explorations in toronto art.

The talk of the Toronto art world for some time now, The Power Plant has finally reopened after its two-month closure for renovations, which they dubbed the “Refresh” Project. Coupled with some staffing changes—the arrival of new curator Melanie O’Brian, and the much-speculated-over departure of director Gregory Burke—all this news and gossip almost overshadowed the exhibitions!

I interviewed Burke and assistant curator Jon Davies about the changes taking place, and of course, the exhibitions. Read the resulting piece here in Magenta Magazine.. and be sure to check out the Power Plant’s new website. It’s no Ciel Variable, but it sure is an improvement.

As for the exhibitions, my feelings are mixed, having now actually seen them (as opposed to when I wrote the piece in February). Phantom Truck and Always After (The Glass House) form a really nice minimalist counterpoint to the in-your-face Das Auge, which is overwhelming (although it left me underwhelmed.) Topping it off is To What Earth Does This Sweet Cold Belong?, an excellently curated, modest meditation on the mediated landscape. Definitely worth seeing.

Maybe it’s owing to a summer preoccupation with the outdoors, or ecological concerns following catastrophe, but I have noticed an abundance of themed exhibitions lately, that all deal with the animal realm, wildness, and the natural world— and of course, the human relationship with this milieu. (Although, arguably, this critical interest dates back to the 70s, at least.)

One of the obvious examples, and the reason I got to thinking about this, was the Power Plant’s summer show, Adaptation: Between Species. The question at its core: “What do we learn by sharing our lives and this planet with other species?” An interesting question, and one that certainly has relevance in the post-millenial era. I recently visited the Power Plant to catch the show before it ended. I’m not going to review it fully; I’ll instead point out some other criticisms of the show, and add my own comments.

• David Balzer writes in Eye Weekly, that the runtimes of all the films combined form an exhausting viewing experience, and that some works (notably Hew Locke’s work, which deals more with identity than anything else) seem glaringly out of place.
• Leah Sandals’ review in the National Post notes the influence of the YoutTube aesthetic, as well as the curatorial situation that makes a show like this one (somewhat scattered and showy) come about.
• Paddy Johnson derides the show’s use of the “curator’s darling list”— that echoes something I overheard in the gallery: “Great artists, bad work.”

I’d echo all these statements, and add that further inspection of the title cards and didactic information, reveals that several of the works explicitly reference a seminal performance by Joseph Beuys, How to Explain Pictures to a Dead Hare. After discussing with my friend Amanda, an animateur at the gallery, she told me several of the Sunday Scene speakers discussed this same work in reference to the show as well. It’s not just my frustration, or feeling stupid, at not being able to conjure the work in my mind while I was in the gallery— if this performance, or even the ideas it’s concerned with, is a missing link between the thematically scattered works in the show, it shouldn’t be a secret. I believe it falls under the role of the institution to remind contemporary viewers of major works in history when they are relevant to what’s at hand. A simple wall text or booklet in the corner of the gallery would have done the job.

Incidentally, my favourite work in the show was also one of the oldest: The Horse Impressionists, by Lucy Gunning (a great description & analysis of which can be found here in Frieze Magazine, and here on the Tate website.) Its playful and earnest character, neither fully sympathizing with its subjects nor mocking them, walks the right balance, and I hoped to see more of this genuine curiosity in the remainder of the show.

I was looking at the entire show through a lens of landscape intervention— over the past while, I’ve been seeing a lot of this among young artists, many of whom are my friends and acquaintances. From last year’s Close Distance at Harbourfront centre, (disclosure: this was curated by my dear friend Lena Oehmsen), to We Are Wild (featuring some of the same artists), young artists in particular seem to feel the “back-to-nature” call, and respond to this urge by placing themselves in spaces they call “wild”, and mimicking the explorers of the past.

So in visiting a major show, entirely about the human relationship with the natural environment and animals, I hoped to see a little more genuine playfulness, and earnest caring for the subject matter. Maybe I was expecting too much, or was too accustomed to the bright sincerity of young artists, but there was a certain defeated, heavily ironic, sneakily clever quality in the exhibition that left a bad taste in my mouth. I believe this is why there was such widespread appreciation for Javier Tellez’s A Letter on the Blind (For the Use of Those Who See): it had palpable affection for its subjects, yet remained unsentimental.. but cast a more human perspective and sense of discovery on the industrialized world’s relationship with animals— a breath of fresh air in a show that was bogged down with the weight of esoteric conceptualism and self-conscious cynicism.

It’s taken me almost the entire period of the Power Plant’s current exhibition to collect my thoughts about it, and even then I’m not feeling secure in my reactions.

Some context: my first visit almost didn’t count (too short + during the opening + after a very taxing day at work), but I let my negative first impression stay with me for quite some time. I was very nearly bowled over by Ryan Trecartin’s sprawling, multi-video suite, billed as the main draw of this exhibition. The videos’ frenetic editing and outlandish characters, with draggy makeup and fake high-pitched voices, made for extremely challenging viewing. Coupled with the immersive environments in which to watch the videos (each of the rooms is cleverly furnished to echo the video content: airplane seats, boardroom tables, IKEA beds), it makes for a very demanding (yet comfortably prostrate) viewing experience.

I found myself running scared from the Trecartin, to check out the three other bodies of work on display, from Sharon Lockhart, Peter Campus, and Joachim Koester. These works, which in the press have been eclipsed by Trecartin’s art-stardom, are quite elegant, calm, and playful. At times they’re difficult to watch, too, but it’s more of a please, let SOMETHING happen! than a my brain can’t handle all these COLOURS! Under the same roof as Trecartin’s work, they function well as a cool-down space.

During my second visit, two weeks ago, I was able to take a more measured look at all the pieces. I enjoyed them all for different reasons (and they are all very different works), but the whole package left me wanting some kind of unifying characteristic, other than simply “moving images.”

Regardless of my mixed feelings about the exhibition, its impact on Toronto is undeniable. Unfortunately, most of the media coverage focused on Trecartin, ignoring the other work. But, over the course of its run, I’ve actually found the dueling criticism to be as interesting as the show itself.

To wit:

• Andrea Carson‘s brave, if vitriolic, denouncement of  the Trecartin pieces (I’m a sucker for unapologetic contrarians)
• Margaux Williamson’s blog, containing dialogue excerpts and useful cultural commentary, is more thorough: I-Be AREA (2007) – by Ryan Trecartin, on Movie is My Favourite Word
• In Now Magazine from a few weeks back, Leah Sandals’ review acknowledges the hype but avoids description and gets to the kernel of the works admirably fast (no easy task for pieces this cluttered!)
• Canadian Art critiqued the artist talk with Trecartin that kicked off the exhibition.  The review contains interesting tidbits about Trecartin’s work process.
• David Balzer’s review (Eye Weekly) is balanced, acknowledges the challenge of viewing, and applauds the Power Plant for bringing it to us.

I recently went to see the Candice Breitz exhibition at the Power Plant — my first time there did not disappoint.

As a major survey of video work, it was one of the most consistently engaging shows I’ve seen in a while. The fairly modest size of the gallery belies the vastness of the exhibition: even though there are only a handful of works, some have upwards of 40 minutes running time. Even the ones that don’t last as long, are of the sort where it only makes sense to spend awhile taking in the loops. They’re all absorbing enough to sit down, put on the headphones, and lose yourself in the piece.

The raison-d’être of the exhibition is Breitz’s massive new work, Factum, commissioned by the Power Plant and made here in Toronto during this year. I didn’t get a chance to fully absorb this one, and plan to spend more time with it during my second visit. I should stop getting so excited about this, but I’m going to mention how great it looked. All the pieces were thoughtfully installed, incredibly professional, and they’re going to be my benchmark for video work, which is (unfortunately) very easy to display badly.

Same Same offered intelligent, relevant analysis of pop-culture icons, the culture of celebrity, male and female archetypes, mimicry, and all kinds of other stuff I haven’t thought of, but you will think of when you go see it. The exhibition closes November 15, so time is running out.

The Power Plant Contemporary Art Gallery is located at Harbourfront Centre, 231 Queen’s Quay West. It’s open Tues-Sun noon-6pm, and Wednesday until 8pm. Go forth!