On MKUltra, LSD, and Generational Trauma: The Upcoming Performances of Sarah Anne Johnson

For the last ten years, Sarah Anne Johnson has been making work in response to an unusual and deeply traumatic event in her family’s history. In 1956, nobody in the family suspected that Johnson’s grandmother, Velma Orlikow, was part of a secret medical study funded by the CIA. When she checked into Allan Memorial Hospital in Montréal, with what now would be diagnosed as post-partum depression, she unknowingly became a test subject in a subproject of MKUltra. The insidious medical study headed by Dr. Ewen Cameron at McGill subjected patients to electric shock therapy, sleep deprivation, heavy sedation, and large doses of LSD. The clandestine American agency hoped that the psychedelic drug could be used to psychologically control and extract information from individuals of national security interest at the height of the Cold War.

The psychological damage to the family was permanent and cyclical. “What happened to my grandmother,” Johnson explains, “is this horrible thing that never resolved. It got passed to my mom and to me; in my memory what the doctor did is a continual thing that’s still going on.” In a multidisciplinary body of work, Johnson reflects on this trauma by roleplaying as both her grandmother and the doctor. In the installation Hospital Hallway, which will be shown at Arsenal Contemporary New York in fall of 2018, Johnson performs the desperate acts of a medical patient. Wearing a mask of her grandmother’s face, her intense choreographed dance struggles against the walls of a custom-built octagonal hallway, her body following a loop without exit.

The Cave, which will be shown at Julie Saul Gallery in New York, is a frozen, icy room at the heart of the imaginary house Johnson built for her grandmother. What should be the kitchen, or the warmest room of the house, has been damaged by the psychological effects of MKUltra. Inside The Cave, Johnson is dressed in a doctor’s uniform, performing a circular dance with a languid, nude doll whose head periodically rolls back. “He’s in the lead. The doctor is in control and she’s vulnerable,” Johnson notes, “he’s just dancing around at her expense.” It is a slow, depressing waltz without music that digs itself under the skin. As onlookers, our detached view makes us complicit in the torture before us, like those scientific gazes that witness and carefully chart a woman’s suffering from behind glass.

Sarah Anne Johnson’s upcoming exhibitions include “Rosy Fingered Dawn” at Julie Saul Gallery in New York, which opens May 5th, 2018; a group show at the MET Breuer in September 2018; and parallel presentations of The Cave and Hospital Hallway at Julie Saul.

Written by Anna Kovler

Sarah Anne Johnson. Velma Orlikow. 2008. 20 x 26 in. Graphite on Inkjet.


Sarah Anne Johnson. Hospital Hallway, displayed with monitors between live performances. Upcoming installation and performances at Arsenal Contemporary New York, fall 2018.


Sarah Anne Johnson. Performing Hospital Hallway. 2015.


Sarah Anne Johnson. Stills from The Cave, 2018. To be performed at Julie Saul Gallery New York, September 2018.


A Future We Do Not Yet Know: In The Studio With An Te Liu

by Anna Kovler

In a defunct, light-filled car garage, An Te Liu is wrapping up production of his new bronze sculptures in preparation for the Armory Show in New York. Casts, molds, and waxes lie on the floor amid dozens of slender plinths casting their shadows on the white concrete floor. Working in a renovated mechanic’s shop, with its original brick walls and garage doors, perfectly suits Liu’s fascination with the aesthetic of ruins and the inevitability of change.

His forms hover between identifiable objects and strange, mysterious artifacts. A small sculpture vaguely recalls a skull, while another references a partial body in motion. Next to those, a blackened disco ball hangs from the ceiling. Another bronze looks like a piece of petrified Styrofoam, and two works resemble orphaned car parts. Whether organic or technological, all things decay; the solids and metals with which we build our worlds perhaps are just ways of buying time. Like a science fiction novel, Liu’s sculptures propose what our objects might look like if unearthed thousands of years from now, their surfaces tarnished as if from fire, or polished like pebbles in the sea.

I’ll Be Your Mirror (2018) reminds me of something, but I can’t quite tell what. Like thunderbolts, two rust colored bronze pieces emerge from the plinth, connected in the middle by something resembling a stick. “I’ve been looking at driftwood,” Liu explains, “how something just erodes away after millions of years.” The shape of the sculpture comes from the taillights of the new Honda Fit, a modest but sporty hatchback. As though fossilized or petrified, the taillights have fused together with the driftwood at centre. A picture comes to mind of a forest floor on which the roots of a powerful tree have subsumed or punctured the Honda, forcing its tendrils into the car’s plastic and glass.

Liu’s references are as diverse as his inspirations. He has been recently looking at the tortured figures in Francis Bacon’s paintings with their shifting planes, deformed expressions, and otherworldly features. The influence of Futurist sculptors like Brancusi and Boccioni is also strongly felt. But unlike the Futurists, whose unwavering embrace of technological innovation spurred an imagining of new futures, Liu’s sculptures carry a heavy awareness of our civilization’s decline, its wreckage and foreclosure. Standing before his corroded disco ball or relics of taillights, one feels a bit like one of the travelers in a Romantic or Neoclassical landscape painting, stumbling upon the ruins of a coliseum, temple, or castle. Feelings of awe and melancholy arise in equal measure, calling forth a future we do not yet know, or one that has already passed.

An Te Liu will be exhibiting at the 2018 Armory Show in Booth #P16 of the Presents section from March 8 – 11. Upcoming exhibitions include “Nothing Stable Under Heaven” at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art from March 3 – September 16, 2018, “The House Imaginary” at the San Jose Museum of Art from April 20- August 9, 2018, “bust/boom” at the New Gallery in Calgary from May – June 2018, an exhibition at Marso Gallery in Mexico City and a solo exhibition at Division Gallery in Toronto which opens September 6, 2018.

An Te Liu’s Toronto studio, 2018.


An Te Liu, The Party’s Over, 2017. Bronze, 12 inches diameter. Ed 3 of 4.


An Te Liu in his Toronto studio, 2018.


An Te Liu, Halcyon Drift (Bubba), 2018. Bronze, 17 3/8 x 18 x 13 ½ in. Ed 1 of 3.


An Te Liu in his Toronto studio, 2018.


An Te Liu, Nonorganic Life, 2017. Bronze, 12 x 5 x 6 in, Ed 4 of 5.

The Spaces We Inhabit: In the Studio with John Monteith

by Anna Kovler

My first question upon entering John Monteith’s studio was: which part of your body gets hurt from making these? My hand, and especially my thumb, he replied, from pressing into the pencil for so long.

Dozens of intricate drawings on drafting film line the walls of Monteith’s studio, colorful, precise compositions drawn with such razor-sharp accuracy and expanses of evenly colored shapes as to require vast amounts of concentration. It can be a refuge to get lost in the task of making abstract forms: there is joy in drawing a perfect line, a thin arc in yellow, or hatching in a pale blue square. This is especially true when something in the drawing can surprise us, when something is revealed during the act of making a mark.

Working with found imagery and a personal archive of photographic references, Monteith abstracts from images of interiors, urban spaces, models and architectural propositions to first create a grey scale composition on one side of a sheet of translucent drafting film. He then flips the sheet over, and responds to the first side in colored pencil. The resulting drawing becomes a hybrid of the front and back, a third drawing in which a single shape can shift in value, darkening and lightening in response to the backside of the film. In every drawing there is a hint at something below the surface, something not immediately seen.

Monteith uses techniques of layering and methods of abstraction to discuss subjectivities, shifting contextual perspectives, things hidden, revealed, interpreted, and reinterpreted in the urban landscape. A single house occupied by various owners over a number of years, a detail of a Le Corbusier apartment complex as experienced through a myriad of different eyes, a street or neighborhood as it changes and shifts over hundreds of years are all subjects of interest.

In a separate but related body of work, Monteith weaves drawings into his photographs. Traveling to diverse countries including Germany, North Korea, Vietnam, and Cuba, he photographs modernist and socialist modernist architecture. To achieve a softness that at first glance appears as a slight blur, these images are constructed of one hundred layers, shots of the same location with only miniscule changes in the camera’s position. Monteith then creates a drawing in response to each location, which is photographed and inserted as a layer into the digital photographic file. In the end we are left with something between a drawing and a photograph, a complex, dazzling layering of fact and fiction.

What draws Monteith to abstraction in relation to cities, buildings, and architecture is the possibility of infinite perspectives, of relationships between people and the built environment that are experimental, provisional, and ever changing. In his drawings and photographs I see a queerness defined not only through difference, but also through radical openness buttressed with dedication, responsiveness, and a true interest in the way we look at architecture, and by extension at one another.

John Monteith’s solo exhibition Resonances opens on April 5, 2018 at Division Gallery Toronto. His upcoming international solo exhibitions include Kindred Spirits at the Taipei Contemporary Art Centre, Taiwan in October, In Retrospect, as part of Beijing22, a five-year curatorial initiative hosted by I Project Space, Beijing, China where he will be in residency in November and December, and an edition launching in May with Unique Multiples, Madrid, Spain.


John Monteith in his Toronto studio, 2018.


John Monteith, Southbank 5, Wax and Pigment Pencil on
Drafting Film, 2017, 24″ x 18″.


John Monteith, Southbank 6, Wax and Pigment Pencil on
Drafting Film, 2017, 24″ x 18″.


John Monteith, Platz 12, Archival Giclée photographs on Hahnemühle Fine Art Photo Matte Paper, 2017, 42″ x 28″.

John Monteith, Platz 1, Archival Giclée photographs on Hahnemühle Fine Art Photo Matte Paper, 2017, 42″ x 28″.

Materials (re)invented: Not Too High, Not That Low at Division Toronto

by Anna Kovler

To say that a woman has “come undone” is to say she has lost her composure or self-control. In the group show Not Too High, Not That Low at Division Gallery Toronto, seven woman artists, with works that showcase their precise and deliberate handling of materials in innovative ways, exhibit anything but a loss of composure.

Eleanor King’s (She’s come) Undone (2018) crowns the exhibition with the word undone painted crisply across several wood panels and un-stretched canvas adhered to the wall. Incorporating the raw material into the finished work, the panels stand on the same cans of household paint that were used to paint the entire composition. Dried green and blue paint runs loosely down the sides of the cans in messy drips that contrast with the hard-edged, straight lines of the spelled-out word. In a single work, King brings together opposing elements: chance and control, support and artwork, raw material and finished work. This playful awareness of the physicality and history of art materials is echoed in many works in the exhibition.

Both Angela Teng and Tammi Campbell turn paint into a sculptural material, pushing the paint far beyond its normal mode of application. Teng creates yarn out of paint by squeezing it out of a tube before crocheting it into abstract compositions. Her work marries the quaint and domestic women’s craft of crocheting with the historically male-dominated sphere of hard-edge abstraction. In a similar process, Campbell turns paint into what looks like bubble wrap and tape, producing the uncanny illusion that the minimal compositions hanging on the gallery walls have not yet been unwrapped.

A paper tapestry by Myriam Dion also alludes to craft and traditional women’s work. She uses an X-Acto knife to cut thousands of tiny teardrop holes from newspaper pages, turning contemporary news into decorative motifs. In the centre of this large, intricate work, a unicorn lies dead on a red blanket below The New York Times logo, raising the question of whether this is a found image or a fictional scenario invented by the artist. A testament to Dion’s laborious and precise process, the tapestry references craft while relying on newspapers. There is the inevitable suggestion here that the news is also crafted, a fiction woven together like rugs and tapestries.

Hanging in a row, eight canvases from Wanda Koop’s Still (2017) series feature cascading colors resembling a sky at sunrise or sunset, with the canvases loosely representing the spaces between urban skyscrapers. Koop highlights the vertical edges of each painting, showing only a poetic sliver of the monumental buildings. As the eye bounces between centre and edge, trying to distinguish between foreground and background, we recognize the artist’s coy self-awareness as she manipulates our expectations and the optical possibilities of paint.

Like Cinderella’s lost slipper, Brittany Shepherd’s stray gloves lay on the gallery floor. Made of hardened polyurethane, the gloves can pass as belonging equally to a cleaning woman or to a glamorous woman. Whomever they belong to, they have been thrown off and left behind, along with the expectations attached to those identities. Bea Fremderman’s apple and pear sculptures recall either Sleeping Beauty’s poisoned apple or Eve’s original sin. Bites taken out of the fruits reveal their inside to be Styrofoam, enriching the biblical and fairytale allusions with contemporary questions of plastic waste and over-consumption.

Unafraid of evoking traditional crafts or well-worn narratives, the seven artists in this exhibition invert, challenge, and master the materials they chose and the histories told by those materials. The distinctions between craft and art, and between women’s and men’s work, may seem outdated now, and yet the work here shows them to still be in need of reconsideration, rebuttal, and celebration.

Not Too High Not That Low is on view at Division Toronto from January 23 – March 3, 2018.



By Anna Kovler

In one of the few remaining light industrial neighborhoods in Toronto, a massive studio building houses Towards, an emerging independent art gallery. “Vacancies” is the seventh show at the gallery, a three-person exhibition featuring ceramic sculptures by Sameer Farooq, etchings on glass by Joshua Vettivelu, and a sculptural installation by Abbas Akhavan.

Placed on white shelves running down a long wall in the gallery are Sameer Farooq’s pale copies and imprints of museum packaging materials. What are generally considered practical, unprecious materials that support the “valuable” artwork – plastic wrap, tissue paper, and air-filled tubes – transform into the artwork through the artist’s intervention. Farooq creates traces of these objects by casting them in porcelain or using paper clay, which he folds almost like a skin over wads of museum wrapping tissue. Displayed unpreciously as an inventory of things, the white copies sit, numbered and patched in places, like wounded ghosts or death masks resting on a scientist’s shelf.

Displayed on the floor beside Farooq’s pale sculptures is Abbas Akhavan’s after Untitled, a white 2-ply tissue paper the size of a queen-sized blanket. The installation is Akhavan’s homage to Felix Gonzales-Torres’ haunting photograph of an empty bed. And yet the oversized Kleenex, thin and vulnerable on the floor, cannot keep anyone warm, but could perhaps catch the tears of many people in a moment of overflowing collective grief. Both Farooq’s inventory of undocumented objects and Akhavan’s large tissue evoke meditation on recent global conflicts, the refugee crisis, and flow of undocumented, hidden people across the world’s borders, and the allowance to cry for these unfathomably sad events, to mourn.

Upon a tall plinth are Joshua Vettivelu’s drawings of gay white supremacists, etched onto glass. Arranged in a circle, the glass rectangles show men engaging in a variety of activities, some erotic, others violent. Appearing shirtless and muscular, the men play out archetypes of “strong” masculinity, a performance the artist subverts by placing the men onto glass, a see-through and fragile material. Vettivelu’s disturbing yet poetic sculpture allows us to see right through displays of racist aggressive masculinity, as nothing more than a reaction caused by these men’s deep vulnerability.

A sense of thoughtful sadness pervades the exhibition. Taken together, the works evoke the different kinds of ghosts that haunt us, the ghosts of both loved ones and those whom we denounce, of institutions and their blind spots, of the sacred and of the mundane.

“Vacancies” is on view at Towards gallery at 87 Wade Ave. Suite B1 in Toronto from December 7 – January 6, 2018.

Lovable Hustlers: The Paintings of Michael Harrington

Lovable Hustlers: The Paintings of Michael Harrington

by Anna Kovler

The social interactions depicted in Michael Harrington’s paintings are mysterious. Men in plush interiors make business deals over cocktails. Women with sharp red nails and dandies in brightly colored suits mingle in mod-style living rooms. These characters and the settings they occupy seethe with an almost sleazy, comical air proper to outdated fashions and hapless hustlers. The Elvis side burns, colorful synthetic suits, aviator sunglasses, handlebar moustaches, and flowery wallpaper paint a nostalgic picture of era at once fabulous and overwrought.

In Jungle Trio and Friends (2017), three men in matching tiger print jackets are joined by two brightly suited men and two bodyguards. Sporting Elvis hairstyles in what looks like a green room or corner of a nightclub, the men stand discussing some undisclosed order of business. One grins jovially as he clasps his hands together, his fingers adorned with large gold rings. Maybe he just closed a deal. Or maybe this is just a way of passing time.

Past styles have a way of making people look funny. Harrington’s vintage scenarios elicit both a chuckle and desire for a time now long out of reach. Even if the styles in these works have an historical accuracy, the artist has made up most of the compositions and characters, constructing a new reality. Harrington paints loosely, with a single daub forming a mouth or moustache, imbuing his scenes with a fuzziness akin to the way memories or dreams are experienced. Looking at his hustlers, their ornate outfits blurring with the décor of their scene, it becomes apparent that the colors of memories, dreams, and paintings are always either brighter or darker than waking life.

Michael Harrington’s new paintings are on view at Katharine Mulherin in Toronto from November 24- December 24, 2017.

Born in the Digital: The Universe According to Nicolas Baier

Born in the Digital: The Universe According to Nicolas Baier

Humans have been wondering about the nature and shape of the universe long before the birth of the sciences. Early drawings of the earth show it as a flat disc covered by a semi-circular dome containing the sun, moon, and stars. More modern theories represent the universe as a donut, a saddle, or a dodecahedron – a three dimensional shape with twelve flat faces. Nicolas Baier is interested in contemporary scientific theories of the universe and the digital technologies that allow us to map it. Using specialized software, and in consultation with an astrophysicist at CERN, Baier tries to do the impossible: to capture the universe in an artwork.


“Asterisms,” the title of his exhibition at Division Gallery in Toronto, references the random patterns created by connecting the most prominent stars in our celestial sphere, similar in ways to the constellations used in Astrology. In Constellations Or 1 (2017), Baier turns these computer-generated, interstellar connections into a digitally carved relief of geometric planes. The gilded surface of the work can be said to represent the whole observable universe.


Baier’s work is preoccupied with hard to measure phenomena like cosmic rays, fossil radiation, dark matter, and neurological pathways. Yet of equal interest for him is the expansion of digital technologies to capture these processes and the mass amounts of data required in order to better understand our world. Jungle (2017) depicts a long hallway lined with rows upon rows of servers vanishing into the distance. Carved with a CNC router, the surface of grey peaks and valleys looks haphazard from up close but fixes into a clear image from further away. It is a haunting reality where the digital seems as infinite as the universe itself.


Baier makes use of computer software that creates models of the earth’s atmosphere at different times. The software is able to go back through the data of time to construct hypothetical models of what the clouds in the sky looked like millions of years ago. In Réminiscence 5 (2016), fiery, scarlet-red clouds fade into yellow and amber, representing what the sky would have looked like 65 million years ago on the eve of the extinction of the dinosaurs. Like many of the works in this exhibition, this apocalyptic cloudscape reveals how advanced our technologies are, but also their fundamental limitations. Nothing could ever capture the magnitude or intensity of an asteroid hitting the earth, but our representations, both in science and art, continue to try.


Nicolas Baier’s exhibition “Asterisms” is on view at Division Gallery in Toronto from October 27, 2017 until January 3, 2018.


By Anna Kovler

Seen by the Water: Marlene Creates and Fogo Island

Seen by the Water: Marlene Creates and Fogo Island


by Anna Kovler


For Marlene Creates, the landscape is not simply something we look at and represent. It is also something that looks back at us. That her exhibition takes place on Fogo Island in Newfoundland makes this reciprocal looking even more emphatic. It is nearly impossible to exert one’s will over nature here, even in the imagination. As a glacially formed island, Fogo exerts a presence that humbles the most self-assured visitor. Here an ancient metamorphic rock-bed meets gusting winds, low shrubs, countless ponds, arctic drift ice, and acres of undeveloped Crown land.

Marlene Creates “To The Blast Hole Pond River” at the Fogo Island Gallery.

Walking into the Fogo Island Gallery we see large photographs of a particular spot on Creates’ Newfoundland property at different times of the year, snapshots of wild animals at the same location, and self-portraits taken by the artist with a camera submerged underwater in the river that flows through her forest. Looking up through the river, Creates’ face appears warped and wonky, melting into the trees behind her, morphed by the effect of water on the camera’s lens. As the water sees it, a woman is not much different than the trees, sky, and landscape of which she is a part.

“Squish” studio, one of six studios of the Fogo Island Arts residency, an initiative of the Shorefast Foundation.


Belonging to the land, even when it’s harsh, is a sense that runs deep through Fogo Island’s mythology. From songs describing the near-death trials of fishers and sealers to more recent struggles to revive a community hit hard by the collapse of the cod fishery in 1992, the commitment to living on Fogo, like the rocks that reign here, is monumental. The Fogo Island Inn – a white, angular modern structure the size of a ship – houses the Fogo Island Gallery and was designed by Newfoundland architect Todd Saunders and staffed by local residents. Founded by Zita Cobb, who was born on the island, the Inn belongs to a wider resilience initiative that includes an artist residency, lending fund for small businesses, heritage building preservation, and a furniture business.

Seeing a place remotely through photographs has never been easier, but what people who live on or visit Fogo want is to be seen by it. Creates captures this desire when she plunges her camera down into the frigid water season after season, blurring her own image and distinct identity in the process. This is a landscape people learned to fit into rather than re-make or mould. But it is not all tumultuous storms and rock sheets here. As the icebergs melt and crack in the summer heat, a constant gentle breeze sways the blueberry bushes and wildflowers, and the doors on the colorful clapboard houses creak.


Marlene Creates, “To The Blast Hole Pond River” is on view at the Fogo Island Gallery from May 18- October 15, 2017. Curated by Alexandra McIntosh and Nicolaus Schafhausen.

Marlene Creates, Spring 2003, excerpt from Water Flowing to the Sea Captured at the Speed of Light, Blast Hole Pond River, Newfoundland 2002-2003. Pair of chromogenic photographic prints, each 40 x 60 inches.

Harmony in Opposites: Jennifer Lefort at Division Gallery Toronto

Harmony in Opposites: Jennifer Lefort at Division Gallery Toronto

by Anna Kovler


If there are binary opposites in the language of paint, Jennifer Lefort exploits them to the fullest in her current exhibition at Division Gallery in Toronto. In her monumental abstract paintings, thin washy paint nestles beside thick oily marks, while a gesture made with a broom-sized brush is contrasted with a skinny line sketched with a piece of chalk. Wet is set against dry, layers against erasures, proximity against distance, dark against light. With so many opposing forces at play, it is surprising the compositions exude a sense of stability rather than antagonism or pure chaos.

Jennifer Lefort. Poker Face, 2017. Oil and spray paint on canvas.

In Grand Salon of Ideas (2016), the largest work in the exhibition, black spidery shapes hover on a ground of pink and light purple, surrounded by a chorus of spray-painted lines. As the confident black shapes advance forward, the soft, spray painted background dissolves, giving the impression of receding in the way a distant mountain appears blurry to the eye. At once recalling the palette of graffiti and the speed of abstract expressionism, this painting brings together another pair of so-called opposites, the “high-minded” realm of fine art and “lowbrow” street culture.

In No level field (2016) Lefort maximizes the optical play between foreground and background, creating the illusion of deep space but simultaneously emphasizing the flatness of the painted surface. Here a cast of expressive blue, orange, and yellow shapes sits close to the surface, while silhouetted shapes in the dark background read like a distant, receding landscape. Opposing forces are brought together and neutralized, flattened in unison on the picture plane. Providing the space for radical difference to coexist is no small feat. By balancing opposing forces, Lefort suggests that difference is actually a good thing, that the high and the low, the close and the far, the dark and the light, can occupy the same space, and rather than cancel each other out, provide an exciting, harmonious variety.

Jennifer Lefort. No level field. Oil and spray paint on canvas.


Jennifer Lefort, “Desires and Relationships” is on view at Division Gallery in Toronto from September 14 to October 14, 2017.




Bringing Down Giants: Duane Linklater’s Public Commission in the Don Valley River Park

Bringing Down Giants: Duane Linklater’s Public Commission in the Don Valley River Park

by Anna Kovler

People in Toronto refer to the Don River Valley Park as a refuge from the congestion of the city, with its long and lush strip of trees and trails skirting along the river. Two hundred years ago this might have been true. Today, the chorus of the cicadas and crickets in the mid-summer park cannot compete with the loud hum of the highway. The subway rattles overhead, passing over the massive Prince Edward Viaduct, which was constructed in 1918 to connect Bloor Street on the west with Danforth Avenue on the east. Originally dubbed the “Road to Nowhere” – since the east side of Toronto was sparsely populated at the time – the century old nickname for the bridge rings true again, only for different reasons. Energy towers and power lines hover above the canopy of trees, and the Don River sits murky and stagnant, its greenish brown water barely suitable for a few ducks. This polluted nexus of industry, energy, and transportation is where Duane Linklater’s new public sculptures, a series of concrete gargoyles, dwell.


Sculpted as replicas of actual gargoyles found on significant buildings in Toronto, the fallen gatekeepers lie in a grouping beside a thicket of stinging nettles along the walking and biking trail. The sting of the nettle, a medicinal and edible plant native to North America, is a perfect metaphor for the sting of Linklater’s gesture. Gargoyles have long been symbols of Western power, becoming an important architectural feature on Gothic cathedrals in Medieval Europe. Their function was to scare people into going to church, and more practically, to act as rain spouts. Today gargoyles reign over civic buildings too, their eternally open mouths and bulging eyes demanding loyalty to the country. National loyalty doesn’t come naturally to Linklater, an Omaskêko Cree artist from Moose Cree First Nation. By bringing down the gargoyles from their perch, he renders them impotent, their exaggerated features becoming funny and awkward from up close, too silly to frighten anyone.


What are the Gargoyles protecting, now that they are down on the earth? Repurposed by Linklater, perhaps the mythical figures ought to scare joggers, cyclists, and dog walkers into becoming better stewards of the land, and to wonder what it was like here before the “Road to Nowhere” was built, before the water in the river was brown.


Duane Linklater’s public sculpture commission, Monsters for Beauty, Permanence and Individuality was curated by Kari Cwynar with support from Evergreen, a Canadian charity with the mission to transform public landscapes into thriving community spaces and restoring the health of local ecologies. This is a long-term installation that was unveiled on September 23, 2017.

Duane Linklater, Monsters for Beauty, Permanence and Individuality, 2017. Photo by Yuula Benivolski, courtesy of Evergreen.


Duane Linklater, Monsters for Beauty, Permanence and Individuality, 2017. Photo by Yuula Benivolski, courtesy of Evergreen.


Duane Linklater, Monsters for Beauty, Permanence and Individuality, 2017. Photo by Yuula Benivolski, courtesy of Evergreen.