|
|
|
3 distinct canvases (acrylic, collaged papers, permanent marker on unstretched canvas, 8’x22’)
Commissioned by the Canadian Ocean Literacy Coalition, Ottawa Canada
Themes: Ocean . Sustainability . Creation Care . Dialogue
Commissioned by the Canadian Ocean Literacy Coalition, Ottawa Canada
Themes: Ocean . Sustainability . Creation Care . Dialogue
|
I never considered Canada as an ocean-faring nation, and yet here we are – more coastline than any other country in the world. When I was commissioned to do this piece, the emphasis was on literacy. Five artists from 5 different regions of Canada were to use art as a means to take the pulse on ocean literacy. My region was the landlocked interior. I think Rockies, wheat fields and cattle, not oceans. The large humpbacked whale was an intentional attention grabber to draw people in. Like many of my pieces these days, my intent was to invite conversation and have people write on the painting. It so happened that I set to take this piece on the road to gather words from fellow interior Canadians, coronavirus hit and everything cancelled. Instead, I went on to social media platforms and heard from people that way. The response was unexpected: provocative, funny, poignant, lyrical, silly, challenging.
|
|
What was accomplished?
There were conversations. Memories were evoked and stories were shared, some of which I was privileged to hear. But more importantly, I participated in the asking of searching questions. What actually got written on these canvases was a fraction of what was spoken. How does one measure that? One individual shared that she and her friends had an animated discussion ranging from plastics to politics, mixed with memories of clam digs and surfing. It got too much to summarize; she simply wrote, “Thank-you”.
And quiet gazes. Individuals stood in front of the whale long moments and spoke no words at all. “Why does this make me want to cry…?” one person asked. Another stood in front of the hands and wondered at the clamorous nature of them. I hadn’t intended them to be that way, I replied. We’re takers, he said, we must change.
As for the artist? I spent days, weeks, in the solitude of my studio painting a great whale I knew nothing about. As the whale took form, the two of us began a dialogue, spaced out between stretches of silence as we observed one another, curious, thinking about the other’s world. We are not the same after this encounter, of that I am certain.
There were conversations. Memories were evoked and stories were shared, some of which I was privileged to hear. But more importantly, I participated in the asking of searching questions. What actually got written on these canvases was a fraction of what was spoken. How does one measure that? One individual shared that she and her friends had an animated discussion ranging from plastics to politics, mixed with memories of clam digs and surfing. It got too much to summarize; she simply wrote, “Thank-you”.
And quiet gazes. Individuals stood in front of the whale long moments and spoke no words at all. “Why does this make me want to cry…?” one person asked. Another stood in front of the hands and wondered at the clamorous nature of them. I hadn’t intended them to be that way, I replied. We’re takers, he said, we must change.
As for the artist? I spent days, weeks, in the solitude of my studio painting a great whale I knew nothing about. As the whale took form, the two of us began a dialogue, spaced out between stretches of silence as we observed one another, curious, thinking about the other’s world. We are not the same after this encounter, of that I am certain.
|
|
|