Sunday, November 29, 2015

Roy Kiyooka

I am not sure if Michael Audain has any work by Roy Kiyooka in his collection, but I would hope so if he wants to tell the story (stories?) of art in this province.

Saturday, November 28, 2015

Historical Narrative

The Audain Art Museum ("the only museum in Canada dedicated to the work of a single province") might look and feel like an ark, but once through its turnstiles the layout brings to mind the corridor of Berlin's Hamburger Bahnhof, with its galleries to the left (upon entering through the lobby), and then four huge ones at the end.

The narrative of those first galleries, as far as I understand them, break down into seven parts:

1) "Traditional" Northwest Coast First Nations art and artifact

2) Emily Carr

3) E.J. Hughes

4) "Pre- and Post-war" (Jack Shadbolt, Gordon Smith, Toni Onley, Takao Tanabe…)

5) "Photo-conceptualism" (Ian Wallace, Jeff Wall, Rodney Graham, Ken Lum, Stan Douglas)

6) "Contemporary First Nations" (Sonny Assu, Dana Claxton, Jim Hart, Brian Jungen, Marianne Nicolson…)

7) "Contemporary" (Tim Lee, Steven Shearer…)

Friday, November 27, 2015

Audain Art Museum

When I was younger, the highway to Whistler was scary. People drove it accordingly, which is to say carefully. Now, after years of improvements, it is no longer the road that is scary -- it is the drivers.

Yesterday we drove to Whistler's Rainbow Theatre to hear Michael Audain speak to local residents "about art." Which he did. Eccentrically. I am not sure how many times he mentioned how important it is for his and Yoshi Karasawa's art collection to have its own building ("A home for our artworks"), but each time he did he would remind us that the location is irrelevant ("It's not because we wanted a home in the mountains").

Not that this was found on the residents I was sitting with, most of whom beamed back their blithe Alberta oil smiles as Audain went on to describe the display logic of the collection once it is moved inside the Patkau's ark-like building. (Ark-like because it looks like an ark -- albeit a bent one, as if it just bumped into an iceberg -- but also because, as Audain kept reminding us, it sits on a flood plain).

A few posts ago, in a fit a pique, I described Michael Audain as our Noah Cross. Allow me to shorten this to Noah.

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

"Search and Destroy" (1973)

The forgotten sub-genre that is protestsploitation.

I'm a street walking cheetah
With a heart full of napalm
I'm a runaway son of the nuclear A-bomb
I am a world's forgotten boy
The one who searches and destroys
Honey gotta help me please
Somebody gotta save my soul
Baby detonates for me
Look out honey, 'cause I'm using technology !
Ain't got time to make no apology
Soul radiation in the dead of night
Love in the middle of a fire fight
Honey gotta strike me blind
Somebody gotta save my soul
Baby penetrates my mind
And I'm the world's forgotten boy
The one who's searchin', searchin' to destroy
And honey I'm the world's forgotten boy
The one who's searchin', searchin' to destroy
Forgotten boy, forgotten boy
Forgotten boy said
Hey forgotten boy

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

The Searchers (1956)

When a "full-screen" film ends on television, everyone grows taller, skinnier, rolled over by those involved with the film's production. In John Ford's The Searchers, it is not the reformatting of the film (to accommodate its credits) that changes the shape of its racist hero, but the sliding door of its post-production frame.