TO BREATHE LIFE INTO THIS SPACE: OBJECTS WITH LIVES AND AGENCY

Breaking the Glass Case | Megan C. Mahon
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CW: This article contains mention of Canadian residential schools.

If you’re a Museum Studies student, it’s likely you’ve talked a lot about the ways that museums can better serve Indigenous communities, given that so many examples of traditional Indigenous art and cultural materials reside in Canadian institutions. Repatriation of these items – while one of this author’s favourite topics to expound on at length – will wait for another article. With this piece, I’d like to bring your attention to a novel agreement that’s been struck between an Indigenous artist and a certain (rather infamous, but that’s another story we all know) Canadian museum.

The Witness Blanket is a large-scale art installation made from hundreds of items reclaimed from churches, government buildings, and residential schools. The artist, master carver Carey Newman, is Kwakwak’awakw from the Kukwekum, Giiksam, and WaWalaby’ie clans of northern Vancouver Island, and Coast Salish from Cheam of the Sto:lo Nation along the upper Fraser Valley. The Blanket he and his team created stands as a national monument to the atrocities committed in residential schools, and symbolizes the work of ongoing reconciliation. It’s an incredibly moving piece: in addition to pieces from buildings which ran and operated residential schools, it contains personal items from survivors and weaves it all into a giant tapestry of tragedy, resilience, and hope.

The Witness Blanket. Source: The Canadian Museum for Human Rights. https://droitsdelapersonne.ca/histoire/picking-up-the-pieces-the-making-of-the-witness-blanket

The Blanket itself is marvel enough, but what deserves special attention – especially to us Museum Studies students – is the agreement behind its exhibition at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights. I see you twitching at the mention of that museum’s name, but I promise we won’t get into that whole sorry debacle here. The story is thus: after the Witness Blanket completed its cross-Canada tour, its creators knew that it needed a permanent home to rest and undergo conservation. However, they did not want to give the Blanket to the CMHR in a way that would imply the piece had one owner. So too, in order to reflect the spirit of truth and reconciliation in which the Blanket was created, they wanted to forge an alliance with the CMHR that did not reflect the traditional power imbalance between museums and Indigenous communities.

The agreement that resulted was unprecedented among museums. In a traditional gathering place on Vancouver Island, British Columbia, stakeholders and museum workers were invited to witness an oral ceremony that made Canadian museum history. For the first time ever, the Crown had ratified a binding legal document through Indigenous ways of knowing. The agreement struck between the CMHR and creators of the Witness Blanket would be put into effect using both written documents and oral agreements, both of which were given equal weight. Carey Newman described this groundbreaking contract as one that lives in two worlds, and joins Western and Indigenous traditions. But to my mind, that isn’t the only incredible part. The contract dictates that the Witness Blanket itself holds its own legal rights – not its creators or the museum where it will reside. This artifact, a physical testimonial to the horrors of residential schools and hope for a better future, has the right to its own story as an independent, living being.

This might sound strange to the majority of us who grew up thinking that museums owned artifacts, which were inanimate objects that were there to teach us about history. I know that’s how I grew up seeing objects in museums. But I think this unprecedented agreement is the first step to seeing artifacts in a different way, one that affords objects more agency. What does this mean for the future of museums?

When I heard about the agreement to treat the Witness Blanket as an object with its own life, I thought of this Robert Smithson quote: “Museums…are graveyards above the ground – congealed memories of the past that act as a pretext for reality.” And while I don’t entirely believe that this is true, I can’t deny that sometimes entering a museum does feel like entering a graveyard - not just because of the artifacts taken out of their contexts and placed behind glass cases, but because of the atmosphere of silence and the idea that we should be treating the space with quiet reverence. Quiet reverence doesn’t have to be a bad thing, but the idea that objects are living things with their own spirits – which many Indigenous cultures on Turtle Island have always known – opens up a whole new pathway of what museums can be.

In the context of this agreement, the Witness Blanket isn’t simply an art piece that commemorates those who never came home from residential schools. It’s a living thing with its own spirit and agency; it isn’t owned by a museum but stands as its own being. What would happen if we treated all museum objects this way? If we treated each artifact as something distinct, with its own life, deeply connected to the lives of those who made and used it?

We would be making museums safer spaces for Indigenous communities – and everyone else! We would be injecting emotional and spiritual care into the sometimes-sterile atmosphere of collections care. And we would be taking an important step down the road to museum reconciliation. If we have the courage to unlearn, a whole new era of interacting with objects is at our fingertips. With the precedent of the Witness Blanket set before us, now is the time to consider just how alive museums can really be.

CHALLENGING HERITAGE: HOW ARTISTS ENVISION THE TERM

Heritage Moments | Carly Wolowich

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During my time writing for Heritage Moments I have been compelled to constantly contemplate the meaning of heritage. As museum professionals, our goal is to capture, conserve, and present heritage to the public in a demarcated manner, however, I have come to learn that values, culture, and traditions cannot be so easily delineated. I have found artists living in Canada and across Turtle Island to profoundly remind me of the intangible and ephemeral nature of heritage and the myriad of ways it can be presented. I thought I would share some of the artists whose work inspires me to challenge my own preconceived ideas of what heritage should look and feel like.

 

Shelley Niro, The Shirt, 2003. One of the nine durations transparencies. Source.

Growing up on the Six Nations of the Grand River Reserve, near Brantford, Ontario, Shelley Niro’s art challenges the expectations placed on Indigenous people by telling their stories and heritage from her own unique perspective. In her work, The Shirt, Niro poignantly critiques colonialism with witty souvenir T-shirt slogans. Progressing from one frame to the next, an Indigenous woman is shown to literally have her shirt taken from her back, serving as a metaphor for what Indigenous people were left with after colonialism.

Niro is profoundly aware of the commodification of Indigenous women’s image. As a Mohawk artist, Niro rejects the clichéd interpretations of Indigenous people in the media by putting those she knows and loves in her work. As Niro notes,

"It’s really about having those images out there in the public, and people seeing. It’s like breaking that barrier where people see images of Native women and it becomes more approachable". 

In The Shirt is an artist and friend of Niro, Hulleah J. Tsinhnahjinnie, and Veronica Passalacqua – Tsinhnahjinnie’s real-life wife. These women boldly challenge the stereotypes of Indigenous women that persist today.

Morris Lum, Chinese Freemasons Toronto, 2017. Source.

Morris Lum is a Mississauga-based, Trinidadian born artist whose work explores the hybrid nature of the Chinese-Canadian community through photography, installation, and documentary practices.

Over the last eight years, Lum has been searching for the clusters of Chinatown communities that have been built across Canada and the United States for the purpose of settlement and growth. In Tong Yan Gaai, he aims to focus and direct attention towards the functionality of Chinatown, and explore the generational context of how “Chinese” identity and heritage is expressed in these structural enclaves. These images are what Lum notes to be “visual records of historical and contemporary cultural fixtures” such as small mom and pop shops, Chinese restaurants, and community organizations.

 

Luther Konadu, Figure as Index, 2019. Source.

A writer and artist of Ghanaian descent based in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Luther Konadu’s reflective tangential practice touches on themes of identity and the power of voice. I find that his work critically discusses the integral yet flawed nature of presenting heritage itself.

Like heritage, personal identity is mutable. In his powerful photographic works, Konadu shows identity as a construction of groups and of the people around us. Konadu notes, “I’m always trying to make a photograph look more like a photograph, an object, as opposed to a portal into the realities of those who appear in my images”. By making the surface of his photographs more tactile is a means to “snap viewers out of the illusion of representation” and to create a tension between the real and the fictional. In his own words, “I essentially want viewers to second-guess what they’re looking at”.

Lucy Montgomery, Woodwose Series 1, 2016. Source. 

A common household object, known for its often familial and delicate nature, Lindsay Montgomery’s  ceramic artworks are simultaneously “fierce and fiery, radical and robust, and glorious and grotesque”.

As both of her grandmothers were painters, Montgomery’s artistic ancestry led to her attendance at Sheridan College to study ceramic art. Today, Montgomery’s more recent work is what she calls “neoistoriato”. Isoriatio was a popular style of pottery decoration made in Italy during the Renaissance that later proliferated in Europe from the 16th through to the 19th century. Inheriting this ancient form of art and its focus on storytelling in her own artwork, Montgomery has reframed Istoriato from a feminist perspective to talk about current issues that are going on in her life and the world.

“At the heart of everything I do is this idea of storytelling, of mining history. I look at so many different periods of art history, and my work is a collage of all these different times and places. That’s what’s exciting for me about being an artist”. 

-Lucy Montgomery 

Anique Jordan, Sixth Company Battalion, 2016. Source. 

Anique Jordan is an artist, award-winning writer, educator, curator, and entrepreneur. Her recent work thinks about working-class aesthetics, time travel, invisibility, Caribbean carnival, and Black Canadian futurities.

Jordan’s work Sixth Company Batallion is based on the history of a particular group of Black loyalists, who became freed people of colour, in the twin islands of Trinidad and Tobago of which her family descends. According to Jordan, “I dramatize and materialize this history as a meditation on survival and an exploration on the ways in which the unacknowledged histories of the past haunt and possess present day life in incredibly complex ways”. Featuring images of her mother and two of her five aunts poised as soldiers in uniforms from the war, the images offer a “de‐colonial, gendered incursion in the archives of Canadian, Caribbean and familial history”.


To represent heritage in museum spaces can be daunting for those of us entering into the museum field. However, these artists affirm the importance of remembering the histories that have created the spaces and communities we live in today. I have come to realize that presenting heritage requires that in which museums require most; reciprocal sharing and intent listening.

What challenges your perceptions of heritage? Please feel free to comment below! 

ALEX JANVIER: INDIGENOUS ICON

Walk of Fame | Martin Bierens

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Lately, I have started to feel homesick. These nostalgic yearnings for home led me to the topic of my first article, and the revival of the Walk of Fame column. I figured I would take a look at the life and work of a personal favourite of mine, prolific Indigenous and Albertan artist Alex Janvier. Before I dive into the article, I think it is important that I acknowledge that I am not Indigenous, and am an outsider in this community, however as an outsider I believe that it is important to celebrate the contributions of Indigenous people to Canadian history.

Alex Janvier: Indigenous Artist and Alberta Source

Janvier, born in 1935 on the Treaty 6 territory of the Le Goff Reserve, Cold Lake First Nations in Northern Alberta. He is of Dene Suline and Saulteaux descent. When Janvier was eight years old he was sent to Blue Quills Indian Residential School near St. Paul, Alberta. Perhaps this next statement is obvious, but Janvier’s time at Blue Quills was a dark period in his life. During and interview with Ottawa Morning host Hallie Cotnam in 2017, Janvier spoke frankly about his time there, “I was in fear. I became scared of everything, because I didn’t understand what was happening to me. They stripped you completely threw you in a public shower, and they cut your hair bald.”

Despite the horror that Janvier experienced at Blue Quills, this led him to the discovery of his artistic talent. He was able to use it as a form of escapism from the realities of the Residential School system.

“I found a certain time of the week, you could escape from the whole outlay of controls. And for about three hours, you’re in your own world, and that’s when I began to discover my ability to work on paper and the beautiful colours – all kinds of colours.”

After leaving Blue Quills, Janvier wished to the Ontario College of Art and Design in Toronto in order to pursue his art. His plan was quickly dashed by an Indian agent who refused to allow him to travel to Ontario. Thus, Janvier enrolled in the Alberta College of Art and Design (ACAD) in Calgary.

Janvier at work. Source

Janvier began to make a name for himself in the Indigenous art community. This position was bolstered when Janvier was commissioned by the Department of Indian and Northern Affairs for eighty paintings to be included in the Canada Pavilion at Expo 67. Here he helped bring together other Indigenous artists to form the “Indian Group of Seven.”

Recently, a defining moment of Janvier’s career came in 2015, when the National Gallery of Canada opened a retrospective exhibition tracing the entirety of his career, Alex Janvier: Modern Indigenous Master. This exhibition traveled to multiple institutions across Canada, including the Glenbow Museum in Calgary in 2018, were I was able to see it and begin my love affair with his work.

One of the central pieces to Janvier’s exhibition at the Glenbow was a piece entitled Lubicon, which he created in 1988 as a response to the Lubicon Cree’s protests, of the Glenbow Museum’s exhibition The Spirit Sings (1988). There is significance in the fact that this piece was exhibited at the Glenbow, it can be viewed as symbolic victory, and a representation of the path of change museums have taken in the last 30 years.

In a sense the narrative of Lubicon can be seen as a metaphor for Janvier’s career. At the beginning of Janvier’s career he constantly had to fight for his right to exist as an artist. However, Janvier has survived these difficulties and become one of the most influential Indigenous artists in Canada, and worldwide.

Alex Janvier currently runs the Janvier Gallery with the help of his family in Cold Lake, Alberta.

Tsą tsą ke k’e (Iron Foot Place) in Rogers Place, Edmonton Alberta. Source

Before I leave you, I just want to tell you all about my personal favourite artwork of Alex Janvier’s is a public art installation in the new Rogers Place arena in Edmonton, the home of the Edmonton Oilers. The work, titled Tsą tsą ke k’e (Iron Foot Place) is a massive 45-foot diameter circular mosaic that welcomes visitors into the arena.

Next time you find yourself in a gallery be sure to keep an eye out for his work, you will be able to tell by looking for his iconic flowing lines, patterns, and vibrant colours.

THIS ARTICLE DOES NOT HAVE A TITLE

Breaking the Glass Case | Alexandra Forand
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Titles. We would all agree are important. It is important to keep in mind titles, like the institutions they reside in, are not neutral. Titles are often given to pieces of artwork after the piece of artwork has come into a collection—not by an artist, but by that institution or a previous one. The name given to the piece of artwork, is then perpetuated throughout the showing of this piece and becomes the “accepted” title.

Photo courtesy of Carly Wolowich.

This phenomenon is often heightened when discussing collections of Indigenous artwork. The title that is given to the painting or an object is endemic of the time period and reflects the colonial language of when it entered a collection.

Art galleries do not exist within isolation and museum professionals are shining a light on these objects that were titled in the past and tackling the process of trying to change them for the present audiences. In a post Truth and Reconciliation commission world, institutions are working hard to involve Indigenous communities that are affected by the harmful language of the past. The Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO) and the National Gallery of Canada (NGC) are slowly implementing the 94 calls to action outlined in the TRC executive summary, and making changes not only to how artwork is displayed, but what these works are called based on consultation

In 1920, while tilling his field in the Fraser Valley, Arvo Skytte found an object that resembled a bowl under a Douglas fir tree. The “Skytte Bowl,” as the object was called at the time was donated to the Museum of Vancouver and was eventually transferred to the National Gallery of Canada (NGC). According to Jaime Koeble Morris (Michif) the curators at the NGC sought to break the cycle of treating Indigenous artworks as nameless, unimportant anthropological specimens. The NGC established two Indigenous Advisory Committees to counsel the institution on how to respectfully collect new artwork, how to best display, and how to care for artwork already in the NGC’s collection. As per the committee’s recommendation the NGC performed welcoming ceremonies.

Qelemteleq at the NGC. Every night the curator covers his case with a blanket so he can rest. Source.

In 2016, the “Skytte Bowl” was officially welcomed into the NGC’s collection. With consultation from the Katzie and Kwantlen First Nations of the Fraser Valley in British Columbia the “Skytte Bowl” was renamed “Qelemteleq,” and the digital records and labels regarding “Qelemteleq” were updated to reflect that he was not a bowl, but a seated stone figure with a living spirit.

In 1929, Emily Carr travelled up the west coast of Vancouver Island by steamer to Yuquot, the territory of the Nuu-chah-nulth people. It was there, in a summer village of the Mowachaht/Muchalaht people, where Carr painted an old white, windowless church, standing starkly against the background of rich green foliage In the 1930’s, the painting was shown extensively in American art galleries and dubbed “I*dian Church.” In 1970, Charles Shaw Band bequeathed “I*dian Church,” to the AGO, where it has since resided on and off of display for many years. Emily Carr’s painting currently hangs on the wall of the AGO is Gallery 126 Richard Barry Fudger Rotunda. Despite being surrounded by equally striking works, this painting has received immense attention from artists, museums professionals, and the international media. In May of 2018, the Art Gallery of Ontario, as part of their broader effort to eliminate offensive language in the museum, Carr’s painting, which up until this point had been known as “I*dian Church” was retitled “Church in Yuquot Village.”

The infamous, Church at Yuquot Village by Emily Carr, at the AGO. Source.

The discussion around this retitling effort has mainly focused on the idea of whether this is an act of the institution’s corrective art history practises or if it is the AGO’s attempt to censor and erase history. While this discussion is timely and merited, I believe it is more productive to explore how this change in the title of the painting by the AGO came about.

The village where Emily Carr painted the church. Friendly Cove, British Columbia. Source.

The AGO’s decision to consult the Mowachaht/Muchalaht community is a landmark event. By changing the name of Carr’s painting and removing the word “I*dian,” the AGO they are no longer going to be a part of propagating the hate of the word “I*dian thereby, connecting the Mowachaht/Muchalaht community to Ontario and placing them in the middle of the conversation.

Changing the name of artwork has not been done without criticism from audience, scholars, and artistic professionals, who make the argument that this is censorship at best, and erasure of history at worst. I argue that this decision to retitle offensive artwork is necessary as a larger act of reconciliation. This decision to consult Katzie, Kwantlen, and Mowachaht/Muchalaht First Nations is powerful because it works to restore the communities’ roles in the creation of the item, the institution, and within the tradition of the visual arts.

What are your thoughts? I really want to know! Leave a comment or if Twitter and Instagram are more your speed my handle on both is @Ally_but_online.

HERE'S WHAT'S COMING TO NETFLIX: THE $25 MILLION COMMITMENT TO INDIGENOUS STORIES

Breaking the Glass Case | Alexandra Forand

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It is hardly an understatement to say that Netflix is one of, if not the most significant company in the 21st century. Originally a subscription based DVD service, Netflix transitioned to a streaming based subscription service model. This shift to signaled the death knoll for brick and mortar DVD rental stores, such as Blockbuster, VHS, and Movie Gallery. In 2012, Netflix started producing original content, with some of the most notables being The Crown, Narcos, and Orange is the New Black. With the Crown being hailed the second most expensive show ever produced (the first being Game of Thrones) and Orange is the New Black as being the most watched original series on Netflix, it is no surprise that this behemoth company is always scouting out new ways to enter the entertainment arena.

Source. 

In June of 2019 Netflix announced their partnerships with 3 Indigenous cultural organizations within Canada. The partnerships are with ImagineNATIVE, the Indigenous Screen Office, and Wapikoni Mobile. This partnership is part of a $25-million commitment Netflix made to help foster and develop talent of Canadian creators over the next five years. But who are these organizations and why has Netflix sought them out to create content?

Still of "In pursuit of Venus [infected]," by Lisa Reihana, currently on at the AGO. Source.

ImagineNATIVE is a multi-media Toronto based company who hosts an annual film festival in Toronto. I am very familiar with ImagineNATIVE and, I bet, if you are in the Toronto Area you are too! Their most recent partnership with the Art Gallery of Ontario is responsible for bringing Lisa Reihana’s William Kentridge-esque “In pursuit of Venus [infected]” to the Mclean centre for Indigenous and Canadian Art at the Art Gallery of Ontario. Other exhibitions and arts programming from ImagineNATIVE include:

iNDigital Expanded, Bachir/Yerex Presentation Space
Constructive Interference, A Space Gallery
gathering across moana, Trinity Space Video, A Space WINDOWS,
Canadian Filmmakers Distribution Centre
Listen, speak and sing, Prefix ICA
spatial codifications, YYZ Artists’ Outlet
Among All These Tundras, Onsite Gallery
and various artists’ talks and art crawls around Toronto

Indigenous Afterdark at the 2012 Vancouver Indigenous Media Arts Festival (VIMAF) Source. 

I am much less familiar with Indigenous Screen Office and Wapikoni Mobile. After a quick Google search I found out that the Indigenous Screen Office (ISO) is a relatively new organization. Founded in 2017, ISO is dedicated to developing Indigenous screen storytellers. The organization aims to bring Indigenous stories to the screen, because they see the value of having Indigenous representation in artistic media.

Wapikoni Mobile is a traveling studio for training and audiovisual creation of indigenous stories, community and land. This mobile studio is fully equipped with cutting-edge technology that travels to communities all over the world and since its inceptions 5,000 participants have been trained in documentary film or musical recording. Wapikoni Mobile has been a part of 1,145 films and 750 musical recordings (thus far!) and since 2004 their media has received 170 awards and distinctions at festivals around the world.

Plus que 2 jours avant la #JournéeDesInuit à la @MaisonDRegions 🙌
Il reste encore quelques places mais faites vite 😉
On a hâte de vous compter parmi nous pour échanger sur les questions environnementales et la culture inuit
Billets ➡️ https://t.co/KtiRjv5SSj pic.twitter.com/CAu73ucqG7

— Wapikoni mobile (@Wapikoni) November 5, 2019

These partnerships are significant. According to Thomas King “Hollywood has had a long-standing love affair with [Indigenous Peoples].” This relationship between Indigenous peoples and Hollywood worked to cobble together a series of clichés of Indigenous peoples that continue to pervade the social conscious of North American society to this day. Netflix partnership and commitment in the form of dollars with Indigenous organizations, that are committed to authentic representation, works to dismantles these clichés. I don’t think it is a stretch to state the Netflix is how most of us (myself included) are consuming our television shows and movies and in the coming years it seems Indigenous representation on the big and small screen is going to be easier to access. I for one am I very excited to see what content these partnerships will create!

What are you binging right now? I want to know! Send me an email (allyforand@gmail.com), or if Twitter and Instagram are more your speed my handle on both is @Ally_but_online.

A CALL FOR CRITIQUE

Heritage Moments | Carly Wolowich

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Heritage institutions require thoughtful critique. Steeped in colonialism and built upon patriarchal structures, museums, and cultural spaces alike, need consistent criticism to transform these often exclusionary spaces. However, the question remains as to how to ignite such interventions, especially as someone who has, whether knowingly or unknowingly, become entrenched in museum practice. When looking to gain perspective on how to challenge the museum I often turn to those that display themselves and their work inside of such institutions: artists.

Artists have been critiquing the museum for decades now. The concept of institutional criticism began in the late 1960s as artists began to create art in reaction to the very institutions that purchased and exhibited their work. During this time, art institutions were often perceived to be a place of ‘cultural confinement’ that was not fulfilling its mandate to operate for the good of the public--the very concept in which facilitated their creation in the first place. Creatively walking the line as both an insider and outsider, artists continue to challenge society’s perception of museums in contrast to the reality of their often unethical forms of practice, resourcefully resolving such conflicting tensions.

Robert Houle, an Anishinaabe Saulteaux and prolific artist, exemplifies the power of institutional critique. Houle’s artistic career has been critical of colonial structures, focusing on injustices such as cultural appropriation in museums and art galleries. He writes, “exclusion from Western representation is deeply rooted in and even protected by a structure that authorizes and legitimizes certain representations while blocking, prohibiting or invalidating others”. Some of Houle’s most poignant artistic interventions are exemplified in Toronto’s very own Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO).

In 1985 Houle encountered an installation by German artist Lothar Baumgarten. The AGO invited Baumgarten to produce a site-specific work for Walker Court--the center and heart of the Gallery--as part of the exhibit The European Iceberg: Creativity in Germany and Italy Today. Baumgarten created Monument for the Native People of Ontario, which was meant to pay homage to eight nations. Houle appreciated the artist’s gesture, but was displeased with his lack of research. Printed on the walls in large Roman type, some of the names were misspelled, and linguistic groups, regions, tribes, and bands were intermingled with no distinction. Furthermore, Baumgarten’s felt right to document the names was extremely unsettling.

Robert Houle, Anishnabe Walker Court, 1993, site-specific installation at Walker Court, Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto. (Source).

Throughout the 1980s in Canada, contemporary Indigenous art was still being debated by artists and curators as to whether it had a place in mainstream art galleries or if such works should remain in anthropological museums. When Houle responded to Baumgarten’s installation with Anishnabe Walker Court, he affirmed Indigenous Arts’ place in contemporary art galleries. Houle re-appropriated the German artist’s tribal names, placing them in quotation marks and re-inscribing them in lowercase letters on the outer walls surrounding the Court. Houle also featured documentation of the historic changes made to the space over time, commenting on how colonial institutions, such as the AGO, improperly and offensively memorialized individuals and history. In 2008, when the AGO underwent their major renovation, these names were removed and Houle asserted his presence once again with his work Seven Grandfathers. 

Robert Houle, Ojibwa, from Anishnabe Walker Court preliminary study #8, 1994, collage, electrographic prints on wove paper, 43.5 x 35.5 cm, Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto. (Source).

Robert Houle, Study #10 (for Anishnabe Walker Court), 1994, gelatin silver print, photocopy, ink on coloured plastic sheet, vinyl self-adhesive letters, black porous point marker, graphite on paper, resin-coated photographic paper, and coloured transparent sheet, 43.2 x 35.7 cm, Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto. (Source).

Today, Seven Grandfathers boldly hangs in the place where Baumgarten’s work once did. Commissioned to coincide with the 2014 exhibition Before and after the Horizon: Anishinaabe Artists of the Great Lakes, the work consists of seven abstract paintings that resemble ceremonial drums. Seven Grandfathers reveals the “concepts of respect, and sharing that form the foundation of an Anishnabe way of life”. Each disc corresponds to an animal spirit and imparts one of the sacred teachings of Anishinaabe culture to AGO visitors. 

Robert Houle, Seven Grandfathers, 2014, oil on canvas, digital prints, Mylar, watercolour on paper, seven site-specific works, each 20.3 cm, Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto. (Source).

Museum professionals can learn from the artists in which they exhibit. Skillfully practicing a sense of duality, reflecting on both the museum and the communities surrounding them, artists critique heritage institutions with intent and inspired innovation. Stepping foot into the Art Gallery of Ontario’s Walker Court visitors are impressed with a space of seeming inclusivity that displays art such as Seven Grandfathers. While this artwork is likely recognized as a result of self-reflection by museum staff, I credit and thank Robert Houle for this systematic shift in the Gallery and museums more broadly. I hope in reading on Robert Houle’s practice, this article will implore people to not only thoughtfully look at museum spaces but listen to what others outside of the museum world have to say.

Next time you’re visiting the AGO make sure to glance up in Walker Court and take a look at Robert Houle’s artwork. You now know a history that I hope will inspire you just as much as it did me.

"AN ARGUMENT FOR SOMETHING ELSE": CORRECTIVE ART HISTORY RIGHT NOW

Breaking the Glass Case | Alexandra Forand

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This summer the Minneapolis Institute of Art (MIA) presented “Hearts of Our People: Native Women Artist.” Believe it or not, this exhibit was the first major showcase of indigenous women (I am intentionally using small "I" indigenous, because the artists range in location and community). The exhibit features 115 objects, that span 1,000 years including paintings, sculptures, textiles and more.

This exhibit took my Facebook and Twitter feed by storm. Every time I logged into a social network platform to mindlessly scroll through articles and memes for a couple minutes I would see friends and acquittances posting pictures, think pieces authored by magazines like Vogue, and scholarly articles mentioning this exhibit. Words, like “ground-breaking,” “awe-inspiring,” and “revolutionary,” were often affixed to posts about this exhibit. But it was one term discussing Hearts of Our People: Native Women Artist, that really caught my eye. This term was “Corrective Art History.” 

On now through August 18, the @artsmia is presenting “Hearts of Our People: Native Women Artists,” the first major showcase to provide visibility to the indigenous women, both from Canada and the U.S. https://t.co/PC8kdfFj7l

— Vogue Magazine (@voguemagazine) June 3, 2019

We’ll be going to the Minneapolis Institute of Art to see the Hearts of Our People: Native Women Artists exhibit today.

Native community members get free admission to the exhibit!!

— YourFavRezCouple (@UrFavRezCouple) July 5, 2019

(1/2) Hearts of Our People: Native Women Artists, is hands down one of the best shows ever. If you’re even near Mpls pls go see! #mia #minneapolisinstituteofart #heartsofourpeople #nativeamericanartists #nativeamericanwomen #womenartists #itsabouttime #equality #equalityinthearts pic.twitter.com/KprcEwGWJc

— Ann Tracy (Áine Ní Threasaigh) (@anntracyart) June 18, 2019

Let’s back up for a moment. What is Corrective Art History? Corrective Art History is meant “to provide an affirmation for those who do not regularly see themselves portrayed in media or art.” Moreover, it is an effort to combat the lasting, damaging impacts of underrepresentation.

This term is often used to describe Kerry James Marshall’s work, who is both redefining the Western cannon and creating his own. He explains it better than I ever could: “My work is not an argument against anything; it is an argument for something else.”

Kerry James Marshall, Mastry, source.

Mickalene Thomas is another notable artists who could described as working within Corrective Art History. Thomas vividly and actively inserts black female bodies into art, a place she argues is traditionally white and patriarchal. Furthermore, there are many Indigenous artists who work within Corrective Art History. Arguably one of the most well-known artists working within this realm is Kent Monkman (Cree). Monkman’s Shame and Prejudice: A Story of Resilience, is an epic revision of a Western colonial history that is still taught in schools today. If you want to learn about Shame and Prejudice, Sadie Macdonald wrote an exhibition review and you can click here to read it!

Hearts of Our People: Native Women Artist, is not the only Indigenous led exhibition which operates within Corrective Art History. More and more exhibitions are gaining attention in a post-TRC world. In the Spring of this year, an exhibition on the Poundmaker Cree Nation focused on the story of Chief Poundmaker, who was arrested after the colonial government of Canada failed to honour treaty promises. After six months, Chief Poundmaker was released from prison after contracting a fatal respiratory disease. For nearly 135 years the Western cannon wrote Chief Poundmaker as the villain of his story. The exhibition successfully sets the historical record straight and brings in First Nation voices to the Western cannon. While the state of Canada exonerated Chief Poundmaker on May 23, 2019, this exhibit shows that everyone from artists, researchers, and curators to ordinary everyday people can work against these harmful historical inaccuracies.

Chief Poundmaker,  Source. 

The exercise of Corrective Art History is important and necessary. As museum professionals we need to become uncomfortable with our own learned knowledge and let these exhibitions and art rewire our own inherent biases of history. We, like Kerry James Marshall, Mickalene Thomas, Kent Monkman, and the indigenous run exhibits, have to argue for something else.

Have you seen any of these exhibitons? What challenged you and how did you deal with these challenges? What are your thoughts? I really want to know! Leave a comment, send me an email (allyforand@gmail.com), or if Twitter and Instagram are more your speed my handle on both is @Ally_but_online.

INDIGENOUS, INGENIOUS, iNDIGITAL

Weekend Edition | Samantha Summers

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Now nineteen years old, the imagineNATIVE Festival is best known for its wide variety of Indigenous films from across the world, engaging with Indigenous artists both here on Turtle Island and abroad. However, films are not the only medium represented at imagineNATIVE. As I discovered in the iNdigital Space, this festival also provides a platform for Indigenous virtual reality (VR), game, and media artists beyond film and from around the world.

The iNdigital Space is a carefully curated and interactive exhibit which is free to visit, located on the ground floor of the TIFF Bell Lightbox at 350 King Street West, Toronto. The Space is headed by Meagan Byrne, the Digital + Interactive Coordinator for imagineNATIVE. A game designer by trade and founder of Achimostawinan Games, Byrne joined the imagineNATIVE team in April 2018 with a vision to expand the space allotted to game and digital artists at the festival. This year’s iNdigital Space, the first-ever, is a prototype of her vision: to see the best of VR, gaming, and interactive digital art by Indigenous artists from around the world brought together in one space. “Let’s keep supporting our new wave of Indigenous creators,” Byrne says. The best way to do that? By providing spaces dedicated to Indigenous creators and creations, and by making it clear that these creators are priorities at imagineNATIVE and within the Canadian media scene more broadly.

A visitor in the iNdigital Space playing Abenaki creator Ashlee Bird's One Small Step.
Photo courtesy of Samantha Summers.

Byrne’s commitment to the idea that screen-based media goes way beyond the box office is attested to with every piece in the iNdigital Space. Helpful and friendly volunteers pointed me toward experience after experience, each unique and profound. While the website Fafswagvogue.com (by Tanu Gago, a Samoan artist based in Aetearoa) had me coordinate and then judge a vogue battle, it also allowed me to engage with the artists represented (all real vogue dancers) and learn about their stories. ~2700 was designed by Métis artist Travis Mercredi as a tribute to the approximately 2700 missing and murdered Indigenous people in Canada. This experience had me walking through a large field, passing by 2700 white tombstones. It was a sombre and important reminder of a major human rights crisis. In Biidaaban: First Light, on the other hand, Anishinaabe artist Lisa Jackson allows visitors to experience a Toronto in which nature has reclaimed much of our modern infrastructure, and Indigenous languages - Wendat, Kanien’kehá:ka, and Anishinaabemowin - provide a path forward through reconciliation.


These are just a few among the many incredible experiences awaiting you at the iNdigital Space, an exhibit that is equal parts fun, thought-provoking, and awe-inspiring. These experiences can be capped off with a laser-cutting demonstration provided by the Maker Bean Cafe in the iNdigital Makerspace. See cookies and coasters laser-cut with the Festival logo and Festival pins 3D-printed before your very eyes, all free to visitors of the Space.

Aided by imagineNATIVE staff, a visitor to the iNdigital Space experiences Ngarluma artist Tyson Mowarin's VR simulation, Thalu: Dreamtime is Now. Photo courtesy of Samantha Summers.

When we sit down to talk, Byrne emphasizes the importance of spaces like this. Speaking as a Métis creator, she is familiar with the kind of pain, anger, and conflict Indigenous peoples across Turtle Island face, and she is familiar with the power of art to explore and confront those experiences. She speaks to the challenges of Indigenous creators, who she says are often forced to ask themselves, “Do I belong? Where do I belong?” Here in this incredible exhibition during this very special festival, Byrne creates a space in which Indigenous artists and their art not only belong, but thrive.

Sugar cookies are marked with the imagineNATIVE logo and slogan ("Original. Indigenous.") by representatives from the Maker Bean Cafe. Photo courtesy of Samantha Summers.

The imagineNATIVE Film + Media Arts Festival closes on Sunday, October 21.

The author would like to acknowledge and thank the staff, volunteers, and attendees of the iNdigital Space for their cooperation and for the use of their images.