An Afternoon at the Art Gallery of Sudbury & “Change of State/Alteration”

There’s something lovely about being back inside an art gallery after months of not being there. For me, the Art Gallery of Sudbury is a “home place” of sorts. I spent my 20s there, first as a volunteer, and later as a contract worker who managed media communications for a short time. I met my first love through the AGS, when we were both taking an art history course at Laurentian during our undergrad. He was in the French section of the course, and I was in the English one. We met haphazardly during a joint class field trip to see an exhibit. (I still remember that I had no idea who he was, but that he had nice eyes, was funny, and could carry a witty conversation. That impressed me. I went back to the gallery, two days later, to find his name in the guest book. I was infatuated. The things you do when you fall in love for the very first time…) In any case, from that time, in my early 20s–until now–in my late 40s, the Art Gallery of Sudbury has played a starring role for me in my life.

I’ve written a poem, and a play, about how I encountered Mrs. Bell’s ghost while I worked there in my late 20s, and I’ve rarely missed an exhibition while I’ve lived in Sudbury. Times living in North Bay, Ottawa, and Kingsville found me searching out other art galleries like someone with a strange addiction to visual art. I am. Addicted to art, I mean. So, during the pandemic at its deepest lockdown, I most missed walking alongside the lake and also just going to the gallery to be in that space. There, I honestly sort of am in a timeless space, able to be in and out of my body simultaneously. It’s a creative vortex for me, and a major part of my heart and life.

When the letter to members came in the mail last week, saying that you could book a time slot on certain days, I called in right away. The gallery was open again! This reopening exhibit is titled, aptly, “Change of State/Alteration,” reflecting the historic and fluid time within which we’re living. You’re allotted forty-five minutes, which is a good amount of time. At the door, you’re greeted and you’re asked to wear a mask. Every staff person I saw while I was there was wearing a mask, and the person who was there to answer my questions about the exhibit was aware of social distancing. At the inside door, there’s a bottle of hand sanitizer, some disposable masks (in case you don’t come with your own), and gloves, if you’re super nervous. But, I mean, let’s face it…you don’t need gloves…unless you’re planning on illegally touching the art…but…that’s another story for a bit later on here…

Covid-19 protocols for a safe visit are visible at the inside door, and then there are hand sanitizing stations throughout the galleries.

Gallery 1 is full of beautiful pieces from the Permanent Collection. Now, don’t tell me that you don’t like pieces from Permanent Collections. I LOVE THEM! It’s like someone let you wander around inside a secret wardrobe and pull out a variety of the best vintage dresses to try on in your bedroom! Here are pieces that the gallery has housed for years, and that have been brought out to share. I love this notion so much, especially when you consider the theme of the work.

The first one on the wall is a tiny piece by noted Canadian artist, Joyce Wieland (1930-1988). I saw an exhibit of her work at the McMichael a few years ago and was amazed. This is Sailboat Tragedy, #1 (1963). It’s self-explanatory, and kind of voyeuristic in a strange way as your gaze drifts from panel to panel, knowing what’s about to come even as you dread it. It looks simple, this Wieland, but it’s not. It sets the tone for what we’re living through, a life that seemed to be sailing along in a lovely fashion, and then is so easily upended without warning. Pandemics will do that, it seems, and we’re all learning that first hand this year.

Next to the Wieland is a massive Fred Hagan. It’s titled “Homage” (1991), and it’s overwhelmingly beautiful. The bench is well positioned in the gallery, because you’ll want to sit in front of this one for a bit. It’s Northern Ontario, in all of its gorgeously raw natural beauty. There’s a tiny image of self-portraiture, if you know where to look for it, and then there are figures of influential Group of Seven artists who painted so much of their work up here. There are allusions to specific paintings, so if you’re a Group of Seven fan, look for the clues in the trees and flowers. 🙂

Get up close to it, now. Take your time here. This is one not to be rushed. It takes up the space, and demands that you give it the time to do the same thing with your body, heart, and mind.

Tom Thomson is one of my favourite Group of Seven painters, and here he is depicted painting his wonderful piece, “The West Wind.” If you know Thomson’s work, you’ll know that that’s who’s painting in this corner of the Hagan piece. Then, move on to other parts of the painting, and see others of the Group who painted up here in Northern Ontario. It is Hagan’s homage to those who influenced him as a painter.

Here is Lismer, busy at work en plain air, his canoe next to him, a pan of freshly caught fish frying on a fire for him to eat after he’s done his work. (I get this. I forget to eat when I’m writing, too. Today’s the perfect example of that, with me pecking at things over a series of hours that seem out of time and place…and the art living in my head.)

The balance to this piece of Northern Ontario beauty and painterly history comes with an image that highlights Martin Luther King, pictured about John F. Kennedy. This is Carl Beam’s “King + Kennedy,” a piece that reminds us of the Black Lives Matter movement that began at the centre of the lockdown. A global virus that is called corona, and then the virus that has always been there–which is racism, discrimination, and colonialism.

From here, I was drawn to Jane Ash Poitras’s massive piece, titled “Shaman Never Die” (1988). It, too, is a counterpoint to the Hagan, and to this country’s colonial past (and present). Hers is work I have loved for years. You can stand in front of this one and find so many things to look at and think about.

Do yourself a favour here: don’t rush it when you’re in front of the Hagan, the Poitras, or the Odjig. All three…have a great deal to say about the times within which we’re living. All three speak to the notion of how our world is changing, and how our lives are impacted by those massive changes. What goes on out there in the world also goes on as a mirrored experience inside each of us, too. It affects us globally, but also individually. It is massive, and it’s okay to admit that, even though it can feel overwhelming sometimes…

In this piece of detail from the larger work, there’s the image of Poundmaker, as well as a repeated reference to the Lubicon Lake Cree. Poitras documents the ways in which the Alberta government allowed oil companies to drill on First Nations land. Hers is an art that is beautifully layered, a multi-media collage piece that is reflective of the colonial oppression and general bullshit that the Lubicon Cree have had to deal with–and fight against– for years and years.

The beauty of Gallery 1, though, for this exhibit is Daphne Odjig’s piece, “Spiritual Renewal” (1984). She estimated that it took her six months to paint, and it’s easy to see why. You’ll catch your breath if you stand in front of this one for a while and let it sink in.  As Odjig writes in her artist’s statement: “Spiritual Renewal is a historic portrayal of the spiritual culture shock associated with the arrival of the White Man’s religion. The first part of the panel shows the arrival of the missionaries and suggests confusion…The second panel depicts the return of…spiritual activities.” As she says “Spiritual renewal takes place within the heart and soul of all who see it.” You aren’t allowed to take photos of this piece, which makes it very special in my mind. It’s something you need to go to the gallery to see…to feel in your body, really.

The one thing I struggled with, and Tadd (the Gallery’s Visitor Services and Operations Co-Ordinator) know this all too well–sadly–is that I will always ask “Can I touch it?” if there’s something really unique happening. I mean, I always know that he’ll say no, but I always ask anyway.  In this exhibit, the thing that I most wanted to touch was a rock on the floor. It’s called “Zigzag Water,” (1986) and it’s by Bill Vazan. Just know that it’s also something you should see in person. It’s been carved into, so that there’s a pattern etched into it.

Talking about how landscape and environment can also change is reflected in Jana Sterbak’s “Dissolution” (2001), which documents a series of photographs taken of a chair made of ice. It melts, dissolving slowly from frame to frame. This is a reflection of how everything is constantly changing. In this case, one would easily think of global warming, but it seemed to me that it could also just be speaking to the notion that human lives are not at all about permanence. We are constantly evolving and changing–hopefully growing, if we’re lucky (and open) enough to do so. Besides that, though, we are not guaranteed a certain length of life. We are mortal. We are temporary. We change, and we live through change…

Upstairs, don’t miss the Doug Donley, David Blackwood, and Kenoujuak Ashevak ‘wall.’ If there were three pieces that meant the most to me in the whole building, these three would do it. Doug was a personal friend, and I have three of his pieces of work in my home. That he died much too young is always something that saddens me. His work is worth seeing, if you haven’t encountered it yet. Blackwood, well, he thrills me because he’s from Newfoundland and because his etchings are always stories waiting to be discovered and told. Kenoujuak Ashevak…gah…how do I even explain my love of her work? Go and see it and you’ll understand. Words…don’t suffice. (And also–do not forget to take a look at the Bruno Cavallo painting in Gallery 2, as well as the Mary Green piece.)

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The star of the everything at the AGS right now, though, is local artist Pandora Topp’s pandemic work. You’ll need to step into Mrs. Bell’s conservatory space first. Sit down and take the time to watch a couple of Pandora’s videos. Her project is titled “Imperfect Poetry.” Right away, I knew I was going to love it. I’m a fan of Pandora’s work, and have been for years. She’s a bright light in town, within the arts and culture community, and I love to watch her act on stage.

“Imperfect Poetry” started as an artistic prompt as part of a creative challenge that was extended to Pandora by Charlotte Gowdy, and offered by Haley McGee, all of it connecting artists from here and the UK. The notion is that you “show up for 14 days and create for 10 minutes each day.” It’s a wide open field of creativity!

I love these collaborative arts projects, especially in times when creatives are even more isolated than they might usually be. (I always think it’s funny that people assume that all creatives and introverts would excel at quarantine and lockdown. We’re all still humans, after all, and it can be difficult to be in small, isolated pockets for long periods of time when we’re used to being around other creative people. While what we do must be done in quiet places and solitary spaces, we also need to share our work, to feel connected, and to feel that our work has a purpose and ripples outwards…)

Here’s what’s really wonderful about Pandora’s pandemic project: you get to see her creative process as a *process* in its truest form. There are computerized notes, as well as handwritten journal entries. Alongside those two more literary elements, she has included some sketches. Go from left to right, and take the time to read the documents. I am in love with cursive writing. The more at risk it is of disappearing from our culture these days, the more I fall in love with it. I gather up old letters written by my mum and grandmother, taking them out when I want to remember them more closely. I have always thought that cursive writing is like a fingerprint of soul and personality. You can see a person’s handwriting and know who it belongs to. You can feel a rush of love for someone if you recognize the way they cross their Ts or tuck the loops of their Ys under things.

I know I’ll need another visit, mostly just because I want to go back and read Pandora’s work more carefully. I kept thinking, as I read the pieces of writing, “Oh, sweet Jesus, I hope she publishes these things somewhere…”

What I love about “Imperfect Poetry” is that so much of what artists and writers do is create something. We create to press against the dark. We stir up magic and light, and then we share it. I’m sure each of us has our own specific way of explaining how this works, but what struck me as I read her work yesterday afternoon is that we all need to ‘get it out’ somehow. It’s about finding your voice, about moving through the grief and loss of lockdown. In one piece, she writes: “Weep today if you must. Listen to the high water mark, or low…the pull of the tides are within you.” Yes. Let yourself feel the emotion inside your body, she says. Feel it deeply. Honour it. And then, find yourself in your own body; give yourself a true voice that carries…outwards…and a voice that ripples.

You can listen to some of Pandora’s fine work here:

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This whole exhibit, including Pandora Topp’s “Imperfect Poetry,” runs until Saturday, September 5th. I really hope it’s extended, though, so that more people have time to go and see it. You can register for a visit–for yourself and five of the people in your immediate social bubble–by contacting the Art Gallery of Sudbury at 705-675-4871. It’s open from Tuesday to Saturday right now, with a certain number of visits slotted into each day.

Too, I think it’s a fair time to remind those of you who love art in Greater Sudbury that we really need to reach out and tangibly support our arts organizations. You can become a member of the Gallery for a reasonable fee, but you can also now really show your love by joining the Franklin Carmichael Circle. They’ll send you a tax receipt when it’s time, too, so you don’t even have to think about that part.

It’s another long blog entry, I know…but it’s worth it. If you can, go and see this exhibition. The Gallery’s done a fine job at making itself safe and creative, leading the way in showing us how the arts will survive in creative and innovative ways in the times of a global pandemic…and beyond.

Without the arts, what do we have….?

peace,

k.