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Archive for the ‘British Columbia’ Category

John Wilson’s “Shaman and His Helpers”

Posted in aboriginal art, art, art appreciation, British Columbia, Bruce Byfield, First Nations art, Freda Diesing School of Northwest Coast Art, Haisla, indian art, Northwest Coast Art, Personal, shaman, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 28, 2009| Leave a Comment »

One of the pleasures of buying work from beginning artists is watching them fulfill their potential. Last January, I saw enough promise in John Wilson’s work to buy one of his masks. Now, in masks like “Shaman and His Helpers,” his work has reached its first maturity.

Compared to most of Wilson’s earlier works, “Shaman and His Helpers” is a busy piece, both in subject and execution. It benefits, too, from Wilson’s study of traditional masks through pictures, the most obvious benefit being the use of eye holes instead of painted irises and pupils.

The mask depicts a shaman and his spirit helpers. One of the spirit helpers sits in the shaman’s mouth, as though resting after a long climb up his esophagus. The other sits in the middle of his forehead like a frontlet. Both these positions suggest that the helpers are indicators of the shaman’s true nature.

The helpers look more or less human, but the one in the mouth is in a vaguely frog-like position, while the one on the forehead is round enough to be a moon. While the shaman’s eyes are narrowed as though he is entering a trance, both helpers have closed eyes, as if asleep or focusing inwardly.

One way or the other, you sense, the shaman’s and the helpers’ eyes are going to be in the same state shortly: Either the shaman is about to enter their world of perception or else the spirits will come into his. No matter which happens, the result is a mask of a half-realized transition.

Interestingly, too, the spirit on the forehead is painted similarly to the shaman, while the spirit at the mouth is left unpainted. That may be an artistic decision made because any paint would be overwhelmed by the red of the shaman’s lips. But the effect is to suggest that the spirits are in some ways opposite.
Are the spirits different aspects of the shaman’s nature? Or perhaps the helper in the mouth is unrevealed, a creature of the dark, and the moon-like one on the forehead is a creature of light? At the point portrayed in the mask, they do not seem at odds, so perhaps they are opposites needed for balance and insight. Whatever the case, a moment of magic and transition is depicted.

The awe of the moment is heightened by the design of the mask. Tall, thin masks are common in the northern tradition, but in this case, the physical dimensions suggest a lean asceticism that seems fitting for a shaman. This asceticism is heightened by the high cheekbones and the deepness of the eye sockets near the nose, which suggest that the shaman might have been fasting. The black eyebrows reinforce this sense of gauntness, especially in a bright light that emphasizes the cheekbones and eye sockets.

At the same time, the mask carries a hint of menace or pain. Especially from a distance, the hands of the spirit in the mouth suggest fangs. Similarly, the unusually bright red used in the mask leave a half-unconscious impression of blood, as though the shaman’s trance is accompanied by a nosebleed and his biting of his own lip. Or perhaps the redness of the lips suggests that the shaman is giving a sort of birth to the spirit clinging to his lips. The suggestions are understated – there are no blatant riverlets of blood trickling from the nostrils or down the chin – but they are only more effective for being subtle.

And always the grain, which Wilson has carefully matched to the contours of the face, stands out, suggesting a movement or fluidity just below the skin. Influenced by his teachers at the Fred Diesing School, Wilson has always shown an awareness of the grain as a finishing detail, but here that awareness is not just a reflection of technical skill, but also an addition to the design.

When this mask first went on the market, I missed the chance to buy it, and cursed my slowness to make a decision. Luckily for me, the first owner changed their mind, and I was able to buy it after all. The more I study “Shaman and His Helpers,” the more I think it is Wilson’s best mask to date. At the same time, knowing that he is a constant carver and likely to have decades to continue his learning of his craft, I can’t wait to see what levels he will reach next.

shaman-and-helpers

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Nicholas Galanin, concept art and the Northwest Coast tradition

Posted in aboriginal art, art, art appreciation, Bill Reid, Bill Reid Gallery, British Columbia, Bruce Byfield, First Nations art, indian art, Michael Dangeli, Nicholas Galanin, Northwest Coast Art, Personal, Tlingit, Uncategorized, Vancouver, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 24, 2009| 3 Comments »

This afternoon, I heard Tlingit artist Nicholas Galanin speak at the Bill Reid Gallery. His talk was my first prolonged exposure to concept art applied to Northwest Coast art. I came away stimulated, but not particularly sympathetic to the effort.

Galanin is the latest of several generations of artists, and has done some jewelry in the traditional style. However, at least for the time being, he is not especially interested in traditional art or culture. He talked about traditional art as being confined by the stereotypes imposed by a romantic view of first nations, and – rather tellingly – could not tell where he obtained a traditional song he used in a video, even though in coast cultures, rights in songs and their performance can be important pieces of property. [Note: Both Galanin and Sonny Assu tell me that it was not the traditional song whose source Galanin didn’t know, but a hiphop song that was part of the same work. See the comments below. I apologize for the error].

Instead, Galanin is more interested in exploring the First Nations as another ethnic minority within the dominant culture – in particular, how coastal images are bastardized and exploited by cheap imitations made in Asia for the tourist trade in the Northwest Coast. He discussed, for example, a series of masks he made out of pages of the Bible, talking about how he found it appropriate that the holy book of Christians, who suppressed shamanism, should be converted into a shaman mask. Galanin also talked other paper masks he had made and how they were masks by a first nations person that showed no signs of first nations culture.

Other projects he discussed involved embedding tourist-trade masks in a wall covered with wallpaper that depicted idealized pictures of 19th century life and another in which the same type of masks were covered in Chinoserie. In a pair of videos, he had a traditional dancer (or an approximation of one) and a modern dancer moving to the same traditional song. In yet another series of work, he gave his version of the highly idealized photos of Edward Curtis: naked women with masks added in a graphics editor.

Meanwhile, ten meters from the podium where he stood was his contribution to the Bill Reid Gallery’s Continuum show: A version of Bill Reid’s “Raven and First Men” rendered by a chainsaw. Galanin was seeing his version of the famous sculpture for the first time, because he had outsourced the work – as he does much of his work.

The outsourcing is a commentary on commercialism, but I also had the sense that for Galanin what matters is not the actual work so much as the concept. Apparently, he sees his role as that of impresario, rather than as an artist who necessarily creates works with his own hand.

Having been a grad student in an English department of a major university, I am tolerably well-versed in such approaches to art. Nor do I find anything in Galanin’s social commentary with which I disagree.

But I wonder if I am missing something, because I have never found this kind of concept art very compelling.

For one thing, it seems to have little room for something that is central to my own appreciation of art – the enjoyment of craft, of sheer artistic excellence. Part of this lack may be that it does not delve deeply into tradition, so it has no standards to judge skill by. But the major reason for the lack seems to be that, when you are making a comment, craft becomes unimportant or perhaps a distraction.

Moreover, when you are commenting on commercialism, too much craft is probably out of place. If anything, your message is stronger if an object shows a lack of craft.

This situation helps create another problem: most concept art, including Galanin’s, is like a symphony of a single note. If your ideal is the “well-made object” of Bill Reid’s aesthetics, then viewers can return to it many times, and even discover something new after the first viewing. In comparison, concept art seems simple and to offer few reasons to return to it. Once you have grasped the message – which is often simple enough that you can reduce it to a single sentence, or at least a rather short paragraph – nothing is left to appreciate. Concept art seems to be unambiguous and unsubtle by nature, and, consequently, not very interesting.

In this respect, it is interesting to compare Galanin’s chainsaw Bill Reid knockoff with Mike Dangeli’s ridicule mask, which is also in the Continuum show. Where Galanin’s “Raven and the First Immigrants” seems one-dimensional, Dangeli has reached into his cultural history to bring an old concept into the future: just as the ridicule masks of the past were public announcements of a wrong, so Dangeli’s is a declaration of the wrongs suffered from the first nations. Dangeli’s mask is every bit as social or political as Galanin’s sculpture, but where Galanin’s sculpture seems facile, Dangeli’s mask is ambiguous and complex. And I doubt it is a coincidence that Dangeli is throughly involved in preserving and reviving his culture while Galanin sounds like a typical deracinated intellectual.

But such issues are a matter of taste. Regardless of what I think of Galanin’s work, I have to admit that the very fact that it takes the form that it does illustrates the diversity of Northwest Coast art and proves it a living tradition. And that by itself, I suspect, is something of value.

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The Vancouver 2010 Aboriginal Art Exhibition

Posted in Aaron Nelson-Moody, aboriginal art, Alano Edzerza, art, art exhibits, British Columbia, Bruce Byfield, Corrine Hunt, Dean Heron, First Nations art, Northwest Coast Art, olympics, Personal, Vancouver, Vancouver 2010 Aboriginal Art Exhibition, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 18, 2009| 4 Comments »

I’m not looking forward to the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver. I never watch sports, and I’m concerned about the costs, traffic, and the virtual declaration of martial law during the games. The fact that I once dreamed of being in the Olympics myself only makes me angrier at the travesty that they have become.

Still, I could almost reconcile myself to the games for the sake of all the First Nations art commissioned for them. Some of that art was on display this weekend at the Aboriginal Art Exhibition at Canada Place this weekend, and I thoroughly enjoyed it – even if the lack of organization at the event seems ominous if it is a foretaste of how the games themselves will be run.

Being appreciative of the commissioned art is something you can file under No-Brainer. I mean, what’s not to like about the art? There’re medals with Corrine Hunt designs, commemorative coins by Jody Broomfield. The snowboarding pavilion at Cypress Bowl will have a wall graced with a new work by Dean Heron. GM Place will have a new work by Alano Edzerza, Nat Bailey Stadium a new work by Aaron Nelson-Moody, and the list goes on and on.

After fumbling badly by making the symbol of the game the inukshuk – a symbol that has nothing to do with British Columbia, much less Vancouver – the games organizers have had the sense to commission locally, focusing on less established artists and on members of the Salish nation, whose territory the Vancouver venues are on. I understand that some 45 works of public art will be added to the Lower Mainland as a result of the games, and I consider that an unalloyed good.

Sadly, though, the Olympic organizers fumbled again in their first efforts to bring most of these works to the public. The display was almost completely unpublicized except for newspaper stories just before the event and some Internet transmission. Even then, it was called an exhibition, so that most people arrived unaware that most of the work on display was for sale – an oversight that bitterly disappointed the artists who had taken tables and paid the exorbitant prices charged for parking at Canada Place.

Even worse, the management of the event was haphazard. I heard artists complain that they were unable to set up for credit or debit cards, and the rumor was that the one bank machine in the exhibit hall required a substantial surcharge to use.

And perhaps the worst thing was that, in order to fill up the hall, the organizers seem to have let anyone exhibit who cared to pay for the table. As a result, many tables displayed tourist junk that did not belong in the same exhibit as the commissioned artists.

For me, the incompetence of the organizing was summed up by the sight of two singers on the stage gamely belting out songs to rows of empty chairs, and a snack bar that had closed down at least two hours before the end of the show. Meanwhile, the exhibitors were strolling around talking to each other.

Such poor planning undermines the celebration of the artists. My impression is that the exhibition organizers couldn’t have cared less if the artists were treated with respect.

Perhaps the organizers can learn, but if this is how they put on such a relatively small event, then we should expect chaos during the games themselves. I might be lured downtown to see the aboriginal market at the Queen Elizabeth Theatre, but I, for one, plan to spend the three weeks of the games bunkered down safely in Burnaby, far away from the insanity.

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Coyotes in the city

Posted in British Columbia, Bruce Byfield, Personal, Uncategorized, urban life, Vancouver, tagged , , , , , , on October 14, 2009| Leave a Comment »

The other night, I woke in the early hours to the sound of coyotes howling. The howling is a thin quaver that seems to rise slowly through the sky then disappear, and I can think of others sounds that I would prefer to awaken me. But, once awake, I lay on my back with my hands behind my head enjoying the eeriness and the thrill that fluttered through me. I hadn’t heard them in months, and I was starting to think that the local pack had moved on.

Probably, I am a minority in my enjoyment of coyotes. Many people call them vermin. Others are convinced that coyotes will drag young children away, although that has only happened once or twice. Still more are angry because their cats or lapdogs have become the snack for a pack – although the real blame lies with their own irresponsible treatment of their pets.
But I figure that you have to expect that the wilderness is going to creep in one way or the other in an urban area, especially one so full of parks and trees as greater Vancouver. And when you live hard against a green belt as we do, then inevitably the occasional cougar or bear is going to stumble into someone’s back yard. Compared to such visitors, coyotes make good neighbors, going about their business while causing a minimum of fuss.

I used to hear them frequently at night, answering the sirens trailing from the nearby fire station. Sadly, that ended when a patch of woods a couple of blocks away was replaced by condos. However, they are frequent in the daylight. Once or twice, I’ve seen half-grown ones partly concealed by the bushes, but the adults put on a bold front, making so little fuss about walking down the street that at first you think they are stray dogs. Once, I even saw one passing through the middle of our townhouse development, ignoring the people and mostly unnoticed.

Several times, too, I’ve seen them on the sidewalk, sitting waiting for the flow of vehicles to change with the traffic light. I suppose they are watching the vehicles, not the light, but sometimes I am not so sure. The few times I’ve made eye contact with a coyote – from a safe distance, let me assure you – I’ve wondered afterwards if it was a sentient creature evaluating the level of threat I represented. After those experiences, I’m not quite prepared to rule out the possibility that some of them know which light it is safe to cross the street on, even though they are presumably as color-blind as dogs.

Coyotes are not creatures of beauty. If anything, they are scrawny things, living lives of desperation. Still, I admire them for being a part of the wilderness that can adopt to the city. I sometimes think that urban life is an isolated one that leads everyone to imagine that they can control everything about their lives. As the coyotes slip from park to park throughout the urban sprawl, eating our garbage and denning in greenbelts in the ravines of creeks, they disprove such ideas with a quiet disdain.

Their continued experience shows that, no matter how we try to isolate ourselves, we cannot deny nature. Despite all the radical changes to their environment, despite the way they are hunted, coyotes still survive. And I, for one, appreciate their casual upsetting of all our assumptions about ourselves and our cities.

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Devilfish pendant by Henry Green

Posted in aboriginal art, art, art appreciation, art buying, British Columbia, Bruce Byfield, Coastal Peoples Gallery, devilfish, First Nations art, Henry Green, indian art, Northwest Coast Art, octopus, Personal, squid, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 10, 2009| 2 Comments »

My revived interest in Northwest Coast art dates to nearly two years ago, when I commissioned a copper bracelet from Henry Green. So, naturally, I’ve kept an ongoing interest in what Green was doing – an interest that has been further reinforced by mutual acquaintances and by meeting Green when I was in Terrace for the Freda Diesing School graduation show last April. But, until this last week, I hadn’t bought anything else by Green.

The lack of purchases was definitely not a lack of interest. Although I didn’t realize the fact when I commissioned the bracelet, Green is one of the two leading Tsimshian artists working today (the other is Robert A. Boxley), and probably the premier jeweler. His engraving is exceptionally fine, and his invention is high, although it rarely strays far from tradition.

Moreover, his jewelry is exceptionally well-priced, perhaps because he doesn’t want to set too high a pricing standard for other artists, or perhaps because his income comes largely from poles and large commissions. He could easily get two or three times what he charges, which makes a silver pendant from him one of the best buys you can find in Northwest Coast art. The only real reason for not buying another of his pieces until now was simply that the artists whose work I want to buy far outstrip my income, especially in this last year of recession.

Several months ago at Alano Edzerza’s Gift of the Raven opening, I had seen and appreciated casts of combined pendants and broaches by Green representing some of the Tsimshian house crests. As is inescapable with casts, the pendants suffered from an obvious loss of detail, but I appreciated them all the same. When Morgan Green, Henry’s daughter, sold some to help finance her way through art school (presumably with permission, although I keep have visions of her sneaking into the family workshop at night), we bought a cast of the mosquito pendant from her.

But the cast we really wanted was the devilfish. Consequently, when I stumbled across the engraved original at Coastal People’s, I bought it as soon as I could afford it.

What first struck me about the pendant is its irregular shape. Distorting the design to fit its surface is common in Northwest Coast art, but, in this case (and several of the pendants from the same set), Green has chosen to distort the surface to fit the design. Rather than squeezing the devilfish into an oval or some other pendant shape, he decided instead to let the pendant take the shape of the devilfish instead.

At the same time, within the shape, Green has distorted the shape even though the shape does not require him to. I have seen a number of Northwest Coast designs for a squid or octopus, and almost always they are depicted in a flat, semi-realistic style. However, Green’s tangle of body and tentacles (which are reduced to three, just enough to give a suggestion), although more abstract, captures more of the feel of a devilfish’s irregular movements than a realistic portrayal.

Since the irregular movement is probably what most people see first when they encounter a live octopus or squid (even in a tide pool), the paradox is that Green’s abstraction is emotionally truer than a literal design. Moreover, because the irregular movements are apt to create uneasiness and fear, by capturing the movements, Green’s pendant suggests why a devilfish might become a household crest. With its outsized, eagle-like beak, Green’s devilfish seems a savage predator, powerful and potentially dangerous.

The large areas of cross-hatching and the parallel lines of dots or brief lines are straight from the traditional Tsimshian repertoire. However, in this pendant, Green adapts these elements for practical purposes, using an unusual filling around the eye to give it an unearthly look and turning the parallel lines into suckers on the tentacles.

At the same time, the placement of the tentacles seems to owe more to Celtic knotwork than traditional Tsimshian work. And, in fact, according to Morgan Green, this resemblance is deliberate, reflecting the fact that his first wife was Scottish, and his children are half-Scottish. However, while Don Yeoman and others have tried to combine Northwest Coast and Scottish design in the same piece, this pendant is one of the few that does so successfully. It does so, I think, by balancing the knotwork with the Tsimshian parallel lines and cross-hatched background, blending the two traditions so they work together.

This blending is worth noticing because I think it points to how Green can innovate within his main tradition. Unlike a beginning artist, Green is not restrained by the tradition, forced to alter his design to fit the tradition and therefore chafing at its limitations. Instead, Green is so utterly familiar with the tradition that he can use its elements for his own purposes. In this pendant, the result of his knowledge is a miniature masterpiece in silver.

henry-green-octopus-pendant

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Review: Haida Masterworks

Posted in aboriginal art, April White, art, art appreciation, British Columbia, Bruce Byfield, Christian White, Darrell White, Derek White, Don Yeoman, Ernest Swanson, First Nations art, Gerry Marks, Gwaai Edenshaw, Isobel Rorick, Jesse Brillion, Kyran Yeoman, Northwest Coast Art, Personal, Reg Davidson, Rick Adkins, Robin Rorick, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 29, 2009| Leave a Comment »

Haida art occupies a privileged place in Northwest Coast art. Because the revival of the art is associated closely with Bill Reid, who began with the Haida tradition, to many people, all Northwest Coast art is Haida, and Tsimshian, Nisga’a, Kwaguilth, Nu-chu-nualth, Salish and the others are not even names. Still, no one can deny that the Haida include many brilliant artists in every medium, so last night I went to the opening of Coastal People’s show, “Haida Masterworks” expecting to enjoy myself. Nor was I disappointed.

In fact, the show exceeded my expectations. Since it had been only lightly advertised, I expected a small show. Instead, what I saw was a showcase of leading Haida artists, with works ranging from the classic to the contemporary.

Several leading Haida artists featured prominently. Master carver Don Yeomans was represented by several circular panels and a mask well over a meter high –examples of what I think of as corporate art, since you need a large lobby, or at least an extremely long room with a high ceiling to display it in a setting that does it justice.

don-yeomans

April White, who paints in styles varying from traditional Haida designs on cedar bark to contemporary landscapes:

april-white

Also prominently displayed was the better part of two years work by Reg Davidson, who is probably the leading carver of masks that can be used for dances and ceremonies. This emphasis gives his masks a simplicity of line and color that is rarely seen, as well as a unique dramatic quality. I am sure, for instance, that the large eye-sockets that characterize his masks increase their theatrical effect when seen in the firelight of a night-time ceremony.

reg-davidson

Yet another master artist who is well-represented is Isabel Rorick, a weaver who works largely with spruce roots and natural designs in traditional patterns collected from up and down the coast. I admit that I know little of basket weaving, and ordinarily think less of it. Yet even I could see that Rorick’s work was intricate and uniform. Despite the muted colors, the designs are clearly visible from ten meters away, and, up close, the evenness of her work make clear that she must spend hours upon hours in her craft.

isobel-rorick

Among such works by well-known artists, I almost missed some wood-carvings by newer artists. However, on my second or third round of the gallery, I took time to appreciate some panels by Kyran Yeoman, Don Yeoman’s son, and a mask by Robin Rorick. Also on display was one of the first masks I’ve seen by goldsmith Jesse Brillon.

Contemplating these works was a pleasant way to spend an evening. However, for me, the highlights of the show were the jewelry and small sculptures in the display cases. Jesse Brillon and Gwaai Edenshaw – so far as I’m concerned, the leading goldsmiths in Northwest Coast art – were unfortunately represented by only one work apiece, although both were standouts:

edenshaw-brillion

However, small displays of works by Derek White, Rick Adkins, and Gerry Marks were more than compensation.

I also took the time to appreciate the two-sided silver and argillite pendants by young artist Ernest Swanson. I had not given much attention to his work before the show, but I plan to correct that mistake in the future because of the fineness of detail in his engraving.

ernest-swanson

But for me, the highlight of the show was the work in argillite by cousins Christian and Darrell White. Christian White, of course, is one of the most-skilled argillite carvers working today, and pieces like “Raven’s Children and “Eagle and Salmon” are typical of the strong lines and sense of restraint that I associate with his work.

christian-white

By contrast, Darrell White has only been working seven years to his cousin’s three or four decades, but he is rapidly perfecting his work. His style is less serene than Christian’s White, reminding me a little of Ron Telek’s, and having the same attention to detail. Pieces like “Thunderbird Captures Killerwhale” and “Raven Dancer” (below) show an originality of design that leave me looking forward to what he will do next.

darrell-white

As usual at such events, appreciating the art was repeatedly sidetracked by the interesting conversations flowing around the gallery. Although I had only expected to stay an hour or so, I suddenly found that three hours had passed and I still hadn’t looked as closely as some works as I had wanted. But that just gives me an excuse to return, so I’m not complaining.

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Buying appliances

Posted in British Columbia, Bruce Byfield, consumerism, Future Shop, Home Depot, humor, Personal, Sears, Trail Appliances, Uncategorized, Vancouver, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on September 11, 2009| Leave a Comment »

Our washing machine started leaking this week, like a puppy relieving itself in a corner, so we’ve been spending our spare time looking for a new washer/dryer combo. It’s a good thing that appliances last over a decade, because it will take at least that long to ease the horror from my mind. Part of the problem is that we have very precise space constraints, but most of the problem is the way that appliances are sold.

Most of the time when I’m looking for hardware, it’s a computer or a computer peripheral. Because the competition is so fierce for computer hardware, manufacturers and vendors document everything about what they’re selling on their websites. Speed, physical dimensions – you name the spec, and you can find it on every site. Consequently, you can spend a hour or two in front of your computer and arrive at the store armed with an exact idea of what you want, and get out fast.

By contrast, household appliances aren’t sold that way. For several local appliance vendors, having a web site is simply a means of announcing their existence. In one case, their site is a single page. In another, you can can learn what brands they carry, but not which models or what the prices might be, because most of their site is simply links to manufacturers. Another one doesn’t bother to give dimensions. None of them update their site with any regularity.

Consequently, if you are trying to be a conscientious consumer and shop around, you have to do a lot of old-fashioned legwork. I’m no stranger to exercise, so ordinarily I wouldn’t mind, except that the trudging around was in the service of a necessity that doesn’t interest me in the slightest. Frankly, reading washing machine stats and peering inside their drums is so mind-numbingly boring that a mentally sub-normal yak would be bored by it. Personally, boredom set in after the second or third examination – and we’ve looked at dozens in the last few days.

Then, just to make matters worse, the sellers of appliances seem strangely reluctant to take your money. Our first stop had only a couple of models on the floor. We could ask about other models, we were told, but how would we know about them if we didn’t see them? We would have to jot down the brands the store sold, then go home and do research.

Our next stop was the Sears store in Metrotown, a complex that has long had my vote for the most hideous shopping complex in the whole of Greater Vancouver. I can’t confirm that minotaurs roam its corridors freely, but if I hear any bull-like rumblings as I pass the service hallways, I’m not investigating.

But the Sears store has its own special horror, because its staff is apparently competing with each other for the fewest times they have to talk to a customer. You can see the staff scuttling low down the aisles a few over, but, by the time you learn how to get one’s attention, you would have the experience to track big game anywhere in the world. About the only thing you can say for this attitude is that it is marginally better than having the clerks dance attendance on you with unrequested information.

At Future Shop, the pricse were good, but each time we were ready to buy, we were told that the warehouse was currently out of stock and was likely to remain so for the next couple of weeks. I strongly suspect (although I cannot prove) that this was a variation on bait and switch. To be fair, we did receive a phone call saying that one of our choices was available, but, by then we had already bought.

The next stop was Home Depot. I realize that the company has built its business on do-it-yourselfers, but the staff didn’t seem to understand that plumbing is a bit beyond the average home owner. The company didn’t even a list of suggested contractors that customers might hire to get their new appliances connected. Nor did the staff see anything ridiculous in the attitude.

Finally, with madness nibbling at our brains like a glimpse of Cthulhu and the Elder Gods, we stumbled into Trail Appliances in Coquitlam. There, we were left to browse for a few minutes before an employee approached us. He was helpful, even giving us some advice we probably wouldn’t have thought of. And, wonder of wonders, the floor model that was our first choice was actually available. Within minutes, we were paying and arranging delivery.

What the other companies didn’t seem to understand was that washers and dryers are not the most glamorous of appliances. While some conscientious but anal souls might conscientiously remember to have them serviced every year, I suspect that many people are like us, and don’t think of them until they need servicing or replacement.

The result is that, when people go shopping for washers and dryers, they are usually in urgent need of a replacement. They can’t afford to spin out the process, because, if they do, they will have to find a laundromat or an obliging neighbor who will let them have the use of the machine.

What Trail Appliances offered was simply efficient service. The result? We’ve decided to replace our fridge at the same time, since it is running on borrowed time, and we’ll do so by returning to Trail again. Trail’s website is no better than any of the others – in fact it is one of the worst ones – but at least its staff understands how to treat customers. So, naturally enough, it gets our other business, too.

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Wayne Young’s “Wolf Clan”

Posted in aboriginal art, Alcheringa Gallery, art, art appreciation, art buying, British Columbia, Bruce Byfield, First Nations art, indian art, Nisga'a, Northwest Coast Art, Personal, Uncategorized, Victoria, Wayne Young, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 27, 2009| 2 Comments »

When I wandered into the Alcheringa Gallery in Victoria on a day off, I really wasn’t planning to buy another piece of art. My official excuse was to see the gallery’s “More Than Meets the Eye” show, which included a recent piece by John Wilson, and a twenty-five year old piece by Ron Telek. But when I saw an artist’s proof of Wayne Young’s “Wolf Clan,” a purchase was more or less inevitable.

For one thing, Wayne Young is an artist on my short list. Having learned his craft under Dempsey Bob and his uncles Robert and Norman Tait, like his cousin Ron Telek, Young displays in his work all the characteristics you would expect – imagination, a strong sense of line, and careful attention to finishing – while still managing to display a distinctive style of his own. One of his prints at the Alcheringa Gallery was one of the few renditions of Dogfish Woman that didn’t descend from Charles Edenshaw’s sketch via Bill Reid. Another print that I saw at the same time showed Raven and the First People without being dependent on Bill Reid’s monumental work; in fact, unless I miss my guess, it shows a mussel or a chiton rather than a clam shell.

Just as importantly, something that always fascinates me about Northwest Coast art is how the design is rearranged and constrained by the surface it is on. A flat design can be wrapped around the handle of a ladle, for instance, or rearranged to fit into a round panel. The challenge to the eye is to pick out the details of the design and identify it while enjoying the intricacy.

In the case of “Wolf Clan,” the shape of the design is reminiscent of an argillite pipe. The compressed space contains three wolves, two full sized and one small one, perhaps a cub. Of the small one, only the head can be identified for sure, although perhaps its body and legs are to the right of it or to the left across the two central S-curves. Possibly, it is a killer whale, representing a clan related to the wolves. The wolves on the end show few clear signs of their bodies, with most of the space given to their heads and tails, and, on the left, a single paw.

What is mildly unusual for Northwest Coast art is that it is asymmetrical, with all three heads both facing the same way, and the right side of the share by two of the heads. The two S-shaped areas in the middle – at least one of which is a tail, and possibly both – also create the optical illusion that one side is shorter than the other. However, which one seems shorter depends on which S-shaped area you focus on, and measurement proves that the two halves are about the same length.

Notice, too, the variation of repeated elements, such as the eyes and pupils of the heads, and the secondary elements that surround the head and eye. Even the teeth vary, with the wolf on the left sporting an incisor and the one on the right none. The small head, by contrast, actually seems to have incisors that curl up In much the same way, the stripes on the tail vary as well. Since contemporary design is asymmetrical, the overall impression is of a modern sensibility, even though all the elements, taken one at a time, are traditional.

Even more unusual is the extraordinary variation in the thickness of the formline, ranging from the thick lines of the wolf snouts and heads to the pen-thickness of the outline of the tail in the middle, and the extreme tapering of some of the secondary elements where they join another line. This variation gives “Wolf Clan” a certain angularity, despite the roundness and the sweeping curves throughout the design. The variety also makes a sense of constrained motion in the design, moving the eye along one line until it catches the next one.

“Wolf Clan” is a small piece but it shows all the strengths of Wayne Young’s work. I have noticed recently that we have a disproportionate amount of Nisga’a works among our purchases, probably because of the bold simplicity that features in that nation’s traditional designs. To that tradition, “Wolf Clan” adds an intricacy that I’m sure will intrigue me for years to come.

wolf-clan-lo-res

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Canada Line stories are missing the point

Posted in British Columbia, Bruce Byfield, Canada Line, Personal, skytrain, Uncategorized, Vancouver, tagged , , , , , , on August 19, 2009| Leave a Comment »

I ride the buses at least as often as I do a private car, so I’m as pleased as anyone with the opening of the new Canada Line on the Skytrain system. But I do wish that when the media or casual conversation mentions the new rapid transit line, they would focus on what matters.

To start with, before anyone praises the fact that the line was opened three months early, let’s remember how that was done. It was done by ruthlessly ignoring the effects of construction on small businesses along the route. Dozens have closed as a result, and some may yet manage to get the compensation they deserve through the courts. And let’s not forget the hiring of foreign workers at sub-standard wages, or the farming of the management of the new line to private industry. If such things are the only way to finish a construction project early, then I think I might prefer delays.

For another, just as when the Millennium Line opened a few years ago, the commentators are babbling about the wonderful view on parts of the line. And it’s true that running seven meters off the ground, Vancouver’s transit lines can offer a better than usual view of the scenery. But, for those of us who will actually be using the line, the wonder of the view will last no more than a few trips. Soon, people will be reading, talking on the phone or fiddling with their music players, just as they always do on a routine trip.

The same is true of the comments made by the would-be architectural critics. What matters for daily travelers is not aesthetics, but practicalities. Are the stations well-lit? Are there enough signs so that people know where they are going? Are the stations safe? Can they accommodate the thousands of people passing through them during rush hour? The answers to all these questions seem mostly positive, although I’m willing to bet that the above ground platforms act like a wind tunnel, just as they do on the other lines. But what everyone seems to be commenting on is how the glass and metal and terra-cotta colored walls make an aesthetic experience.

To someone on transit as often as I am, the scenery and aesthetics soon fade into the background, except in unusual circumstances, such as an unusually vivid sunset. What regular riders like me want to know is something far simpler: Does the new line save us time?

I didn’t ride the line on the first day, when the fares were free. But I did ride it on the second day as I went about my business. So, I’m happy to report that, yes, the new line did save me time – some five to ten minutes compared to the bus when traveling across False Creek from Yaletown to Cambie and Broadway, and maybe twenty minutes total on my entire trip. Better yet, the connections were better than on my old route.

Obviously, how much time you save depends on where you’re going. But, for regulars, that is the real story in the new line – the time saved, and the relative convenience compared to the bus or the car. Most of the rest is background, at least for those who will actually be using the new line. I suppose the new line makes a change from the usual stories straight from the police’s media departments, but, as happens all too often nowadays, in this story the media is missing the point.

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The artist and the gallery owner

Posted in British Columbia, Bruce Byfield, Personal, Uncategorized, Vancouver, tagged , , , , , on August 2, 2009| 1 Comment »

Yesterday, I was talking with the owner of a Northwest Coast gallery when an artist entered carrying an unprotected mask. I instinctively moved away, partly because I could see that the artist was going to try to sell the mask and business needs privacy, but mainly because I knew that he wasn’t going to succeed, and probably wouldn’t want obvious witnesses to his failure.

He was far from the first artist I’ve seen arriving unannounced to sell work. If you hang around galleries as often as I do, you’re bound to see a similar scene sooner or later. It’s frequently a painful scene, because few artists know how to sell their own work. They are nervous and embarrassed, but determined to plunge ahead with the effort.

Their uneasiness reminds me of a singer whose concerts I used to attend, who would grimace to himself if his singing was the least bit off true; in the same way that I used to sympathize deeply with the singer, I sympathize with the artists and their deep discomfort as they try to do something for which they have no talent.

Another reason I sympathize with the artists is that they are almost certainly preparing for failure. While I can’t pretend to understand all the details about how business is done in the Northwest Coast art world, I do know enough to know that only well-established artists can drop by unannounced and have any hope of selling their work or placing it on consignment. Most artists need to make an appointment – and, these days, spend some time exchanging emails and photos of their work, as often as not. Someone who arrives unannounced will have no idea whether the gallery is buying, or even whether a buyer for the gallery is available. For these reasons, they may very likely have wasted their time.

But yesterday’s artist had the odds more stacked against him than most. I could see his mask, and even from a five or six meters away, I could see that its quality was too low for any gallery to buy it. He might be able to sell it on the street, the way that one artist has been selling similar masks this summer outside the Vancouver Art Gallery, but the mask simply wasn’t good enough. All too clearly, the artist didn’t have the proper tools, or else didn’t know how to use them. The mask was roughly finished, front and back, and no amount of paint could hide the fact.

Under the circumstances, the gallery owner was gentle. Perhaps, being an artist himself, he could sympathize with the visitor. Instead of commenting on the quality of the mask, he made a non-committal comment, and simply said that he was not buying right now. Then he talked with the artist awhile, joking that, because of his Hawaiian shirt, he must be a Kanaka, then – when the artist was apparently too lost in his own anxieties to get the joke – exchanging nations. I could guess from the look at the artist’s face that this was not his first rejection of the day, but he responded to the gallery owner’s efforts to draw him almost against his will. Meanwhile, I watch while pretending not to watch, and found identifying with the artist all too easy.

The encounter was over in less than five minutes. But I found it hard to forget. I came away with respect for the gallery owner’s courtesy, and a profound gratitude that I hadn’t been the one to turn the artist down. I probably would have agonized over rejecting the artist, or even bought the mask – unsellable as it was – out of sympathy. In the end, I was very glad that I was just a spectator.

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