A MICROCOSM OF INDICES: COME UP TO MY ROOM 2019

MI Feature | Christina Bondi

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My room vs. your room. The (bed)room is affiliated with a certain person or couple/group of people. We all reaffirm this by implicitly and explicitly ‘trademarking’ these rooms—a layer upon layer of trademarks. My room is made up of objects and ideas (tangible and intangible components), which index myself. In other words, my room is brimming with “identisign[s] ”, arranged in the order or disorder I desire.*

Throughout the years, I have crafted an eclectic range of DIY and creative writing projects. Not many have left the comfort of my room.

My room is also the site of many experiences and emotions. I trudge, skip, or slink to my room for a number of reasons: escapism, privacy, safety, reflection, among others. I close the doors to my room for necessary isolation, though the duration will vary.

At the same time, when I close the doors, who or what am I avoiding? Who has access to my room—and with that, my thoughts, ideas, and creations?

Is there a venue to safely share pieces of this mental-physical space with others? And if so, where?

At the Gladstone Hotel, the Come Up To My Room (CUTMR) contemporary art exhibition embraces open doors. After all, the title even suggests an enthusiasm to welcome and grant access to those who may think of themselves as outsiders.

This year’s exhibition took place just a few weeks ago, from January 17th to 20th. Throughout the four floors of the hotel, artists set up installations within confined spaces—some in hallways or staircases, others in hotel rooms. Such an ‘unveiling’ encouraged visitors to observe (in some material form), engage with, and even relate to the spatially-aware contents and assemblages. Simultaneously, they could move beyond the ‘personal room or space’ threshold and experience a representation of artists’ thoughts, ideas, desires, experiences, reflections, or aims for generating conversations around certain topics.

I first explored the first-floor lobby space. Close by the front desk, and suspended just above, I encountered a cloud-shaped entanglement. It signified hair, but only to a certain point—since it was, in truth, not real hair. Anna Rose’s installation, Hair Piece, was whimsical and simultaneously offbeat. It called on me to ponder the following: ‘should I attempt to touch the representation that looks strikingly similar to its represented?’ Such an uncanny experience.

To touch or not to touch Rose’s Hair Piece? Photo courtesy of Christina Bondi.

The second floor housed many of the installations—13 in total. Here, I will only note a few that struck an exhilarating, unsettling, DIY, and nostalgic cord in me.

For one, Room (Studio) 209 presents Bruno Billio’s Tron209. The artist remixed his own studio in a new ‘light’—literally. Blacklights emphasized the fluorescent green outlines of furniture within the space. The fast-paced music added to this energizing environment of entertainment.

Remix in Billio’s Tron209. Photo courtesy of Christina Bondi.

The Franktur installation, by the [R]ed[U]x Lab (Ryerson University), generated a great sense of unease within me. In Room (Studio) 206, an ominous combination of geometry and artificial breathing brought about a sudden and shocking self-awareness. Here, a couple of my own core phobias had been magnified. As a result, I could not stay for long. Even as I look back at the photographs now, I cannot help but cringe.

As a striking contrast, however, my partner found the installation strange yet captivating. He stayed for quite some time (and also took the photograph). I waited just outside the door, taking a few deep breaths.

Phobias come alive in Franktur ([R]ed[U]x Lab). Photo courtesy of Geordie Jeakins.

Room (Studio) 205 was filled with cityscape shadows. Chromatic Aberration’s Penumbra stacked crates of varying heights and colours, to serve as platforms for wooden and glass structures. Some structures housed lights: the source(s) of luminescence in this room. The installation is mimetic of an urban space. I wondered about the thoughts and conversations between individuals—as well as the solitary or social activities taking place—within these miniature structures. The DIY-crafted city seemed to embrace a spirited and dreamy essence.

DIY Urban Mimesis in Penumbra. Photo courtesy of Christina Bondi.

In Room (Studio) 202, Thompson’s A City/Chandelier suspended from above. Sets of thin, clear geographical or architectural designs were layered and supported (by threads attached to the ceiling). As I turned to look upward, I found it fascinating to see how the layers engaged with one another at such an angle—how they became interconnected. These separate pieces were recombined to present different, enlightening signification.

Multi-layered Spatiality: Thompson’s A City/Chandelier. Photo courtesy of Christina Bondi

Just outside of Room (Studio) 202, Gemmiti and Stoeten’s Cabinet Fantastique: Ghost City pays homage to a collection of beloved past Toronto landmarks, such as Honest Ed’s, Sam the Record Man, and Uptown Theatre. The pieces stood as 2D structures, whose signs were also brought to life with holographic features. In the centre, a holographic figure danced. This stunning combination of old and new (past structures and holographic technology) mesmerized visitors, such as myself; we glanced into this scene from what appeared to be a ‘time capsule’ containment of sorts.

Old and new in Gemmiti and Stoeten’s Cabinet Fantastique. Photo courtesy of Christina Bondi.

On the third floor, along a hallway, Five Percent set up their installation, Poché. Red lights filled the space. Ambiguous spectral reside on walls. These elements constructed an eerie environment. The visitor could sense that human-like figures manifest within the space; these ‘spectres’ add depth to a constructed place (i.e. a hotel).

The ambiguous spectres of Five Percent’s Poché. Photo courtesy of Christina Bondi.

Cole Swanson’s Terraflora consumes another side of the third-floor. It imagines a structure exhibiting signs of decay. These natural elements assume control over the urban or the artificially constructed.

Swanson’s Terraflora and Decay. Photo courtesy of Christina Bondi.

In Come Up To My Room 2019, I immersed myself in various microcosms of indices. The artists allowed visitors, such as myself, to explore their ideas and creations, as well as engage in conversation. The imaginings within a room are endless.

*Danesi, M. (2014). Signs of crime: introducing forensic semiotics. Boston, Ma: De Gruyter Mouton.

AN EMPATHETIC VISION: HACKING BLACK FUTURES AT BAND GALLERY

EXHIBITION REVIEWS

BY: SADIE MACDONALD

This weekend, accompanied by Musings Editor-in-Chief Serena, I paid a visit to BAND Gallery and Cultural Centre in the Parkdale region of Toronto to see the exhibition Hacking Black Futures. BAND partnered with the Toronto Design Offsite Festival to host this exhibition from January 15th to the 21st this year.

Approaching BAND. Photo courtesy of Sadie MacDonald.

It was the first time that I had encountered a project associated with BAND. Founded in 2009, BAND (which stands for Black Artists' Networks in Dialogue) "is dedicated to supporting, documenting and showcasing the artistic and cultural contributions of Black artists and cultural workers in Canada and abroad." The BAND Gallery is located in an old Victorian house painted entirely black on the outside, and its familiar, comforting interior space is a far cry from the traditional “white cube” style of art galleries. When Serena and I walked into the BAND Gallery, we were warmly greeted by Addae, who was assisting in the gallery, and invited to engage with the exhibition.

Hacking Black Futures invites speculation on what a Black-centric future society could look like. The exhibition houses multimedia artistic projects by artists of colour and is informed by the values of Afrofuturism. This philosophy draws on Black cultural perspectives and Black imaginations to create optimistic visions of the future that challenge white-centric speculative models. Through this lens, the exhibition artists examine concepts such as food sovereignty, which is expressed through the idea of Black societies determining and controlling their own food systems. Other concepts on display include social economy, as explored through works such as Addae Nurse’s intimate photography. A form of sustainability is present in Renée Mathews’ Denim Wigs, which notes the importance of hair in Black cultural expressions and repurposes old jeans to create hairstyles that serve as an alternative to synthetic methods of styling.

A common thread throughout the exhibition is the belief that personal and community connections will ultimately form the lifeblood of equitable futures.

One of Renée Mathews' Denim Wigs. Photo courtesy of Sadie MacDonald.

While we were at the gallery, Serena and I had an opportunity to chat with Andre Baynes, who curated Hacking Black Futures with Chiedza Pasipanodya. Andre told us how he approached artists of colour from the OCAD community and invited them to contribute works that support the exhibition’s themes. In addition to Andre Baynes and Chiedza Pasipanodya, the artists featured in Hacking Black Futures include the aforementioned Addae Nurse and Renée Mathews, along with Ene Agi, Denzel Arthur, Toni Cater, Lequanne Collins-Bacchus, Daejuawn Hamilton, Thomas Graham, Ashley Jane Lewis, Maisha Marshall-Ende, Kelvin Mendie, Michael Otchie, Kimani Peter, Peter Scott, and Olivia Spence.

A view of Living Lab by Andre Baynes and Ashley Jane Lewis. Photo courtesy of Sadie MacDonald.

In addition to curating the show, Andre also collaborated with Ashley Jane Lewis to make the plant-covered piece shown in the photo above, entitled Living Lab. Andre told us that this work started with him envisioning a typical desk workspace and then imagining it supporting living plant life. Serena and I were mesmerized by this piece. You become transfixed by the soothing fluidity of the moisture spreading out over the greenery. Living Lab is truly living, and never stagnant; it is maintained by the generated streams of gentle fog, and Andre also gave it a spritz of water during our visit. He told us that the look of the lab can change during the day depending on the humidity and temperature in the air. By having a miniature ecosystem occupying a desk, nature is beautifully incorporated into a home environment.

Tree Tank by Ashley Jane Lewis. Photo courtesy of Sadie MacDonald.

Another exhibit that blended science with domestic-focused art was Ashley Jane Lewis’ Tree Tank, which contains a living Jamaican orange tree bearing bright fruit. An accompanying booklet explains how some people of colour “want to feel connected to their heritage through the food they eat, while avoiding the oppression that comes from the growth, production, and transit of that food from its country of origin to their plate.” The orange tree on display is housed in a tank made of accessible materials, and as such provides a tangible vision of what it might look like for people to grow food from their own cultures within their own homes.

As Serena and I explored the exhibit, we also had the pleasure of speaking to Toni Cater, one of the artists in the show. A designer by trade, Toni created for this show a textile-inspired wallpaper design that envisions a connected unity between Black people and illustrates how community narratives are woven together through storytelling and sharing. Toni also explained to us the initiative behind another work on display, the LOUD Micro Studio Kiosk presented by Kimani Peter. This transportable kiosk contains a sound booth for Black artists to record their own music in, the output of which is then managed through the app produced by LOUD. This Black-owned initiative provides hopeful artists with an accessible way to make their voices heard, and supports them through every step of the process.

Artists are invited to sign up to use the LOUD Micro Studio Kiosk. Photo courtesy of Sadie MacDonald. 

The LOUD Micro Studio Kiosk, along with the other works in Hacking Black Futures, demonstrate the core meaning of the exhibit. Hacking Black Futures uplifts and mobilizes mindful community empathy. The artworks on display aim to show that marrying this communal empathy to new technologies and ideas will be the key to realizing a better Black future.

Hacking Black Futures ended its run at BAND on January 21st. However, I encourage you to visit BAND Gallery to explore its other offerings. Black History Month is approaching, but that doesn't mean you should only engage with the ideas of Black creators in February. These ideas are always present at any time, and everyone should become familiar with them. As Addae told us, “everyone is welcome” at BAND Gallery.

I also suggest you keep an eye on the artists involved in this show and see how they will continue to create new futures.