Tuesday, June 6, 2017

Looks



The Vapours performance was part of Emily Hill's Looks exhibition at the Campbell River Art Gallery. In addition to Emily's rug paintings, the exhibition featured a video by Feminist Land Art Collective members and Exercise co-founders Nicole Ondre and Vanessa Disler. Emily had a studio at Exercise and participated in a number of its events.


Looks is organized by artist and former CRAG curator Julia Prudhomme, who, during her short run at the gallery, developed a contemporary program (Sonny Assu, Amy Malbeuf + Jordan Bennett, Samuel Roy-Bois, Derya Akay) that was attentive to the particularities of the local cultural ecology while at the same time expanded the limits of painting and sculpture. Why the CRAG's director did not show up to help open the exhibition and offer parting words for Julia could be indicative of where the CRAG is -- and isn't -- headed. But if that's the case, oh well -- yet another instance of time over space.

Best of luck, Julia!


4 comments:

  1. Conflicted, the CRAG still cannot bring itself to append "Public" to its gallery description. Yet it is very much a public art gallery and, as such, must answer to Canada Council for its questionable (mis)use of funds... and just where is the C.C.fo'T.A. in all this? They may only wait, so the spokespeople mutter, until the CRAG issues a "Final Report" in December 2017. The situation is so insane it makes one wish for art cops(!) but, sadly, Greta, we only have a conscience and, perhaps, a beer light to guide us. If there were such a thing as universal justice, why, someone (like Ander Krisson) would have some splainin' to do.
    And just where did all that money go???

    ReplyDelete
  2. This comment has been removed by the author.

    ReplyDelete


  3. Dear Stretch-the-truth-to-fit-the-climate: Recently I have been throwing up. A lot. I work at a public art gallery and I think it might have something to do with the various administraitors (sic). What should I?

    Dear Molly Ringwald: Mostly I just go around singing hip-hop in my head, hoping that the workday will end in screeching tires, a smoke-show, and

    Dear Horrible Swelling:

    Dear Ministrations of Uncoupling: Ever since Ferguson, I get the feeling that cops are pointing their guns at me. How can I be sure?

    Dear Elastic Waistband: Since you gone I have taken to the bottle. Since you went, I have had to walk to the Bulk Barn. Since you

    Dear Tears of a Clown: Not since Nancy Reagan.

    Dear Hotel-in-a-handbag: Unsubscribe/See all your alerts.

    Dear Hentai-junkie: Who’s the old guy in all those photos with you? And why do you resemble the “It’s Gone Forever” girl? And who took the pictures? And why am I only now hearing about this? And I feel like I met you somewhere? And don’t you know me? You know me. You.

    Dear For-fuck’s-sake: Okono Miyaki. It of the dancing egg flakes. A hard rain burns the skin.

    Dear Tulsa Tampons: I dreamed a gang of horrid killers were chasing me through a BMX maze. I launched a fat air and for a second, the only time since my birth, I was flying. From somewhere came the tinny music of a Blackpool dancehall. And the smell of fried fish. Suddenly, a woman’s breast struck me in the face. “Relax,” said the gathering clouds of evening, “you can land this.”

    ReplyDelete