Like a lot of people, I suspect, I’m fascinated and utterly engaged by that in the world which I’ll call the “neither/nor”. That is, I’m taken by things – primarily works of art, but also literature, film, theater and even the more mind-boggling realities revealed by science – that are not tidily assigned to very specific categories, things that don’t fit into convenient intellectual or aesthetic boxes, that aren’t amenable to easy labeling and categorization. I’m talking about the equivalents, I suppose, of littoral zones, those ecological areas that straddle the meeting of land and sea – areas that are really neither/nor – and which are, intererestingly, fecund with life. Nature, it seems, often prefers such areas; hedgerows in farmed areas, the edges of forests – all are extremely amenable to the creative process that is life. Continue reading
You know how often I reference the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design (NSCAD) in my blogs? A lot, actually, in part indicative of my familiarity with and respect for the institution (having lived and worked in Halifax for a number of years, and having curated and written about a number of its faculty and graduates). But mainly it’s indicative of the importance of the place; in the late1960s artist and teacher Garry Neill Kennedy utterly transformed a staid, provincial art school into a veritable power house that came to have international prominence. Conceptualism became indelibly linked with the institution, and even departments traditionally considered realms of “craft” (like weaving and ceramics) felt, even embraced, its impact. NSCAD is long past its heyday when it was arguably considered the best art school in the world (perhaps exemplified in John Baldessari’s lithographic print I Will Not Make Any More Boring Art, done at NSCAD in the early 1970s), but the reverberations of what happened half-a-century ago continue to shape its path as it struggles for survival and relevance in the 21st century. Continue reading
No, this has nothing to do with Aleister Crowley and his ilk dabbling in the ridiculous “black arts,” but has, instead, everything to do with real science. “Occultations” are a part of the realm of astronomy and astrophysics, and refer to the passing of one heavenly body in front of another, the former obscuring, blocking, hiding, “occulting” the latter. There’s much science to be had in such events, bucket-loads of learning about the workings of our universe that occurs because of them. Occultations provide, and, interestingly, they can provide within other contexts as well. It’s the aesthetic that concerns me, here. Continue reading
Clichés being what they are, I’ll nevertheless risk one and say: it’s an image that looks like something out of a bad science fiction movie. A late-model car, otherwise innocuously (if somewhat illegally) parked in a No Parking Zone, has been, well, “cleaved” shall we say, by, of all things, a satellite. And not just any old satellite. Resting atop the remains of the vehicle’s badly dented roof, it’s Sputnik, the very first satellite, put up into orbit by the Soviets in 1957, circling the earth and emitting a beeping sound that was monitored by amateur radio operators around the world (oh, and the highly annoyed US military as well). Continue reading
I want to talk a bit about context – specifically, what sculpture can do to our experiences and expectations of public and private spaces. It’s all about shape-shifting.
I’m drawn back to this because of an exhibition recently opened at the Maclaren Art Centre in the city of Barrie, Ontario, just north of Toronto. Laura Moore’s One Man’s Junk is a seemingly simple and understated installation: essentially a wooden shipping pallet carefully stacked with a number of carved limestone sculptures – 1:1 scale – of old cathode-ray tube computer monitors. The contextual part of this has to do with the work’s placement in a small, interior courtyard at the gallery that is shared with an adjacent café. There are plants in concrete containers, and a few tables and chairs. Moore’s work sits off to one side atop a concrete slab. Continue reading
I first encountered the work of Sarah Saunders in the late 1990s when I was the curator at the Confederation Centre Art Gallery in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island. I was fortunate enough to include her in an exhibition of sculptural ceramics, and had the opportunity to write about her work for a catalogue, and then later review her work in magazines. Continue reading
Bear with me, here.
I’ll date myself and risk saying that, as is usually the case, those of newer generations of us homo sapiens are stereotypically deemed by those of the previous to suffer shortcomings of the mind, body, or spirit. “Why, when I was a child…” is often how such critiques start, followed by a great deal of tsk tsking as more recent humans are taken to task for faults and flaw and defects that their forebears have miraculously been apparently unaffected by. And I’ll go out on a limb and say that perhaps the greatest flaw newbies on planet earth are accused of is a short attention span, courtesy their exposure to the vicissitudes of contemporary culture from the word go. Technology, the thinking goes, is making us idiots, unable to focus. Continue reading