The Dominion - Art

Who's an Artist?

Moira Peters — Sun, 14 Nov 2010 05:15:54 +0000

Olympic Spirit

Moira Peters — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 09:57:17 +0000

What is genuine Indigenous art?

KUTENAI TERRITORY, TURTLE ISLAND—The day after my first child was born, I carved my first piece of sculpture from a piece of tree root that caught my attention as I sat by a fire. I had been a devout atheist since an early teen rebellion against forced Christian indoctrination, but the finished carving was, in my heart, a spirit guardian for this incredible fresh new human being who had come so profoundly into my life.

Growing up on Cree reserves and in small Canadian towns in Cree Territory, I had never seen anyone, other than the Dene painter Alex Janvier, making what Canadians called “art.” On the prairies, unlike the west coast, there was no cultural tradition of carving. Why I suddenly pulled my pocket knife out and began carving a tree root is mysterious, though looking back thirty-six years later I can see by the timing that it obviously had something to do with the birth of my first child.

The death of my second child, in a car accident, at age three, shook my atheistic view of the universe, at least on an emotional/spiritual level. The action of carving, now stone instead of wood, 14 years on, became a space where my atheistic mind-chatter faded back into oblivion, while my body, heart and spirit worked cooperatively to give physical form to the anguish I experienced with that beloved child’s death.

When an Elder came to me and said he had a message from my dead child, which he had received in a sweat lodge ceremony, I placed a mental pause on my atheism and started attending indigenous ceremonies, a wandering circular journey around and back to where my long-ago ancestors had been driven off of their path.

Births and deaths jostled me along, until I was fully engaged in my own traditional ceremonial life, still a devout atheist whenever the topic turned to Christianity, but now something else as well, most vividly revealed in my stone sculptures. The process of working with stone still felt like time off for good behavior from the ceaseless chattering of my mind, but now my life was suddenly full of Elders and other cultural teachers and mentors. These folks began to explain to me what my sculpture in stone was all about.

They would point out things in my work which I hadn’t seen until they did so, but which were completely obvious. My Elders could read them as expressions, literally utterances, of the Rock Spirit. Also, things like why the spiritual pipe bowl is made of stone, and why the pipe stem is made of wood, were explained. The role of the stone in ceremony, particularly the stone’s special function as spiritual spokesperson for a stumbling, bumbling, stuttering, inchoate humanity, patiently working away at getting the message right, became clear to me.

Twenty years on as a stone carver, and professionally so, but with no formal exposure to western theories of art, I began to encounter non-indigenous artists, and hear their opinions about what they did and why they did it. As my profession as a stone carver advanced, I gradually became aware that most artists, even indigenous artists, if trained in a real art school, took personal responsibility for designing and constructing their art work.

Thirty-six years on as a stone carver I see that the I/me/mine theory of western civilization is shaky, shaken, while still running on blindly over its evolutionary cliff-edge. The lemmings in the middle of the pack are making an anxious discussion about their short-term futures, shouted exchanges are heard above the general din of the stampede, and a few margin-dwelling souls are bolting off in different directions.

The Rock Spirit uses me like any one of the tools I use on my tool trolley, when I roll out into my studio yard. The Rock Spirit pounds on me, knocking off little chips here and there, gradually shaping my consciousness over time. The Rock Spirit contrives to have me leave messages for her/him, in a geological time-scale medium, granite; should there happen to be future human generations, they can contemplate what she/he is saying to them.

Indigenius socialism, through practiced humbility, re-directs the I/me/mine human tendency towards a mother earth/great mystery consciousness. I see this phenomenon as the watermark proof of authenticity of what I'll risk calling genuine indigenous art.

Western societies appropriate indigenous cultural phenomena while almost unthinkingly crushing indigenous realities. A current example is the adoption of various indigenous themes as winter Olympic mascots. By invoking mistanapew, mosom maskwa, mosom mikopeheysew and other indigenous spiritual beings as plush toy souvenirs of the 2010 Winter Olympics, while the entire region where the Olympics are being held is illegally occupied by Canada, is mocking both the notion of law as vigorously promoted by Canadians, and the spiritual relationship between indigenous peoples and the land which Canada claims as its dominion.

All of this passes below the level of consciousness for most Canadians, except, of course, the folks at the Dominion, of Canada.

Gifted with a white privilege suit on his Birth Day, Steinhauer has been slipping back and forth across the invisible boundary between Turtle Island and Canada, since 1952, in his lovely birthday suit. And this is what he saw.

Red Thunder's Gift

Art and Anarchy

dawn — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 06:45:23 +0000

Artists give the Cultural Olympiad the middle finger

VANCOUVER-As thousands of Canadian performers prepare for Olympic Ceremony auditions, a group of Vancouver artists is spreading the word. The F-word, that is.

With posters that simply read, “Fuck the Cultural Olympiad,” a recent underground art exhibit asked audiences to challenge the 2010 Games. The week-long show called Art and Anarchy used art to uncover the many perils of the looming "five-ring circus."

David Cunningham is a street performer and anti-poverty activist in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside. He is an organizer of Art and Anarchy who believes community art is being co-opted to disguise capitalist plunder.

“The only opportunity [the Vancouver Organizing Committee, VANOC] has to represent itself in the Downtown Eastside is to give money to artists,” Cunningham explained. “This creates a facade of progressiveness, where they can claim to be investing in the community.”

VANOC is responsible for organizing the 2010 Games and by 2010 they will have 1,400 full-time employees. The organization's management and board of directors is composed of lawyers, former cabinet ministers, former olympians and corporate executives.

According to Cunningham, small-art sponsorships create an illusion that VANOC is helping Canada’s poorest neighbourhood. In reality, housing promises have been abandoned, the cost of living is rising, and millions of taxpayer dollars have been frittered away—all for the sake of the 2010 Games.

In the basement of the historic Tellier Towers at 16E Hastings, Art and Anarchy showcased a rousing collection of sculptures, carvings, drawings, jewelry and photography. One sculpture—fashioned from spare lumber, chain-link fence and old propane tanks—was once used as a barricade during a tent city protest.

Among the artists’ ranks was Gord Hill: a carver, comic illustrator and vociferous Olympic resistor. He chose to exhibit a selection of black-and-white drawings distributed during anti-Olympic protests. “Most of them were used in posters or leaflet graphics,” he explained in an e-mail to The Dominion.

Hill said artistic expression has the potential to unite and educate a creative community that might not otherwise seek out information. “Art contributes to a culture of resistance, which is what we’re trying to build,” he said. “It’s a way to engage people and get them thinking about the issues.”

The art in Art and Anarchy challenges the audience to become more aware of their surroundings, because the effects of the Olympics are all around them on the streets of Vancouver's Downtown Eastside.

Cunningham observed, community art is sometimes used as a physical barrier, to divide and disguise parts of the neighbourhood. “As we move closer to the Olympics, art is being placed over fences. Art is literally being used as walls.”

Thousands of artists are currently being recruited to participate in the Olympic opening ceremonies and many existing events and rising talents have been brought into the pro-Olympic fold, thanks to funding from VANOC.

First Nations rapper Ostwelve performed as part of the One-Year Olympic Countdown Celebration in February. Though he later stood by his decision to perform in protest, Ostwelve reflected on some of the hardship he faced.

“I’ve heard both sides of the story and seen friendships and life-long connections shattered by the twisted politics of the Olympics,” he wrote in a statement posted on his Facebook page after the performance. “People I considered to be mentors and friends have called me a sell-out.”

Ostwelve maintains he didn't perform for the money, but rather to criticize the 2010 Games on a world stage. “I was surprised to be able to perform there as I felt that my messages of struggle and resistance were well known,” he said. “I never did the performance for money and have always had plans to give that money back to the community.”

While Art and Anarchy is highly critical of government funding and Olympic sponsorship, Cunningham acknowledged Ostwelve’s struggle. “We just want artists to see the strategy behind their funding,” he said. “If you’re going to take the money, recognize there are larger political forces at play.”

Sarah Berman is a Masters student of journalism at the University of British Columbia and a reporter for Megaphone Magazine in Vancouver, where a version of this article was previously published.

The Green Games?