John Massey's This Land (The Photographs)

Last week on Thursday (November 17th), i went to see John Massey's new body of work at The Spoke Club on King Street West. It took me some time to find the place, as it was not actually a gallery, but a "private members club" located on the fourth floor. When I finally managed to arrive to the small room where the exhibition was installed, I was surprised to find only six large format photographs hung around a huge couch that barely left any space to look at the pieces.

The work, however, was definitely worth the trip. Although I thought the photographs were problematic in their approach, the subject matter was very intriguing and innovative. I later found out that the exhibition only included a part of Massey's new piece This Land, and that the whole installation was going to be exhibited in Paris this December.

Born in 1950 in Toronto, Massey is one of the most famous contemporary Canadian artists. He usually works with installations that mix sculpture, video and photography. During the more recent years he was also known for his use of digital photography and computer technology in his imagery.

I am not too familiar with Massey's previous work. I had the chance to see As the Hammer Strikes, years ago, when I had a growing interest in video art, and I remember being deeply influenced by its mixture of sound and moving images, and its clever installation (three separate projections that almost interact with each other). In comparison, This Land is almost completely different in its digitally perfected and flawless imagery, and more importantly, in its silence.

The exhibition at the Spoke Club included six photographs that showed the interiors of different luxurious cars. Each image was taken from the same vantage point, depicting the driver's seat, the dashboard and the landscape that could be seen through the front and the side windows of the car. The landscapes were perfect representations of the nature, they looked as if they were taken from any stock imagery catalogue. Each one different, and yet the same, they were no different than the cars.

The statement that I found on my way out suggested that Massey was attempting to blur the boundaries between consumer advertisements and aestheticized art. At least for me, this boundary was so blurred that I wasn't able to see the difference between the two. If any of these photographs were placed on a billboard with a car company's logo at the bottom, they would be right at home.

On the other hand, I think the exhibition at the Spoke Club was just a bad decision on Massey's part. The work is clearly incomplete, it lacks a voice. The photographs are silent like the interiors they depict, and whether aestheticized or not, I don't believe art should ever be silent. I have a feeling that the complete body of work that will be exhibited in Paris will include a video piece, or a soundtrack, that would help This Land clarify its point, and distinguish it from advertisement, while maintaining its comment on consumer culture.

Exhibit A: Photography in Atlantic Canada

During my last visit to Richmond 401 on November 3rd, I had the chance to finally see the group show Exhibit A: Photography in Atlantic Canada at the Prefix Institute of Contemporary Art. Curated by Scott McLeod, the works in the exhibition were also featured in one of the earlier issues of Prefix Photo, and I was curious to experience them in a gallery environment.

Featuring nine artists (Scott Conarroe, Marlene Creates, Lorraine Field, John Haney, Thaddeus Holownia, Steve Payne, Paulette Philips, Ned Pratt, Scott Walden) who originated from Atlantic Canada, Exhibit A is a compilation of visual imagery that talks about the region through the different works these artists have been producing. McLeod's approach to the subject matter brings out the similarities in the photographs, such as the interest in houses, and other traces left by people who lived in these landscapes. As a whole, the exhibition attempts to portray Atlantic Canada by following the patterns that these photographs create when they are brought together.

Apart from their origins, the artists featured in Exhibit A don't have much in common. Some are emerging photographers, others are renowned artists, and some of them are mostly known for their professional work. However, there is a sense of solitude, or even desolation that emanates from all of their photographs. The sites they depict show traces of human existence, and yet, it is not possible to see these people in these pictures. The effects of this absence is heightened by the vastness of the landscape that surrounds these traces.

While most of the imagery in Exhibit A focuses on the exteriors, Steve Payne's House Music series stood out for me because it deviated from the others in its style, but added to the general effect of the show. Including three prints that show details of an interior scene, Payne's photographs are colourful and dark, in contrast with most of the other photographs in the exhibition.

On the other hand, House Music's interior scenes are as empty as the landscapes depicted in the other photographs. Small traces, a coat, a light bulb, suggest that there people living in here, but they are nowhere to be seen. The desolate landscape can be seen through the windows in one of the images, and it reminds us that we are still in the same place shown in the other photos.

McLeod's statement about the show suggests that these artists' search for the fleeting human existence on the land is a response to the daunting force of the sea that dominates Atlantic Canada's geography. This might be true, but I wouldn't have thought about it if I hadn't read about the show. I rather felt that these artists were reacting to the monumental landscape of the region in general, land and sea combined, and that they were simply trying to record the rare traces of human existence on the East Coast of Canada.

Whatever the reason is, the combination of these photographs reflect the character of Atlantic Canada, and show how its landscape left its imprints on the artists who emerged from the region.

resfest and Charlie White's Artist Talk

Two weeks ago, I finally managed to do something I have been meaning to do for the last three years: I bought a guest pass for resfest, the short film, video and animation festival that has been launched in Toronto nine years ago. Among four days of screenings, I also had the chance to learn about the California based photographer Charlie White, and listen to his keynote speech on Saturday (October 29th).

White's work is one of the first examples of a new approach to photography: post-photography. The images he creates are constructed, and digitally modified to reach the desired effect. Visual effects, computer generated imagery, prosthetics are just a small part of the methods he uses in his art. During his speech, he talked about three series of work he completed over the last five years. To me, the most interesting one was the Understanding Joshua series, which were photographs of a half human, half alien character called Joshua in different scenes.

White's interest in science fiction, the modern Hollywood culture and our fascination with visual effects is apparent. But he is also a really good speaker, and has very specific views about his work, and about their content. I had the impression that this was a necessity on his part, because the meaning of these strange scenes can be quite obscure at times. This can be problematic in some cases, however, once I saw the images from his point of view, I was fascinated by what he was trying to tell the viewer through this weird creature, Joshua.

According to White, Joshua is not an alien life form that is trying to settle down among humans. He is a guy who, like most people, has a very distorted self-image. He is reflected in the photographs just as he sees himself in the mirror. In contrast, all the people around him appear as he sees them. For instance, in Cocktail Party, the first photograph in the series, every person in the room is perfect, because he sees them like that. And Joshua's imperfection is in stark contrast with their appearance.

The photographs in the Understanding Joshua series don't follow a specific timeline according to White. But when I was looking at them, I couldn't help creating a story around the poor guy. I am not sure how women respond to these images, but as a male, I almost identified with his self-loathing. I think most people go through such stages in life. Joshua is the epitome of that state when we don't even want to see ourselves in the mirror.

Another fact that interested me was that Joshua was not actually a computer generated character. Apparently, he is a life size puppet who actually was in the scene, among the actors. I believe this makes these images much more interesting for me, because I didn't find White's previous series, which involved placing computer generated aliens in real life scenes. Although he tries to create a conceptual background behind these images, I think White's approach was directed more by his interest in visual effects and his desire to experiment with computer graphics.

Nevertheless, White's approach to photography offers a new area of possibilities to artists who are lucky enough to have the budget to use Hollywood's professional tools in their work.

Gallery 44, Beyond Love and Democracy and Ricardo Cuevas

I paid a random visit to Richmond 401 last week on Thursday (November 3rd), hoping to see some new shows. Luckily, I stumbled upon the new exhibitions that had opened the very same day at Gallery 44. Peter Freitag's private stages is shown in the project room, and D. Bradley Muir's Dreams for Sale is installed in the vitrines section. But the main gallery is reserved for Ricardo Cuevas' Beyond Love and Democracy, which interested me the most.

Cuevas, born in Mexico City in 1978, is an emerging international artist whose work revolves around issues like "selection, framing, index, document and archive", as it is described in the exhibition booklet. After having his work shown in several group exhibitions in USA and in Europe, he had his first personal exhibition, People Are Afraid of Contemporary Art. What They Don't Know is That Contemporary Art is Also Afraid of People at the Banff Centre for the Arts in 2003.

Cuevas' works are playful, but in their playfulness, they challenge the viewer in unexpected ways. The first piece that one experiences upon entering the gallery is Walking with the Ghost, which sets the tone for the rest of the show. Encased in a glass container, the work consists of a large book made of unexposed photographic paper. At first, I failed to see the point, but then I realized that this state of confusion was the point of the artist. By creating something that seems meaningless at first sight, Cuevas makes the viewer drop his guard. Only after this challenging moment one realizes that if the book is opened, the content would be lost instantly.

This is not to say that Cuevas' approach always works. Another piece, entitled Understanding, confused me to such a point that I wasn't able to overcome the artist's challenge and apprehend its meaning. However, in two photographic series that form the main body of his work, Cuevas uses his playful style to engage the viewer about the medium itself.

The first series of photographs are called One Day in a Perfect Dark Room. These large sized black and white digital prints are the results of a collaborative project created with blind people. Once again starting from a seemingly absurd point of view, Cuevas replaces the photographer with a blind person. Thus, the images reflect the use of sounds, smells, and most importantly, memory, in order to depict what the photographer cannot see, but what he knows to be there. One Day in a Perfect Dark Room is challenging not only because it takes away the most basic element from photography, but also because it makes the viewer aware of the possibility of sightlessness. This is especially poignant in our modern culture, where sight is valued above every other sense.

The second series, entitled Blackout in the National Gallery, is similar in its interest in the medium, but in this case, Cuevas is directed towards the image creation process in the visual arts tradition. Large sized reproductions of famous paintings are printed in black and white, but they are overexposed to such a point that all one can see are the outlines of the image; the rest is blacked out. Following Walter Benjamin's ideas on the results of mechanical reproduction, Blackout in the National Gallery offers a clever comment on the state of the visual art culture today, where no image can maintain its so-called aura.

Cuevas' playful and engaging photographs are one of the most interesting works I have seen in the recent months. The simplicity of his approach, and the amount of different meanings one can see in his work create a contrast that I enjoyed very much.

InterAccess, This must be the place and David Rokeby

I have had the chance to see a number of photography shows in the last month, but I have decided to start my blog with a rather different one: This must be the place that marked the re-opening of InterAccess in September. I went to the opening of the show on the evening of September 15th with a friend of mine, and after walking for quite a while on Queen Street West, we both could not help saying to each other "this must be the place," when we finally reached the new building InterAccess is located at on 9 Ossington Avenue.

InterAccess was founded in 1983 as a centre for artists interested in incorporating video, sound and interactive applications in their artworks, and it has been located at 401 Richmond for the last nine years. Their relocation at their own building, and this re-opening show are important in the sense that they show the growing interest and support for interactive media arts in Canada. The role of InterAccess in this growth is even more important, as it is an artist-run centre that provides production and research facilities for its members.

This must be the place is curated by Dana Samuel, and includes works by four artists: Vera Frenkel, David Rokeby, Nell Tenhaaf and Norman White. Worthy of Interaccess's reputation as the most prominent electronic media arts centre in Canada, the installations are all based around the idea of interactivity and the use of technology in art. Although all of the pieces incorporate interactive elements, Rokeby's Guardian Angel stood out for me as it offers some interesting juxtapositions between surveillance, voyeurism and photography.

David Rokeby is known for his innovative work in the field of interactivity and especially for softVNS, the real time video processing and tracking software he developed himself. He is a Toronto-based artist who studied at the Ontario College of Art, and his other works include Very Nervous System (1986-90) and Watched and Measured (2000).

Guardian Angel, which was shown for the first time at the Images Festival in 2001, consists of a live video feed of the intersection that is right outside the gallery, and the projection of a computer processed version of this feed. The program prepared by Rokeby is able to analyze the movements inside the video, distinguish pedestrians from other objects, follow them visually using a tracking rectangle and take mugshots of them to be archived and shown together at specific intervals.

The installation draws the viewer in by appealing to our need to be under surveillance, to feel secure in our environment, and to the pleasure we take from watching other people who are unaware of our gaze. The voyeuristic aspect of Guardian Angel is doubled when one realizes that the video shown on the screen is actually right outside the gallery, as it is now possible to locate the source, and even appear on the screen ourselves. This play between the reality and the projected image was taken to a new level on the night of the opening, when the images created by the program were projected on the windows of the gallery so they could be seen from the outside as well.

The most striking moment of Guardian Angel is when the screen is filled up with all the mugshots it has taken and archived. That is when the viewer understands the power and the creepiness of automated surveillance; the program is in fact a relentless machine that can go on and on for years, collecting information, taking photos and saving them for future use. This is also how the piece refers to the history of photography, as photographical documents has been the most important surveillance method since their invention. Rokeby wants the spectator to think about the possibilities offered by technology today: What if the program was able to analyze body movements and classify them? What if it could use sound as well? What if it could recognize each person?

Guardian Angel points to some very important issues that are apparent in the western cultures today, such as our fascination with voyeuristic activities like reality television shows, and our comfort in the knowledge that we are being surveyed whether we are on the internet, or on the street, regardless of our choice. But I believe it is also important to note that Rokeby does not solely rely on our fascination with voyeurism in order to catch the viewer's attention. He beautifies the surveillance feed by using video effects that turn it into a gorgeous image, which shows the traces of every object or person that moves on the screen. I thought this aspect of Guardian Angel was problematic as it was commenting on the dangers of giving in to surveillance and on the invasion of privacy, but at the same time making what it criticized into something beautiful and fascinating. Of course, this contrast makes the work only more interesting and broadens the number of different meanings the spectator can take from it.