explorations in toronto art.

Big changes have been happening in my personal life.  Even though they were set in motion months ago, I’m still adjusting to the impact of a new job and a new apartment and thus have been taking a break from writing. It’s been a month since I last posted here, but I’m back to give a quick update on the bits and pieces of art that I have managed to include in my life recently.

CONTACT photography festival. I saw some terrific exhibitions, most notably Dynamic Landscape, the feature exhibition at MoCCA. I know, so predictable of me. Fred Herzog, also at MoCCA, was another highlight.

Vancouver and Victoria visiting. I spent a week in these two fine cities, for purely holiday reasons, but I did see some art while I was there. The Art Gallery of Greater Victoria featured a surprisingly wide array of exhibitions for a smallish space; though three were garden-themed and one was on the ever-present Emily Carr, I was really impressed. The Vancouver Art Gallery (whose acronym is so frequently repeated with a straight face around the office, I no longer snicker like a twelve-year-old) was equally awesome. The Ken Lum exhibition was a fitting introduction to the city’s art scene, as it featured his signage-based works, documentation around the public art piece Monument for East Vancouver, and one of the best-designed exhibition info cards I’ve ever seen. The other exhibitions were good, too, but Ken Lum really stood out. (In my experience and especially at art school, any discussion of the ‘Vancouver School’ was inevitably dominated by Jeff Wall, so though I knew Lum by name, I don’t think I’d ever actually seen his work before.)

Workshop/critique. On Tuesday night I led a critique group made up of four members of Gallery 44 (where I am also a member.) It was really heartening to discuss developing bodies of work with people who have careers in other fields, but make space in their lives to nurture their passion for photography and image-making. I was impressed by the quality of work, the sophistication of the way participants discussed their ideas, and the general quality of discussion that arose from the evening. (Not that I was expecting anything less! G44 members have repeatedly shown themselves to be a very engaged and savvy bunch.)

Lucky me, I also got to be on the receiving end of some workshop/seminar experiences: this week was MagNet, and I went to two inspiring and interesting sessions. Spring has tended to be a time when the feeling I call “gallery fatigue” sets in, so I’m hoping both of these will reignite my enthusiasm for what I do, both at my day job and in my writing projects.

I picked up The Ongoing Moment, by Geoff Dyer, on a curious whim. My roommate had it recommended to her by a friend & mentor, and I thought the title sounded relevant to my interest in video, stillness/motion, time in photography, and the like.

Dyer uses the book to posit his theory that photography is inextricably linked to itself in tandem ways; photographers made images of many repeating themes. In the words of the book blurb, Dyer “constructs a narrative in which [canonical photographers]—many of whom never met— constantly come into contact with each other.”

This is all true: the book is essentially a winding series of case studies in which Dyer ruminates on how subject matters like blind beggars, empty benches, etc., appear as motifs in photography. Interesting on a “curiouser and curiouser” level, on realizing the extent to which this is true. It would have be truly interesting, and less predictable, had Dyer ventured his study farther than the towering gods of 20th century American photography: Weston, Strand, Steiglitz, Evans, Frank, Winogrand, Arbus, Eggleston. A few others make appearances, but the bulk of the book is squarely focused on these giants.

I may be incorrect in doing so, but I tend to group all the above photographers together in my mind. Though it’s not as if they were working in a collective, it’s also not as if they were working in a vacuum. Of course they photographed some of the same kinds of gas stations, antebellum mansions, New York street personalities, hat-wearing shadowy figures. To borrow a favourite critiquing phrase from my 4th-year photo instructors: So what?

It wasn’t all bad— Dyer raises a few interesting little thoughts, and lays down some lovely phrases. Most notable is the one that inspired the title: “How long can a coincidence last?” But this is not really enough to sustain a lasting interest.

Another thing that irked me about reading this book, was its formlessness. Dyer acknowledges this at the outset, saying his book doesn’t need to be read all in one sitting, that one should skip ahead, and revisit sections— clearly indicating that this intended style of reading is in place to mirror the way photography folds in on itself and repeats. But this lack of structure made me feel, at times, that I was reading a transcript of cocktail-party conversation by a know-it-all who thinks himself to be witty.

It wouldn’t be out of place to compare Dyer to Alain de Botton. Both are quasi-philosophical jack-of-all-trades authors, that is to say, outsiders to the fields on which they write.  Dyer’s outsider status (he nonchalantly boasts about “not even own[ing] a camera”) could provide a welcome breath of fresh air on a subject that can be mired in  jargon and headiness. Unfortunately, photography is a subject area in which everyone thinks they are an expert. Dyer is no exception.