Category Archives: Sculpture

Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré

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Le Jardin de Lyon, Place J-Ernest Laforce
Le Jardin de Lyon, Place J-Ernest Laforce

Created in 2000 by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré in recognition of 20 years of cooperation between Lyon and Montreal.

Le Jardin de Lyon, Place J-Ernest Laforce
Le Jardin de Lyon, Place J-Ernest Laforce

There is also a mont Ernest Laforce. Although trying to discover who he was is not an easy task on the internet. According to teh Commission de toponymie he was “a journalist, lecturer, parliamentary correspondent and agent of the federal government” among other things, and the Saint Jean Baptiste society thought he was important enough to be commemorated with a place in 1995.

Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré

Sculpture on sticks is always fun and exciting. The city’s file on the garden is here

Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré
Le Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré

Continue reading Jardin de Lyon by Jean-François Gavoty and Guerric Péré

Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin

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I don’t know what it is, but Charles Daudelin isn’t getting much respect these days. Beyond the fiasco that is Square Viger, there’s also Allégrocube. Completed in 1973 as part of the 1% art integration law for the building of the Palais de Justice two sides initially moved on hinges, opening and closing like a clam-shell. But they have been busted for at least a dozen years, if not more. It’s made of something called Muntz Metal which is like brass and made of 60% copper, 40% zinc with a trace of iron.

Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin, showing the hinges
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin, showing the hinges

Initially, when a friend told me that it was supposed to move, I thought that they were pulling my leg. But nope, the city just let it break and then decided not to fix it.

Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin, showing the hinges
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin, showing the hinges
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin, showing the hinges
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin, showing the hinges
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin, showing the hinges
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin, showing the hinges
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Detail of Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Plaque for Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin
Plaque for Allégrocube by Charles Daudelin

Agora and Mastodo by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger

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It seems that Charles Daudelin isn’t getting much respect these days. He died about a decade ago and it seems that everywhere I turn there’s another one of his works which is being being neglected. Last month I was down at Square Viger and took some pictures of his Agora and Mastodo, both of which have been consigned to junkies and other marginal members of society.

Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger

There were articles in 2010 and earlier this year talking about how Agora is going to hell in a handbasket and Heritage Montreal is also concerned. I’m not certain what to think.

Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Mastodo by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Mastodo by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Mastodo by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Mastodo by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Mastodo by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Mastodo by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Mastodo by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Mastodo by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger
Agora by Charles Daudelin at Square Viger

Blanc et Noir at Galerie Mile End

Howdy!

I freaking hate it, when I ask if I can take pictures at an exhibit, and some person who doesn’t know any better starts spouting about copyright and uses that as the excuse why they won’t let me take a snapshot. Listen people, the Canadian copyright act is right here. In it there’s a paragraph, number 29 to be exact, that talks about Fair Dealing. If I am writing a review of your show, I can use pictures that I took to illustrate the article and not impinge, infringe or otherwise step on your intellectual property. So folks, how about this? Next time I show up and ask to take pictures, understand I am being courteous and polite and be courteous and polite in return and say, “yes.”

I bring this up, because last weekend, I went to Galerie Mile End, and asked to take pictures. The woman who was there, didn’t know copyright from a hole in the wall, but insisted that was the reason why I couldn’t take pictures. She then proceeded to watch me for five minutes (there was no one else in the gallery except the two of us) until I realized that the only reason she was watching me was that I had not put my camera away (like I’m going to surreptitiously snap a picture and copy someone’s art and call it my own! Gimme a break!). So I put away the camera, she went back to making art, but then to make matters worse insisted on coming out once every five minutes for the next 15 minutes with some supposedly helpful suggestion (“the artists’ have their business cards over here, if you take them, you can call them and ask them if it is ok to take pictures,” “the artist who did these pieces is going to be here at 2:30, if you wait you can ask her if it is ok to take pictures of her work,” “if there was any of my work in the show, I’d let you take pictures of it”).

Suffice it to say, I was not in a good mood, and slowly got more and more annoyed at her as time progressed. Instead of snapping and throwing or shouting something. I gripped my pen and clipboard even tighter still, took a couple of deep breaths and did my best not to let my foul mood cloud my judgement or opinion of the work on the walls – but man, oh, man was it tough. All the way home I was contemplating some kind of savage ripost or 10,000 word screed. Or just spiking the whole darn thing. But when I got home, I put on Brahm’s Symphony #1, took a nap, and when I woke up, everything was much better. Thanks Johannes.

OK, now that I got that off my chest, some background. Galerie Mile End is an offshoot of the Park Avenue YMCA. It’s a kind of community centre/art studios/gallery/collective type of thing. You know, one of those places where people with day jobs that aren’t quite as fulfilling as they hoped, go after work to do creative things. Paint, Sculpt, Draw, etc. As a consequence a small supportive community arises out of and around them, and the people making the art don’t get driven crazy by their jobs/commute/relationships/kids, etc. Just in case yo9u thought I was being 100% literal, sorry, I over simplified things – it obviously isn’t that easy in real life, but you get the point. I’d like to say that I have followed the members of Galerie Mile End closely for the past 14 years and as a consequence can say with authority, that none of their members have ever gone on to make the jump from day job to full-time artist. But I haven’t, so I can’t and that’s just the last little bit of frustration leaking out of me, pay it never no mind. Things start looking up from here on it, I promise.

The reason I was interested in going to see the exhibit was because En Masse has kind of been taking over the city. It seems that everywhere I look, there is some very large black and white cartoon-like mural made by something like 70 dozen different local artists. It seems to me that Black and White is the new black – or maybe the new Friday, or something like that. Anyhows, I was curious to see if En Masse had had any influence on the fine folk at Galerie Mile End. In short no. While the exhibit at Galerie Mile End was a group show, it was not collaborative in the least. While there was something approaching thematic unity based on the title, I did see some greens, and a couple of other colors that were not black or white – and there was quite a lot of gray as well, which technically I figure is alright, but if I wanted to get all nit-picky about it, I could. But I think I have gotten rid of all the frustration I had over the weekend (I actually listened to the Brahms #1, something like four times…) so we’ll let it slide.

There were about three dozen different artists involved. Some of them showing multiple pieces (alright), some of them showing multiple pieces in very different media (not so hot). Anytime I look at any type of collection of art (or for that matter a collection of anything else) I try to make some sense out of it by looking for connections. When I am introduced to an artists’ work, it is extremely difficult to be able to grasp what they do, how they think, why they create or the thoughts behind their creations if their output goes from one extreme to another – especially with artists that I am unfamiliar with. It’s all fine and dandy for Picasso to sculpt, paint, and draw, he’s been dead for almost 40 years and his art is fairly well known in the Western world. He is not trying to impress anyone with his art anymore. However, some artist who isn’t quite as well known as Mr. Picasso ends up confusing the heck out of me if the first time I see some of their work there’s an abstract sculpture, a painting of some flowers and a cliched photograph with some kind of motivational text on it. I’m left wondering if the artist thinks that these particular objects are in fact their best work, or if in fact they think that absolutely everything they make is worthy of being exhibited? While I realize that people have many different facets to their personalities, trying to group the three pieces together into on e larger understanding of the motivation of the artist is not exactly easy. From where I sit, it would be better to have a show of just abstract sculptures, then another show of flower paintings a third of cliched motivational photography and only then have a show combining all three media. But that’s my personal preference, your may be different.

So as I can get it out of the way, and not have to try to remember to do it, these are the names of the artists participating in Blanc et Noir at Galerie Mile End: Anne Salomon, Bouthaina Bouzid, Celine Landry, Claude Lépine, Claudette Seguin-Beaulieu, Emily Wai Yee Leong, Esther Kanfi, Gaby Orbach, Henri Enfant, Josée Laurion, Laila Maestari, Louise Rousseau, Marcia Campillo, Michelle Bonneville, Monique Corbeil, Myles Johnston, Olga Maksimova, Paulette Dufresne, Pierre Foret, Rachel Dionne, Sandra Glenns, Thibauld Lelievre, and yves vaillancourt. By my count I think I liked four pieces (or at least that’s how many I starred in my notes). Not a good percentage in any way shape of form.

However (at some point I am going to have to either drop the use of the word “however” altogether, or start using it even more) that is not to say that the other works were not good, just that they weren’t up my alley. Using a different method of scoring, I would say that that about 90% of the works exhibited were technically good, proficient. That the artist making the work knew how to use their tools properly. That’s a much better percentage, don’t you think? But either way an exhibit is only as good as the worst piece in the show. And no matter how you cut it, there was some stuff in the exhibit that was weak both on a technical level and personally on an aesthetic level. If you’re going to use something as vague as “Black and White” as a unifying theme the quality of the art by definition needs to be of the highest caliber. I don’t know who was responsible for picking and choosing the art, but somehow I get the distinct impression that there was some kind of call made, and anyone and everyone who responded (including the people with art that included green) was accepted.

The show was hung, not so much with an eye to balancing the works. Nor did it seem to me as being hung in order to create (the dreaded) dialogue between pieces. The way that I saw it, the show was hung in an attempt to maximize the number of pieces that could be shown while for the most part trying to keep everything at eye level. As a consequence I either would hate to see the work that wasn’t accepted or I strongly suspect nothing was turned down.

Initially, in my outline this was where I was going to write about “The Good Stuff.” But now, I realize that really wouldn’t serve any purpose other than to piss people off – and given that I was pissed off over the weekend, passing it on doesn’t strike me as being particularly useful. As I said there are good pieces in the show, and there are even pieces in the show that I quite like, a lot. But the instant I make that division, someone is not going to be happy. Unfortunately, I really didn’t like the show itself. By now, that should be obvious. To me it was kind of like going to a restaurant where there was one dish that was amazing and wonderful, the rest of the meal was acceptable but the service was horrendous. An art exhibition is more than just slapping some art on the walls and serving some cheap wine at an opening. There needs to be something holding it together. There needs to be some focus and while there doesn’t need to be some theory behind it, it certainly doesn’t hurt. Then finally there should always be some threshold of what is acceptable to exhibit. It’s all fine and dandy to be polite and diplomatic in person and with people. Art (for the most part) is made up of inanimate objects that do not have feelings that would be hurt if they weren’t exhibited. Someone needs to take charge and draw that line when organizing an exhibition. That and let me take some pictures as well.

Blanc et Noir at Galerie Mile End, 5345 Park Ave. until June 17, 2012.

Coriolis by Maskull Lasserre at L’espace musée Québecor

Howdy!

[Edit, July 31, 2012: I received an email from M. Lasserre, and have added it to the article, I have also corrected the line I wrote with regards to the ownership of Coriolis.]

This is the image I’ve always seen of Coriolis by Maskull Lasserre.

Coriolis by Maskull Lasserre image courtesy maskulllasserre.com
Coriolis by Maskull Lasserre, image courtesy maskulllasserre.com

And I always thought that it was pretty gosh darn cool, somehow M. Lasserre had squished an upright piano with a rock. So when I had a chance to go see it at L’espace musée Québecor I figured what the hey. Especially since L’espace musée Québecor is one of the few places in town where you can go see art on a Monday.

Well color me very disappointed. Turns out it’s not a piano at all. Just a bunch of steel made to look like an upright piano and then left outside to rust.

Detail of Coriolis by Maskull Lasserre at L’espace musée Québecor
Detail of Coriolis by Maskull Lasserre at L’espace musée Québecor

It’s almost like discovering that the Emperor has no clothes. Then on top of that I have no idea how M. Lasserre think that Gaspard-Gustave Coriolis has anything to do with what happened to his faux-piano. He dropped the rock from 40 feet. Which is way too small of a distance with way too heavy an object for the earth’s rotational forces to have any appreciable effect on the resulting collision. In fact if you look at this picture taken by Mirana Zuger of the moments just before impact

Coriolis by Maskull Lasserre image courtesy maskulllasserre.com
Coriolis by Maskull Lasserre image courtesy maskulllasserre.com

You can see how the place where M. Lasserre wants the impact to happen and where it in fact does happen are one and the same. If he were taking any Coriolic forces into account his dropping of the rock would have been much more like a billiards shot. Not just a straight drop from 40 feet. If he decides to make something similar (after all his gallery was successful in getting Québecor someone to buy it, maybe he should make another) he should call the next one Galilei (or perhaps Kepler, Descartes or Newton) since they were all pretty instrumental (pun intended) in describing the various physical forces on a falling rock. Then finally I’d also suggest he use a tuba, sousaphone, harp or kazoo as he instrument to crush as they all are made out of metal (or in the case of the harp, can be made out of metal).

That all being said, it is momentarily interesting in a sort of I’m-hungry-let’s-go-for-lunch-no-I-don’t-care-where-I-just-want-a-sandwich kind of way.

Coriolis by Maskull Lasserre at L’espace musée Québecor
Coriolis by Maskull Lasserre at L’espace musée Québecor
Coriolis by Maskull Lasserre at L’espace musée Québecor
Coriolis by Maskull Lasserre at L’espace musée Québecor
Detail of Coriolis by Maskull Lasserre at L’espace musée Québecor
Detail of Coriolis by Maskull Lasserre at L’espace musée Québecor
Detail of Coriolis by Maskull Lasserre at L’espace musée Québecor
Detail of Coriolis by Maskull Lasserre at L’espace musée Québecor

RE: I’m-hungry-let’s-go-for-lunch-no-I-don’t-care-where-I-just-want-a-sandwich
maskull lasserre Sun, Jul 29, 2012 at 9:40 PM
To: zeke@zeke.com

Dear Chris,

I must admit that I am seldom moved to respond to the types of postings that appear on your blog, but when someone teeters, publicly, so perilously between being misinformed and ignorant, I can’t help but try to right the balance in the public interest, and in so doing give you the benefit of the doubt.
I came upon your piece about Coriolis when I was forwarded your post on Vrtlar, at the McClure Gallery, earlier this summer. I will not be as exhaustive in my redaction (and I apologize for the “fancy-ass” words, but you can look them up here and here) as you were of Mr. Campbell’s text – although you should really have a look to see that he was correct in his reference to the Divine Horsemen: The Voodoo Gods of Haiti, Chelsea House / Delta, 1970. I will, however, suggest the following links to, albeit after the fact, inform you that:
1) Coriolis is in a private collection, and does not belong to Quebecor,
2) the Coriolis effect does register on every falling mass, though measurable more easily on a planetary scale, and
3) that poetic or artistic license, visual literacy – and, while we’re at it, basic literacy – never mind “semiotic” and “performative“, are all terms with which a self professed “culture guy” should be comfortable.
Although these posts are probably more embarrassing to their author than they are to the people they exploit for their petty picking of criticism’s low-hanging fruit and the disingenuous slights that border on adolescent slander, maybe you should stick to writing about sandwiches.
Sincerely,
Maskull Lasserre

The comments about the film, and vocabulary, are in reference to this review I wrote about a month afterwards.

Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger

Howdy!

This is called death by neglect, and it is horrible.

Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger

Believe it or not, it was built in 1985.

Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger

More information about it and him can be found here and here.

Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
The view from Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
The view from Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
The view from Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
The view from Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
The view from Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
The view from Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
The view from Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
The view from Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
The view from Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
The view from Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
The view from Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger
The view from Forces, by Claude Théberge at Square Viger

Jackie Robinson Statue at the Olympic Stadium

Howdy!

There is no more forlorn statue in Montreal than the Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium.

Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium

Moved there in 1996. It now hangs out with skateboarders in a place that has no baseball.

Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium

Smaller than life size, it was initially designed for a miniature baseball field where Delormier Downs was.

Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium

It was moved to “celebrate” the 50th anniversary of Jackie Robinson playing baseball in Montreal.

Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium

It woudl be very nice if they would return it to the corner of de Lormier and Ontario.

Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium

Jackie Robinson actually wore number 9 when he was playing for the Royals.

Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Jackie Robinson Statue by Jules Lasalle at the Olympic Stadium
Place des Royaux, the former location of Jules Lasalle's stautue of Jackie Robinson, picture by Gates of Ale
Place des Royaux, the former location of Jules Lasalle's stautue of Jackie Robinson, picture by Gates of Ale

Valérie Blass, Ghada Amer and Wangechi Mutu at the Musée d’art contemporain de Montréal

Howdy!

I’m not quite certain what to think. Nor how to think. Do I approach each show separately? Or do I group Valérie Blass, Ghada Amer and Wangechi Mutu all together and do just one review? If I was good, I think I would have preferred to have done separate reviews for each one. But since I’m not, I’m going to group them all together, just like the museum did.

First order of business; did you know that in between January 8, 2006 and November 5, 2008, 1,032 days, or about two months short of three years, the Musée d’art contemporain de Montréal did not have a single solo exhibition by a woman? I can’t help but thinking that this set of three solo shows by women was somehow organized to make up for that. But then again it has been over three years, maybe it just worked out that they happened to schedule three solo shows by women all at the same time by coincidence.

Second order of business; juxtaposing a Quebecois artist with limited international exposure up against two internationally known artists can and does have a way of biting you in the ass.

Third order of business; I don’t know if it is due to insecurity, incompetence or insomething else. But I would bet dollars to doughnuts with anyone who is interested, that I am the only person writing about art exhibits at the Musée d’art contemporain de Montréal who is also a member of the Musée d’art contemporain de Montréal’s foundation. As a consequence I was quite surprised to find out that I was not invited to neither the press conference nor the vernissage for the latest exhibit they mounted, La Question de l’abstraction. Insecurity, because I get the distinct impression that my series of humorous rhymes about the Triennale went over like a lead balloon. Incompetence, because if you can’t manage to invite the people who give you money without being asked there is something seriously wrong. I will wait with baited breath to see what happens at the end of May for the Zoo exhibit.

But all of that is neither here, nor there when it comes to talking about the art of Valérie Blass, Ghada Amer and Wangechi Mutu. More along the lines of background material, so that you know where my thoughts are coming from as I type this. To get the easy stuff out of the way first. I’ve never been much of a fan of Valérie Blass’ work and I had never heard of Ghada Amer and Wangechi Mutu before seeing their work at the museum. After seeing the shows I still wasn’t much of a fan of Valérie Blass’ work but I now was familiar with the work of Ghada Amer and Wangechi Mutu.

If I were to try and sum up each artist’s work in a line. I’d say that Ghada Amer sews images on to canvas. Wangechi Mutu scares the living bejeezus out of me. And Valérie Blass make three dimensional collages. For what it is worth, it is actually fairly easy to see the common line that links the work of all three artists. It’s spelled C-O-L-L-A-G-E. But you’d figure that the Musée d’art contemporain de Montréal wouldn’t be as simplistic to group three artists just because they were women who combined things that they found into new assemblages, would you?

But anytime you juxtapose art, there’s bound to be some joker who tries to link everything, no matter how tenuous that link is. I guess I’m that joker, today. One way to avoid things like that in the future would be to have three separate openings for the three separate shows. Something like one every week or month probably would be sufficient to make each of the shows by the artists separate in the mind of the public. But then again, I could be wrong, and be the only person in the entire universe who was unable to think of the exhibits as being unlinked. Oh well.

So now I think it’s time to get down to brass tacks. So that no one gets their nose out of joint, I’m going to approach each artist’s section of the show separately, before trying to link them together in a more formal and structured manner (if I can) and I’m going to do them in alphabetical order by their first name. Everyone knows that a last name is a social residue left over from when society was not only patriarchal and patrilinear, but also run by jerks and assholes. I’m also not going to give any background on the artists. If you are at all interested in that, there are some mighty fine catalogues that the Musée d’art contemporain de Montréal has published which in and around the multisyllabic words give you a good idea of where each of the artists came from. Or you can use Google.

Ghada Amer. The first time I saw Ms. Amer’s work, it looked extremely delicate, not quite lace-like, not quite like cotton candy on canvas, not quite like teased hair. But like the middle section of a Venn diagram of the three. From a distance, it wasn’t easy to tell what materials she was using and for the most part everything seemed pretty abstract.

The second time I saw Ms. Amer’s work, I realized that the first time I had been very wrong and must have obviously been smoking some crack that was stronger than I was used to, in order to have thought her work was delicate. There’s a quote going around the internet that’s being attributed to Betty White, but probably wasn’t said by her, nonetheless it makes a point. “Why do people say “grow some balls”? Balls are weak and sensitive. If you wanna be tough, grow a vagina. Those things can take a pounding” Ms. Amer’s work is like that vagina, it’s been pounded. Pounded in order to be created, pounded in order to be looked at, and pounded in order to be understood.

Betty White on balls and vaginas.
Betty White on balls and vaginas.

Let’s start with the easiest first. In order to make her work, I believe that Ms. Amer has either got to be using some kind of super industrial sewing machine, or an awl that could also double as an ice pick. While the holes she punches in the canvases aren’t necessarily large in and of themselves, they are all over the place and way more than it would take to fill the Albert Hall. She then threads some thread (duh!) through the holes.

The reason you need to pound in order to look at her work – and in case you hadn’t figured it out I’m using the word “pound” as a synonym for “work hard” – is that there is an awful lot of threading going on in each individual piece.

Installation shot of Ghada Amer exhibit at the Musée d'art contemporain de Montréal.
Installation shot of Ghada Amer exhibit at the Musée d'art contemporain de Montréal.

And you have to work hard when looking at her work, because behind just about every bit of thread is a second set of images, mostly copied from mainstream culture. Giving all sorts of fodder for the Phd’s in the house to go wild over layering and contrast provided by the two very separate images, ideas and thoughts.

There’s also a large egg shaped object made out of some type of plastic called 100 words of love

Ghada Amer, 100 Words of Love, picture courtesy Art Hag
Ghada Amer, 100 Words of Love, picture courtesy Art Hag

Which basically takes this idea translates it into Arabic and makes it three dimensional. When I saw it for the second time I spent way too long going over it looking for a seam or a seal or something to indicate how it was joined together, but couldn’t find one. Personally, I think that while it’s a pretty enough object and a nice enough sentiment, something got lost in translation (sorry, I couldn’t help myself there).

Wangechi Mutu is apparently known mostly for her collages. But I would never have known it in a million years if I based it on my impressions on what she’s got up at the museum. And while I’m certain that there were some collages on the walls of the museum, somewhere, they got completely wiped from whatever little memory I had of the exhibit because there are five (or six, depending on what you call art) pieces there, that just completely and utterly blow anything and everything else out of the water, blow them out of the way, and blow my mind.

Unfortunately, I have no idea what the heck they are called, because I was left so slack jawed at them, that I completely forgot to take notes and incorrectly presumed that the museum would be responsible enough to make some reference to them in the catalogue. But nope, no such luck there. If all you were to do was to read the catalogue for Ms. Mutu’s show you’d get the idea that there was some completely different type of exhibit that happened. While I recognize that it is a document of and about the exhibit, it’s like an entirely separate universe.

The catalogue is all brightness and light, big on the feminist theories and post colonialism, using two-bit words like they’re going out of style. Whereas the exhibit itself is darkness and brooding, somewhat threatening (I told you it scared the living bejeezus out of me) very spooky and completely (sorry about the two-bit word) visceral. Kind of like having someone throw a bag over your head and then start beating you with a bag of oranges. Not quite, but close enough.

Most of the space for Ms. Mutu’s work has walls that are covered in brown felt, which makes for a very somber environment. Then after walking around I came across what I’m calling The Thrones.

Installation shot from Wangechi Mutu's exhibit at the Musée d'art contemporain de Montréal.
Installation shot from Wangechi Mutu's exhibit at the Musée d'art contemporain de Montréal.

Now that I’m looking at the picture closer, they don’t look half as intimidating as they do in real life. The feet are really pointy, and someone could easily lose an eye if they were careless. They towered over me not like a Goliath, but more like a very angry sasquatch, or Dr Honorious, or Dr. Maximus from the original Planet of the Apes films. I have no idea if they were supposed to make me feel weak, insignificant and beholden, but they did. And even weirder, was the fact that I found it really hard to look at them straight on.

Once I had those kind of emotions running around inside me, there really wasn’t any holding back. Over on the other side of the gallery were a bunch of wine bottles suspended upside down from string over some white plates. But the bottles themselves were full had some sort of contraption over their mouth that if I squinted slightly and used some free associative techniques could be considered to be like a miniature Hannibal Lecter mask.

They hid just enough, and enabled the wine to drip out very slowly. Slowly enough that I have made a note in my agenda to go back to see the show a third time just before it closes so that I can see just how much wine has been spilled.

Now it’s not like each bottle was lined up precisely over each plate, and in case you hadn’t realized it already, the wine was red. So without too too much of a stretch, if I’m already feeling weak, insignificant and beholden due to what I’m calling The Thrones, it wasn’t hard for what I’m calling The Bottles to get me feeling all vulnerable and guilty. What with the wine looking like blood, and the bottles being a replacement for some kind of lynching scene. I’m kind of annoyed with myself that I wasn’t able to get back to the museum before the show closed to see how much wine/blood was on the plates and the floor.

Then again, I could be very wrong and it all could be just some kind of elaborate physics experiment to measure the effects of gravity on colored water and openings a various diameters.

In between what I’m calling The Thrones and what I’m calling The Bottles was what I’m calling The Tinsel. And while it probably would be fairly easy to succumb to some kind of dark thoughts while experiencing it, it left me in wonder and awe, instead. Basically it’s a large cube like space that stretches down from the ceiling that has golden tinsel streamers as it’s walls. As a consequence, it is extremely easy to walk through the streamers and get inside the cube. Kind of like finding a place to stand behind the waterfall, or the latch to the hidden chamber.

On the flip side, it’s also real easy to assume that The Tinsel itself was some kind of wall or barrier. Especially since a lot of the other walls of the museum were covered in felt. And as a consequence not even think to wander into the inner sanctum – probably because of the lack of a creaking door.

There also was some awesome and amazing structure in front of the Moth Girls – the piece that the museum bought that probably was influential in enabling them to get the exhibit – that looked for the life of me like some sort of 150 year-old gnarled tree or something.

I’m not quite what to make of Moth Girls. It definitely is not half as terrifying or scary as what I’m calling The Bottles and what I’m calling The Thrones. Obviously requiring more contemplation than I was willing to give them (it’s tough to bring your pulse down when it’s going like a pneumatic drill) it also didn’t give off that “I found something!” sensation that what I’m calling The Tinsel did. And so while I’m certain that something significant can and will be made of it, I quite like the idea that it was made because Ms. Mutu’s apartment was infested with moths.

There were other pieces by Ms. Mutu in the show, and I’m kind of annoyed with myself that I can’t remember more about (or took a picture of) the piece with the naturalized animal, but the only memories I have of her collages are from the catalogue, and as I said that is a whole ‘nother thing.

Which brings us to Valérie Blass. I wish I could write something really witty cool and nice about her work. Sadly I can’t. And while I could write something witty, sarcastic and mean – which if done well would make for some entertaining reading – I really don’t have that in me either. Ms. Blass’ work not only leaves me “blah” it also makes me sad.

Installation shot of Valerie Blass' exhibit. Image courtesy of Valerie Blass and Facebook.
Installation shot of Valerie Blass' exhibit. Image courtesy of Valerie Blass and Facebook.

For the most part I believe down to the marrow of my bones that there are an awful lot of really amazing and super-duper artists here in Quebec (and by extension Canada). But recently the Google Art Project went global. And when it did, there was not a single Canadian Museum included (for comparison there were six in Australia, two in New Zealand, one in South Africa, and, and, and. Since the global launch the AGO has signed on – but still no Quebecois institution.

I can’t help but thinking that it has something to do with the fact that institutions like the Musée d’art contemporain de Montréal are promoting and hyping artists like Ms. Blass. The contemporary equivalent of whomever did the copy of the Mona Lisa at the Prado. Significant and important, but only to a point, and not really doing anything original.

Gluing found objects together and then casting them in porcelain is all fine and dandy, and makes for some pretty shiny objects that you can look at while holding your chin and nodding your head slowly (I said I wasn’t going to write something witty, sarcastic and mean, sorry). Pretty and shiny objects, do not, by virtue of being pretty and shiny deserve to be exhibited in a museum.

Dans la pose très singulière qui est la mienne, by Valérie Blass. Image courtesy http://cuisineetc.wordpress.com/
Dans la pose très singulière qui est la mienne, by Valérie Blass. Image courtesy http://cuisineetc.wordpress.com/

I am 100% convinced that Ms. Blass’ technique is superlative. That her instincts are true, and that she makes really nice things. But if anyone out there can explain to me how Ms. Blass’ work affects them as emotionally as Ms. Amer’s or Ms. Mutu’s work did me, I’m all ears. While Ms. Blass’ pieces didn’t repulse me, they just left me feeling like I was walking through some high-end home furnishing store looking for something that would be perfect in the nook. (OK, I apologize, I obviously wanted to get mean and sarcastic – Ms. Blass, when you read this, it is not intended as a personal attack, it is intended as a way to keep any readers who are left at this point, entertained.)

Déjà donné, by Valérie Blass. Image courtesy http://cuisineetc.wordpress.com/
Déjà donné, by Valérie Blass. Image courtesy http://cuisineetc.wordpress.com/

When I see what I think are the equivalent of home furnishings in a major Canadian museum, I can kind of understand why Canadian (and by extension Quebecois) art doesn’t get the respect it deserves on an international level. Frustrating, yes. Annoying, yeah. But, if they don’t invite me to the press conferences after I write about the art they exhibit and the openings after I give them money to be a member, it’s obvious as the nose on my face that they and I don’t see things the same way. So what am I going to do?

This is almost up at 3,000 words now, I kind of get the impression that if there is still anyone reading this far in, they are a blood relation. So in order to tie everything up (I said I was going to try) and enable my family to get on with other things more important than reading what I write… It’s obvious that there is an extremely limited public who is interested in Quebecois art, and I betcha dollars to doughnuts, unfortunately, that it isn’t likely to change in the near future.

Pity.

Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet

Howdy!

The second part (first part is here). Combined they make much more sense…

Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet

Instead of a map of the world which is also a fountain, there is a relief map of Parc Lafontaine.

Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet

Instead of eight chairs with weird things on their seats, there are six chairs with recognizable objects underneath.

Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet

Continue reading Les Leçons singulières (volet 2) by Michel Goulet

Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet

Howdy!

This is one of my most favorite pieces of public art in Montreal. It also doesn’t hurt that it isn’t too far from my house.

Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet

If you’d like to see the fountain in action, click here

Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet
Les Leçons singulières (volet 1) by Michel Goulet

It’s on Place Roy, which is on Roy street east in between Saint Christophe and Saint Andre