O Fortuna is incredibly triumphant and epic. So very different than our childish crafting.
Outside of The Doors’ soundtrack, I wasn’t aware of Carmina Burana, even less so of the incredible power the verses carried.
“Carmina Burana” is latin for “songs from Benediktbeuern,” Benediktbeuern being a district in Bavaria, southern Germany. The original document is a collection of 254 medieval poems which was found in a monastery in Benediktbeuern, dating back sometime between the 11th and 13th centuries. In 1936, 24 of the 254 poems were reinterpreted as cantatas by german composer Carl Orff. These verses have since been performed in orchestras and ballets internationally.
This October, Les Grands Ballets de Montreal presents 150 artists (dancers, musicians, chorists and vocalists) to bring Carmina Burana and Stabat Mater to life once more, choreographed by Romania’s Edward Clug.
Stabat Mater , a 13th-century Italian-Christian hymn, opened the performance on Oct. 3. Forty dancers walked slowly onto the stage, 20 women and 20 men in matching uniforms. The men wore black shirts and pants, and the women wore beigey-pink long sleeve dresses. The fabric was light and emphasised their movements. I was immediately reminded of The Handmaid’s Tale, the young daughters wearing their pink spring dresses and the dark Angels and Eyes opposing them. Stabat Mater rejoices the Virgin Mary, recounting her suffering upon Jesus’ crucifixion.
Their first movements were almost silly, exaggerated head tilts while in deep, strong squats, stiff, total vibrations of their bodies. The two groups moved in conversation with each other, as if arguing. Mimicking each others’ movements in response.
I had expected something different from a ballet, not traditional organza tutus, but graceful, soaring leaps and strong men holding equally strong, but delicate women.
Clug’s choreography was so contemporary, so refreshing. Maybe I could move that way if I wanted to. Their movements were performative versions of rather relatable action; sharing an oversized jacket with someone larger than you, lying on your partner’s stomach, trying to melt your body into theirs, waiting in line.
In one moment, so much movement and noise would be happening on stage, and the next, complete silence, low chorus, each dancer frozen but a few. The others would fade out, and the story would continue, focusing on a new couple’s journey.
Orff’s cantatas, selected to represent quarters of the original manuscript, recite tales of romance, morality, spirituality and pleasure. Clug outlined an imaginary village, telling the stories of its occupants, stories of birth, love, loss and moving on.
In one memorable scene, the men and women were lined up on opposite ends of the stage. The men would fall slowly, drunkenly, and the women would chase across to lift them back to their feet. They did this in pairs, then all at once. Jetting across in their striking outfits, they had added thick black pumps and headwraps that matched their dresses.
The second half began with O Fortuna. I expected chaos, but there was none. Instead, there was an incredible synchronicity. The dancers were now wearing red and black ombre dresses and footed leggings, the costumes worn by women faded black to red and men wore the opposite. Over time, they removed their layers, their bodies glistening as if nude. The group moved with power. Supporting each other as one organism, it was mind-numbing and awakening at the same time.
Carmina Burana will be performed at Place des Arts until Oct. 19, tickets are 40 per cent off for youth under 30 all season long.
With files from Les Grands Ballets de Montreal and the public domain.
