Arts & Culture

A Room With a View - A Look at the Gladstone's Most Recent Show

KAROLINA WISNIEWSKI
Staff Writer

I like to think I’m fairly in touch with local galleries, but for years, my unfamiliarity with the Gladstone had left a gaping hole in my mental rolodex (yes, rolodex) of relevant culture spots. It had taken on an almost mythological quality in my mind, representing a cultural and social mecca that was emblematic of top-tier independent Toronto art. Never having visited such a relevant institution, I consequently felt disconnected from a portion of the city’s arts scene.

When I heard it was hosting the opening reception for it’s 9th annual alternative design event, Come Up To My Room on Saturday, January 28th, I jumped on the chance to see it. The premise of the show was to transform 11 rooms on Gladstone’s second floor into whatever the artists and designers wanted. I had looked over the curatorial statement and even had a pleasant exchange with the artistic director about securing a few photos to include in my review. He was helpful and professional, which was decidedly refreshing, considering the last time I emailed a curator explaining I was an Osgoode student writing for the on-campus paper and asking for some pictures, I received the flippant and slightly frustrating answer: “hahaha. what a weird place for a review. sure, we can get you some pics”.

Long story short, all signs pointed to a fantastic opening reception, and I was eager to see what I had been missing for so long. I came expecting a quirky but sophisticated show that straddled the distinction between boring King West elitism and back-door DIY student run affairs; what exactly that might look like I wasn’t sure, but I knew it wouldn’t disappoint.

And disappoint it didn’t. I arrived to find an absolutely packed reception area, completely disorienting save for the queue snaking its way up the stairs (fitting, given the event’s name), pointing the way to the show. The hordes of people waiting to get in were only a taste of what was waiting inside. I entered, squeezing and jostling my way through a crowd of sweaty plaid-shirts and patterned tights (the temperature was akin to that of a sauna), feeling more like I was at a club than a gallery. Music blared through insufficient looking speakers, barely sustaining the ear splitting decibels of M83’s Midnight City pumping through them. Above me hung Interstice Studio, a sprawling blanket of paperclips suspended from the ceiling of the lobby, cradling the makeshift bar underneath it. Impressive as the installation was, it wasn’t what I had come here to see. Itching to discover what the artists and designers had done with the rooms, I set off in whichever direction looked least crammed and most easily navigable (an extremely relative valuation).

The first room I stumbled upon contained Tinsel & Sawdust by Janna Watson and Katrina Tompkins. An abstract painting hung on a wall, evocative of a less gestural Francis Bacon, or else, a more visceral Jackson Pollock. On the ground before it, there lay its mirror image in the form of a carpet, complete with scattered bottles and thread, evoking a still-in-progress feeling. Was this a commentary on art imitating life (or vice versa)? Or an existential musing on the individual’s constant pursuit of some unattainable ideal? The rich blue tones of the artwork contrasted brilliantly with yellow walls, creating a visually gratifying, if slightly inaccessible final product.

Next, I found an apparently untitled installation by Fugitive Glue, a design collective, which consisted of rusted propane tanks stacked atop one another, forming a square. They described the piece by the term “UPHOARDING”: gathering waste objects for up-cycling, which I assumed was some superior form of recycling. There’s a fine line between provocative, challenging art that nonetheless manages to hit a topical note and hipster rhetoric, jumping on whatever bandwagon is most convenient (eco-friendliness today, gay rights tomorrow) to lend itself legitimacy as a guardian of social welfare. This effort encroached on the territory of the latter.

After this, I made my way back to the lobby, looking to brave the crowds and get a drink from the bar. A few moments later, I heard a loud pop immediately followed by lapping flames emerging from one of the worn speakers. A panicked bartender yelled for the DJ to turn the music off and tore the mounted speaker out of the wall. I was equal parts worried and amused. I casually imagined the old and predominantly wooden building set ablaze, but remained rooted where I was – I had to see how the stupefied bartender would find his way out of this conundrum. He was apparently wondering the same thing as he held the burning speaker under his arm until the flames came a little too close for comfort, at which point he threw it on the ground, cutting off the oxygen and extinguishing the flames. Not surprisingly, on a subsequent trip to the bathroom, I saw the slain speaker lying defunct in the bathtub under a pile of ice. I guess that’s as good a place as any.

Next I found myself in the room styled by merk!, a group of “design provocateurs” who had suspended bed sheets from the ceiling, creating a maze lit by glaring red lights. Flashlights were handed out to guests who shone the UV lights along the linens, discovering designs invisible to the naked eye. Adjacent to it was Darklab, a sound and sculpture installation. A brightly lit pseudo-tentacle occupied the centre of the room, which was otherwise completely unlit, as ambient and eerie sound effects drifted in from speakers. I didn’t know quite what to make of it, but the sacrosanct silence of the room struck a chord with all who entered, offering solace from the frenetic crowds outside.

Wendy W Fox’s room transformation was undoubtedly my favorite. On the wall, there were mounted foam sculptures, thin and flat, twisting in various directions. The uneven edges cast shadows, and the incredibly friendly artist was glad to point out to guests that the shadows were actually mini cityscapes of New York, London, Hong Kong and Vienna. Realization of this was only attainable through patience and investigation, thereby forcing the audience to earn their enjoyment of the piece, something contemporary art rarely does. In a world where a blank canvas constitutes “art” (not that that’s a bad thing), where we’re always looking for quick and easy stimulation, where gallery-goers have (for the most part) long forgotten the lost art of meditative appreciation of a piece, Fox’s work was refreshing and rewarding, not to mention visually stunning.

Gareth Bate’s Jewel Net of Indra was another favorite of mine. One thousand small circular mirrors patterned the wall, on three hundred of which were painted the busts of iconic individuals, both current and historic. It was the sort of piece that draws the viewer in, encouraging them to engage in their own guessing game, spotting everyone from Albert Einstein to Princess Diana. If accessibility and the establishment of a dialogue with viewers was what they were going for, the artists couldn’t have done better.

Though not one of the room installations, Matthew Blunderfield and Skanda Lin’s installation was another highlight. A myriad of electronic objects (artifacts?) seemingly floated in mid-air, suspended from above, creating a dome into which guests were invited to step. Standing beneath a net of fragmented computers and cell phones produced a striking effect. Divorced from their everyday context, dismantled until scarcely recognizable, these bits of technology, many of which are now obsolete, painted a picture of the digitalization of our culture, moving forward at break-neck speed, too self-absorbed to be interested in the relics it leaves behind. The irony of a girl standing next to me, texting on her iPhone4S, was almost too much to bear.

Another delightful public space installation was Building Ties by Sonia Tyagi. A sea of bow ties were fastened together, creating a quirky and off-kilter take on a traditional Persian wall rug. The colors and textures of each bow tie drew you in for a closer look, but it was just as stunning seeing it all come together from a distance.

As crowds started to trickle out of Come Up To My Room, my friends and I began to do the same. As we were leaving, one of us noticed we had missed the installation in Mirrored Room with Shiny Spinning Things, which we quickly realized was locked. I joined the other confused-looking guests as we stood outside, wondering if it were appropriate to knock. Just then, a flustered woman brushed by us, moving towards the door, which opened just as she approached. I couldn’t see very well, but from behind the now considerably sized group of people I managed to peer a fidgety man opening the door, looking gleeful. The door quickly closed again, and I asked the gallery-goers around me if they knew what was happening. “The artist’s having a moment”, one woman said to me, nodding knowingly, injecting the air with a palpable sense of mysticism and enigma. I’m still not entirely sure what that meant, but it was a very fitting end to a fantastic art show that featured some peculiar antics, as they all should.