Filtering by: solo exhibitions
Rita McKeough: feel through the deepness to see
Apr.
27
to Jun. 18

Rita McKeough: feel through the deepness to see

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Regina Public Library, Central Branch (map)
  • Google Calendar ICS

Rita McKeough, darkness is as deep as the darkness is , 2020. Courtesy the artist, Walter Phillips Gallery, Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity. Photo by: Donald Lee

In feel through the deepness to see, a new immersive exhibition by celebrated media and performance artist Rita McKeough, we journey below ground, where plants and animals gather and try to make sense of the activities of machines that labour above. Together, we are invited to imagine interspecies relationships beyond the destructive exploitation of extractive industrialism.

The exhibition is the third iteration of a series, including darkness is as deep as the darkness is, curated by Jacqueline Bell at the Walter Philips Gallery, and dig as deep as the darkness, curated by Dylan McHugh for the Richmond Art Gallery.

The exhibition is supported by the Canada Council for the Arts, the Alberta Foundation for the Arts, and the Gail and Stephen A. Jarislowsky Outstanding Artist Program. The artist would also like to thank the Canada Council for the Arts, the Alberta Foundation of the Arts and Alberta University of the Arts, Bemis Centre for Contemporary Art for their generous support and everyone who contributed to the production of this work.

Essay

 Underground With You in Rita McKeough’s feel through the deepness to see 

 

By Lindsey french  
 
Hey, hey! Come closer. Come closer. We need to talk to you. We need your help.”    --Roses 

We wanted to hear what the roses say -- and now we find ourselves in an underground bunker where insects, animals, and plants are recovering from the disaster above. We are guests, listening in on a conversation between bear and cranberry as they check in on each other in the wake of disaster.  

 

What does it mean to be a listener? As a social practice, listening establishes relationships. The deeply contextual nature of listening is complicated by inherent biases, worldviews, and approaches that we bring to our listening practices, a concept which Dylan Robinson describes as listening positionality. Listening positionality is not easily summarized by our identity markers, but is a richer, thicker process of understanding the social contexts we listen among – and when we are guests in someone else’s sound territories.1  Listening built on relationships of shared power can resist assimilative and extractive logics that guide our relationships with other beings. 

 

The sonic space we visit in the bunker of feel through the deepness to see includes a conversation between bear and cranberry, above a chugging combustion engine and heartbeat rhythm, occasionally interrupted by a blast of loud sound. Though this is an imaginary world, it's a dangerous one, and we are implicated as both guests and witnesses within the narrative of this interspecies assemblage that, while related to, is different from our own. 

 

feel through the deepness to see operates with a dose of anthropomorphism, but McKeough’s aim isn’t to prescribe human characteristics to these plants and animals. Instead, she’s interested in translation between species, an interest I share – not because translation allows full understanding, but precisely because translations are flawed. There is value in developing relationships of uncertainty which make such interspecies queries possible. Gaps in translation create spaces for vulnerability, and confronting the limits of understanding can create conditions for learning or change.  

 

Some biological definitions consider communication to be established when a signal from a sender causes a change in the behavior of the receiver.2 This scientific definition of interspecies communication focuses less on a message’s fidelity, and more on the capacity of the receiver to be affected. I feel vulnerable when I enter the main installation room where extraction towers loom above, duplicated by cast shadows. Sword ferns stand guard, their tracery of dangling roots webbing across this subsoil environment, while claws and horns rise up in choreographies of warning signals. I feel the stakes of the situation before I can describe what they are.  

 

As my eyes adjust to the darkened room, I see pale ghosts of sword ferns at the blanched bases of the extraction towers. They are the honorable dead, having ingested and transformed toxins into their bodies in resistance to what Rob Nixon might refer to as the “slow violence” of environmental degradation, often invisible and impacting already disempowered communities.3 Here, we’re in the midst of this violence and its resistance, alongside the sword ferns and their horned and clawed comrades.  

 

For decades, McKeough’s work has asked questions about our relationship to land through humour, imagination, and introspection. At Saskatoon’s Mendel Art Gallery4 in 1986, McKeough offered a dark yet witty glimpse into the future in her installation Afterland Plaza, which she developed after researching uranium mining around Saskatchewan. Inside the gallery, a mall of the future was hawking polluted real estate, with displays of cows amidst uranium molecules, residential homes with filtered air propped above unlivable landscapes, and a soundtrack of mall announcements and infomercials. Years later for this exhibition at the Dunlop, she considers post-extractive futures of the province again, this time offering a different access point. Though both installations direct us toward critical reflection, any subtle whiffs of satire that may have floated through the sales pitches in Afterland Plaza’s filtered air are not detectable in the atmospheres of commoning of the underground burrows in feel through the deepness to see. Here, we gather earnestly in the dank richness of shared soil and of working through grief and resolve together, with care. There is a chill of sadness in the installation, but you don’t have to feel the sadness alone. You, too, might be buried underground in the future– but more importantly, you are there now, alive and witnessing the richness of interspecies coalition forming in the tangle of subsoil networks. 

 

The animals and plants in McKeough’s installation can’t escape the persistence of the machine, and neither can we –it resonates as a sonic beat within our bodies in the gallery, but also beyond, as we’re all implicated in extractive economies and technologies in different ways. Machines have cut the installation’s ferns from wood and programmable logic controllers trigger the installation’s theatrics for viewers. It is not necessarily the machines, but the extractive logics which insist (as we hear from the ferns), on “taking everything” and “sucking up everything that is not them.” Machines, like listening, can be turned toward extraction and assimilation; or they can be turned against it, inclined instead toward urgent stories of an era. McKeough crafts imaginary worlds and experiences of deep feeling, inviting us to investigate our own positionality in the very real narratives of extraction that play out in the region. She reminds us that resistance forms underground, and it’s not too cool for you to join. The roses’ request is transparent. You’re invited to listen, but you’re listening to a question – what are we going to do? In the rich coalitions of the soil, you become part of the we. You can be underground too, and in the darkness, we can feel our way forward together.  

Lindsey french (they/she) is an artist, educator and writer whose work considers positions of listening, receptivity, and marginality as valid and active political and communicative positions. Lindsey has shared their work widely in museums, galleries, screenings, and D.I.Y. art spaces including the OCAD’s Onsite gallery (Toronto), SixtyEight Art Institute (Copenhagen), and the Museum of Contemporary Art (Chicago), along with collaborative projects at The Chute (Pittsburgh) and for the 4GROUND: Midwest Land Art Biennial (Shafer, Wisconsin). Recent publications include chapters for Ambiguous Territory: Architecture, Landscape, and the Postnatural (Actar, 2022), Olfactory Art and The Political in an Age of Resistance (Routledge, 2021), and Why Look at Plants (Brill, 2019). Lindsey earned a BA through an interdisciplinary course of study at Hampshire College, and an MFA in Art and Technology Studies at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. In 2021, they moved from Pittsburgh to Treaty 4 to teach as an Assistant Professor in Creative Technologies in the Faculty of Media, Art, and Performance at the University of Regina. 

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Serena Lee: Second Tongues
Feb.
10
to May 1

Serena Lee: Second Tongues

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Regina Public Library, Sherwood Village Branch (map)
  • Google Calendar ICS

Second Tongues is an on-going project by artist Serena Lee. Imagining a world where everyone is assigned a randomly selected second language at birth, Lee explores the dynamics of language learning and the politics of language hierarchies. Working with community members with this imagined setting in mind, Lee asks people to reflect on nationhood, kinship, and market-driven globalization through world-building activities.This installation is a reminder of the complexity of our language systems, as well as the many ways we connect despite differences and distance.

Serena Lee plays with moving image, sound, place, and gesture to map how things come together and apart. She works through open-ended processes that stretch language and geography, involving conversation and collaboration. Serena holds an MFA from the Piet Zwart Institute (NL), and an Associate Diploma in Piano Performance from the Royal Conservatory of Music (CA). Serena is based between tkaronto/Toronto, where she was born, and Vienna, where she is completing a PhD at the Academy of Fine Arts Vienna.

Essay

Second (    ) Tongues

By Daniella Sanader

In the future—

 

(Let’s begin here, secure in a future-time marked as singular. To speak of the future—of the future—is to hold the word with declarative ease. Made solid, smooth, and firm through repetition, it’s a stone that matches the curves of your mouth; perhaps you no longer register its shape. It’s just what we tend to say, isn’t it? Dislodge it, turn it over on your tongue. Can we find language for multiple futures at once—tangible ones, under-baked and sticky ones, knotted ones, futures that reshape us as we speak them?)

 

we all speak a second language not of our choosing—

 

(An Italian story[1] describes a poet looking to better his craft by learning a new language. An English sea captain offers to teach him Persian, one foreign tongue amongst many that the captain had learned throughout his travels. The two men begin their work in earnest, talking and writing together, and the captain is impressed with how quickly the poet familiarizes himself with the language’s rhythms. The captain departs and the poet decides he is ready to compose his own works in Persian. He tinkers over them tirelessly, pleased and galvanized by how the language offers him new architectures for his thinking. Finally, he decides to refer to the works of other Iranian writers, whom he has abstained from in order to preserve the integrity of his poetic voice. To his horror, he quickly discovers he can’t understand their writing at all: he didn’t learn Persian.)

 

It is assigned at birth and—

 

(Serena’s fingers—they knead and pull, exerting gentle pressure against a range of pliable surfaces. There’s the technicolour grain of salt dough, the lustre of bread rolls molded in plastic, the peaks and valleys of handwritten questions on loose paper. Throughout Second Tongues, she collects these squishy textures and many others; she recognizes that language-learning is a process that occurs somewhere between the softness of a body and the grammars of power that endeavour to shape it.)

 

selected at random from the history of language—

 

(A popular tweet asks: “What’s considered trashy if you’re poor, but classy if you’re rich?”

One answer is repeated, again and again: “Being bilingual.”)

 

to be learnt and used alongside the mother tongue—

 

(There’s a rhyme that my grandmother used to sing to me when I was little. All I seem to remember is the turning point of its conclusion—the second half of a singsong pair, with an upturned voice and playful exclamation mark. I’ve forgotten the rest, along with the majority of this language that was supposedly my very first.

моје маме десна рука! Moje mame desna ruka! My mother’s right hand!!

The second line is what gives a rhyme its meaning, its cadence and pleasure—but without the first, the second is unmoored, residual. A punchline without a joke. An answer without a question. Right hand found reaching for its left.)

 

All nations or organized societies have agreed upon a lottery system

 

(Perhaps you have questions. The speculative narrative at the core of Second Tongues surrounds itself with questions, they both fortify and undermine it. How was this agreement facilitated between all nations and societies? Is there an international council that enforces it? What communities qualify under these categories, and which are excluded? Who makes these decisions and how?

Second Tongues does not attempt to answer these questions. Instead, Serena weaves them into the fabric of the project itself; collected through discussions in workshops with artists and writers, adult literacy learners, migrant communities, domestic workers, linguistic scholars, and others. As the project expands, the central narrative is also translated into more and more tongues, layers contributing to its ever-thickening warp and weft. Collective speculation produces a polyvocal shimmer, new pathways emerge with each inquisitive line.)

 

and the pool of possible draws—

 

(So, if not Persian, what language did the Italian poet learn? He consults other linguistic experts, who dissect his script and are baffled by it. It bears no resemblance—in structure and style—to any other known language across the world, living or dead. The English captain is equally unhelpful, speculating that the poet’s imagination overtook his otherwise accurate lessons. The poet is dismayed; this language was entirely of his own invention. Who are his poems for, if no one can read them? He had accessed new truths, his mind and hand reshaped around a new grammar; were they lost if no one was able to receive them?)

 

consists of every single language that has ever existed—

 

(Here’s another question: if Second Tongues were stored in this library, what shelves would house it? The “Art” or “Science Fiction” categories seem self-evident, but maybe the project’s glutenous textures would be better represented under “Cooking”; its linguistic experimentation finding space amongst poetry titles, or digital resources for language learning. I like to imagine that Second Tongues finds its most natural home amidst a library’s less taxonomic infrastructures: clusters of chairs arranged for group discussion, scrap papers and small pencils that collect call numbers for shelves; water fountains and vending machines. Structures that support our bodies as we imagine new futures into being.)

dead or living, dialects too—

 

(There are ancient glyphs pressed in once-malleable clay; there’s the pillowy, expansive cloud of shared laughter around a table. There is a shape to this distance—however massive or intimate—between writer and reader, between speaker and listener.

How far did these words travel in order to reach you, reading them here in this moment? Speak them aloud, add more of your own. Read these words in whatever tongues—first, second, third—you like.

Maybe with time, in some slowly congealing future, they will find their way back to me.)

 

and the pool keeps growing.

 

Daniella Sanader is a writer and reader who lives in Toronto. 

[1] Tommaso Landolfi’s “Dialogo dei massimi sistemi, (Dialogue of the Greatest Systems)” published in 1937, and referenced in Daniel Heller-Roazen’s Echolalias: On the Forgetting of Language (New York: Zone Books, 2008): 195-202. This source is used by Serena Lee in Second Tongues-related workshops and discussions.

Community Responses:

I love when words are similar in many languages.

Language is so complex - it holds so much about world views and personal perspectives.

I’m terrible at remembering words in other languages.

Your installation team is incredible. They speak the language of awesomeness.

It’s like opening a door into another world

Learning languages could be tiring and so challenging but it’s a beautiful experience when you can finally communicate in new language. So it’s worth it afterall.

Awesome.

I wish I knew more languages. It’s cool

I like learning.

I like learning.

Cookie

Love idea

Good

Yes

It’s cool

Very Educational

I love learning a new language!!

It is cool to know another language that is native to where you live. Nobody can understand what you’re saying. (Like a secret code) 😊

I like it

I think it’s fun to learn languages

I think that learning second languages has many benefits for example you’ll have more opportunities, learn about new cultures and have an overall great experience 😎😎.

Super cool and also awesome sauce and also Impressive

Good

It is hard but enhances understanding.

Educational

Revolutionary as well as purpose

Overstimulating.

I love when words are similar in many languages. Language is so complex - it holds so much about world views and personal perspectives. I’m terrible at remembering words in other languages. Your installation team is incredible. They speak the language of awesomeness. It’s like opening a door into another world Learning languages could be tiring and so challenging but it’s a beautiful experience when you can finally communicate in new language. So it’s worth it afterall. Awesome. I wish I knew more languages. It’s cool I like learning. I like learning. Cookie Love idea Good Yes It’s cool Very Educational I love learning a new language!! It is cool to know another language that is native to where you live. Nobody can understand what you’re saying. (Like a secret code) 😊 I like it I think it’s fun to learn languages I think that learning second languages has many benefits for example you’ll have more opportunities, learn about new cultures and have an overall great experience 😎😎. Super cool and also awesome sauce and also Impressive Good It is hard but enhances understanding. Educational Revolutionary as well as purpose Overstimulating.

Artist

Serena Lee

Images

Photos by Don Hall

Media

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Elian Mikkola: TRAPP - the spacious body and its archival frame
Nov.
4
to Jan. 31

Elian Mikkola: TRAPP - the spacious body and its archival frame

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Regina Public Library, Sherwood Village Branch (map)
  • Google Calendar ICS

This exhibition includes immersive, interactive new work by Indigenous interdisciplinary artist Cheryl L’Hirondelle created as elaborations on the songs she wrote in collaboration with incarcerated and detained populations in Saskatchewan’s correctional facilities.

Cheryl L’Hirondelle (Cree/Halfbreed; German/Polish) is an award winning and community-engaged interdisciplinary artist, singer/songwriter and critical thinker whose family is from Papaschase First Nation / amiskwaciy wâskahikan (Edmonton) and Kikino Metis Settlement, Alberta. Her work investigates and articulates the intersections of nêhiyawin (Cree worldview) and contemporary time-place incorporating sound, Indigenous languages, music, and old and new technology. Her current projects include: Why the Caged Bird Sings, a collaborative songwriting project with incarcerated women, men and detained youth; nîpawiwin ohci, a series of immersive media-rich installations created to evoke embodied concepts towards solidarity; and Singing Land- a multi-iterative international songwriting/sonic mapping project as a process towards personal treaty-making. She is currently a PhD candidate at University College Dublin.

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Cheryl L'Hirondelle - Why the Caged Bird Sings
Jul.
29
to Oct. 25

Cheryl L'Hirondelle - Why the Caged Bird Sings

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Regina Public Library, Sherwood Village Branch (map)
  • Google Calendar ICS

This exhibition includes immersive, interactive new work by Indigenous interdisciplinary artist Cheryl L’Hirondelle created as elaborations on the songs she wrote in collaboration with incarcerated and detained populations in Saskatchewan’s correctional facilities.

Cheryl L’Hirondelle (Cree/Halfbreed; German/Polish) is an award winning and community-engaged interdisciplinary artist, singer/songwriter and critical thinker whose family is from Papaschase First Nation / amiskwaciy wâskahikan (Edmonton) and Kikino Metis Settlement, Alberta. Her work investigates and articulates the intersections of nêhiyawin (Cree worldview) and contemporary time-place incorporating sound, Indigenous languages, music, and old and new technology. Her current projects include: Why the Caged Bird Sings, a collaborative songwriting project with incarcerated women, men and detained youth; nîpawiwin ohci, a series of immersive media-rich installations created to evoke embodied concepts towards solidarity; and Singing Land- a multi-iterative international songwriting/sonic mapping project as a process towards personal treaty-making. She is currently a PhD candidate at University College Dublin.

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Cheryl L'Hirondelle - Why the Caged Bird Sings: Immersive Engagements
Jul.
15
to Sep. 6

Cheryl L'Hirondelle - Why the Caged Bird Sings: Immersive Engagements

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Regina Public Library, Central Branch (map)
  • Google Calendar ICS

This exhibition includes immersive, interactive new work by Indigenous interdisciplinary artist Cheryl L’Hirondelle created as elaborations on the songs she wrote in collaboration with incarcerated and detained populations in Saskatchewan’s correctional facilities.

Cheryl L’Hirondelle (Cree/Halfbreed; German/Polish) is an award winning and community-engaged interdisciplinary artist, singer/songwriter and critical thinker whose family is from Papaschase First Nation / amiskwaciy wâskahikan (Edmonton) and Kikino Metis Settlement, Alberta. Her work investigates and articulates the intersections of nêhiyawin (Cree worldview) and contemporary time-place incorporating sound, Indigenous languages, music, and old and new technology. Her current projects include: Why the Caged Bird Sings, a collaborative songwriting project with incarcerated women, men and detained youth; nîpawiwin ohci, a series of immersive media-rich installations created to evoke embodied concepts towards solidarity; and Singing Land- a multi-iterative international songwriting/sonic mapping project as a process towards personal treaty-making. She is currently a PhD candidate at University College Dublin.

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Kevin McKenzie: Edge of Seventeen
May
6
to Jul. 19

Kevin McKenzie: Edge of Seventeen

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Regina Public Library, Sherwood Village Branch (map)
  • Google Calendar ICS

“My father was a survivor of the Lebret (Qu’Appelle) Indian Industrial Residential School. Unfortunately, he did not survive the accumulated effects of intergenerational trauma. We lost our dear father in 1978, he was 39 years old, I was seventeen.” - Kevin McKenzie

Edge of Seventeen collects and preserves the memories and knowledge McKenzie’s father instilled in Kevin as a child, translating his father’s teachings and passion for hockey into a contemporary Indigenous experience. The exhibition serves as a portal, linking repressed childhood memories of McKenzie’s father to his current state of Indigenous regeneration and resistance to colonial assimilation. Edge of Seventeen reflects a personal transformation, through a process of reconstructing Indigenous identity and masculinity.

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Judy Anderson: ... Indigenized
Apr.
15
to Jun. 28

Judy Anderson: ... Indigenized

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Regina Public Library, Central Library and Children's Branch (map)
  • Google Calendar ICS

Coyote continuously whispers in Anderson's ear, "yes, you can joke about something while simultaneously being completely serious.” - Judy Anderson

Through multimedia installations that stimulate the senses Judy Anderson interrogates what it means to “Indigenize” a place. After more than two decades of creating sly and meaningful interventions to mark her presence in the world, Anderson’s work unquestionably pronounces nêhiyaw as integral to this place, known as Treaty Four territory.

Judy Anderson is nêhiyaw from Gordon First Nation, SK. Anderson’s practice includes beadwork, installation, painting, three-dimensional pieces, and collaborative projects. Her work focuses on issues of spirituality, nêhiyaw intellectualizations of the world, relationality, graffiti, colonialism and decolonization. She is an Associate Professor of Canadian Indigenous Studio Art in the Department of Art and Art History at the University of Calgary.

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Marisa Morán Jahn: Bibliobandido
Oct.
8
to Feb. 7

Marisa Morán Jahn: Bibliobandido

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Regina Public Library, Sherwood Village Branch. (map)
  • Google Calendar ICS

Bodies are complex entities, both built and viewed from many scientific, social, and personal networks. In My Skin brings together artists who dare to self-determine what is means to live in their own bodies. Through diverse feminist perspectives, they resist dominant definitions of how one’s body "should" look, feel, move, and act. Consequently, they embrace the intricacies of what our bodies are and can be. These are acts of resistance and self-reclamation that are actionable calls to respect more fully, love more completely, and care more intentionally for the bodies we inhabit and, by extension, those of others.

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Ekow Nimako: Building Black Civilizations: Journey of 2000 Ships
Oct.
1
to Jan. 10

Ekow Nimako: Building Black Civilizations: Journey of 2000 Ships

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Regina Public Library, Central Branch. (map)
  • Google Calendar ICS

With for those of us who live at the shoreline we are reminded of methods of self-soothing and affirmation that we return to as both salve and testimony. Here, kinship, self-imagining, and ancestral knowledge take precedent, and movements of both embrace and refusal are offered as an act of care. Relations here are multi-faceted: they are tactile, immaterial, and otherworldly; they reside on the same embodied plane as liberation, as rest, as joy; they privilege the immediacy of feeling and spirit. The works in this exhibition act as witness to both us and their makers, communally grounding us within the freedom of each of our expansiveness and with love for our specificities.

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Bill Burns: The Salt, the Milk, the Donkey, the Honey, the Folk Singers
Apr.
9
to Jun. 26

Bill Burns: The Salt, the Milk, the Donkey, the Honey, the Folk Singers

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Regina Public Library, Sherwood Branch (map)
  • Google Calendar ICS

The Salt, the Milk, the Donkey, the Honey, the Folk Singers is part of an ongoing series of work about global trade, food production, and advanced industrialism and has been presented at various locations throughout the world. These images, drawings and installations continue his interest in connected global patterns of production, trade and sustainability, articulated through the embodied connections he builds between individuals and the more-than-human world.

Accompanying this exhibition, a live performance will take place on July 2, 2022, with the support of the Regina Farmers Market. The performance includes a procession of musicians, goats, farmers, beekeepers and a donkey.

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Shelley Niro: A Good, Long Look
Jan.
22
to Mar. 22

Shelley Niro: A Good, Long Look

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Central Gallery, Regina Public Library, (map)
  • Google Calendar ICS

For over 30 years, Shelley Niro has challenged dominant perceptions of Indigenous people throughout her extensive art and filmmaking practice. Often using humour and a flair for storytelling, Niro addresses stereotypical representations of Indigenous people to expose powerful colonial attitudes. From her unique perspective as a Mohawk artist, Niro frequently casts herself and family members in her work to harnesses her familial agency. Niro’s work continually stresses the significance of the land within Indigenous worldviews, languages, and ways of being.

Shelley Niro is a member of the Turtle Clan, Bay of Quinte Mohawk from the Six Nations Reserve. holds a degree from Ontario College of Art and a Master of Fine Art from the University of Western Ontario. Niro has exhibited across Canada has work in collections of the Canada Council Art Bank, Canadian Museum of History, and Canadian Museum of Contemporary Photography. Her award-winning films have been screened in festivals worldwide, and she presented work at the 2003 Venice Biennale. Shelley Niro lives in Brantford, Ontario.

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Shelley Niro: A Good, Long Look
Jan.
15
to Apr. 3

Shelley Niro: A Good, Long Look

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Regina Public Library, Sherwood Branch (map)
  • Google Calendar ICS

For over 30 years, Shelley Niro has challenged dominant perceptions of Indigenous people throughout her extensive art and filmmaking practice. Often using humour and a flair for storytelling, Niro addresses stereotypical representations of Indigenous people to expose powerful colonial attitudes. From her unique perspective as a Mohawk artist, Niro frequently casts herself and family members in her work to harnesses her familial agency. Niro’s work continually stresses the significance of the land within Indigenous worldviews, languages, and ways of being.

Shelley Niro is a member of the Turtle Clan, Bay of Quinte Mohawk from the Six Nations Reserve. holds a degree from Ontario College of Art and a Master of Fine Art from the University of Western Ontario. Niro has exhibited across Canada has work in collections of the Canada Council Art Bank, Canadian Museum of History, and Canadian Museum of Contemporary Photography. Her award-winning films have been screened in festivals worldwide, and she presented work at the 2003 Venice Biennale. Shelley Niro lives in Brantford, Ontario.

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Alana Bartol: Processes of Remediation: art, relationships, nature
Oct.
9
to Jan. 9

Alana Bartol: Processes of Remediation: art, relationships, nature

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Regina Public Library, Sherwood Branch (map)
  • Google Calendar ICS

This exhibition draws on Bartol’s work with dowsing (she comes from a long line of water witches) and the history of dowsing in connection to mining/resource extraction. Specifically, Bartol researched Martine de Bertereau, one of the first (recognized) female mineralogists and mining engineers in 17th century France who traveled Europe in search of mineral deposits utilizing specialized divining instruments and other techniques including botany. Martine de Bertereau was accused of witchcraft and died in France while in prison. The story of de Bertereau is a complex one that points to the violence of resource extraction and the development of capitalism that she both participated in and was killed by. In her artwork, Bartol uses dowsing to ask audiences to reconsider consumption-driven relationships to the earth and what are known as 'natural resources'.

Alana Bartol comes from a long line of water witches. Her site-responsive works explore divination as a way of understanding across places, species, and bodies. Through collaborative and individual works, she creates relationships between the personal sphere and the landscape, particular to this time of ecological crisis. Of Scottish, German, English, French, Irish, and Danish ancestry, Bartol is a white settler Canadian currently living in Mohkínstsis (Calgary), Alberta where she is a sessional instructor at Alberta University of the Arts.

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Léuli Eshrāghi and Jessica Karuhanga: Projections
Sep.
24
to Jan. 7

Léuli Eshrāghi and Jessica Karuhanga: Projections

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Central Gallery, Regina Public Library, (map)
  • Google Calendar ICS

The exhibition Projections addresses perceptions of queerness, sexuality, race, and gender while considering the expanded potential of Indigenous, Black and Queer futurisms.

In their video works, Eshrāghi and Karuhanga express concerns rooted in freedom, defiance, empowerment, presence and self-affirmation, and the disposition and power of the independent projected image brings with it characteristics that align with these concerns.

The artists’ exploration of pleasure and self-care is evident in their videos capturing subjects in nature and/or natural environments, non-verbal narratives, and acts involving touch, desire, movement, ceremony, ritual, and expressions intimate and spiritualized.

Presented within the gallery in spaces created to reference film theatres/projection booths and other voyeuristic contexts, the viewer can watch, observe, consider, anticipate, and dwell in the fantastication of the projected scenarios. In doing so, each work allows the intimate space, within separate alcoves, to assemble personal narratives, individuality, and criticality within the contexts of territory, ownership, and the physical and cultural occupation of space and land.

Léuli Eshrāghi is a Sāmoan/Persian/Cantonese interdisciplinary artist, writer, curator and researcher working between Australia and Canada. Ia/they intervene in display territories to centre global Indigenous and Asian diasporic visuality, sensual and spoken languages, and ceremonial-political practices.

Jessica Karuhanga is a first-generation Canadian artist of British-Ugandan heritage whose work addresses issues of cultural politics of identity and Black diasporic concerns through lens-based technologies, writing, drawing and performances. Through her practice she explores individual and collective concerns of Black subjectivity: illness, rage, grief, desire and longing within the context of Black embodiment.

Gary Varro is a curator and visual artist based in Regina, where in 1996 he established and continues to present Queer City Cinema Festival and Performatorium Festival of Queer Performance. Gary is also a freelance curator.

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Luther Konadu
Jul.
17
to Oct. 3

Luther Konadu

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Sherwood Gallery, Regina Public Library, (map)
  • Google Calendar ICS

The exhibition, Particularly Tentative, explores Luther Konadu’s interest in portrait photography as it relates to personal and collective beliefs of identity. He considers making portraits as a way to reflect on ideas with no expected outcome or goal. Luther Konadu considers using images to depict people as a way to question our belief in photographs. Instead of a quick snap of a person’s likeness and presenting it as a portrait, the portrait is a question that is never answered. Konadu considers the portrait as always shifting. The subject can change its meaning with every viewing. Unlike photographs used as tools of facts, proof or for “knowing” something about those depicted, the people in Konadu’s images will always appear in parts, unspecific, and unsettled.

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Daphne Boyer
Jul.
3
to Sep. 10

Daphne Boyer

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Central Gallery, Regina Public Library, (map)
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Curated by Alyssa Fearon, Director/Curator and Tomas Jonsson, Curator of Moving Image and Performance.

Showcasing recent process-based works on paper, textile and 360º animation, Otipemisiwak* celebrates the lives and material cultures of three women: the artist’s great-grandmother, Eléanore; her grandmother, Clémence; and her mother, Anita. Works feature a digital-beading technique the artist invented called ‘Berries to Beads.’ The technique mirrors spectacular traditional Métis beading; it is both a meticulous and technically demanding practice and art form.

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John Peet: My Grandfather's Pictures
May
8
to Jul. 11

John Peet: My Grandfather's Pictures

  • Sherwood Village Branch, Sherwood Gallery (map)
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Curated by Wendy Peart, Curator of Education & Community Outreach

John Peet’s installation is the result of finding a box of old family photographs, including images of his grandfather’s time at the Mount Cashel Orphanage in St. John’s, Newfoundland in the early 1900’s. This institution was operated by the Irish Christian Brothers, a Roman Catholic lay order from 1898 -1990, and has been notably reported as a place where countless youth suffered abuses by those who were entrusted with their care and education. Through this work, Peet develops a posthumous relationship with his grandfather that is deepened by exposing the complex powerful systems that have enabled such tragic conditions. Through his work, he also uncovers the vital interconnectedness of the boys at the school who developed life-affirming friendships and familial bonds.

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Logan MacDonald - kawingjemeesh/shake hands
Apr.
17
to Jun. 26

Logan MacDonald - kawingjemeesh/shake hands

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Central Gallery, Regina Public Library, (map)
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3. Collectivity.jpg

Logan MacDonald, digital image, 2021. Image courtesy of the artist.

Curated by Wendy Peart, Curator of Education & Community Outreach

Logan MacDonald’s recent work explores how disability can affect or change the ways we gain access to knowledge. In particular, MacDonald is engaged in thinking about Indigenous knowledge and legacies of cultural production. For this exhibition, MacDonald facilitated open-ended engagements with students from Winston Knoll’s Deaf and Hard of Hearing program to co-create the interdisciplinary artworks in his exhibition. MacDonald prompted participants to share experiences and learn from each other through a creative lens. The exhibition thematically illustrates participants’ individual experiences and their connections made with one another, overcoming communication barriers and making space for shared knowledge and discoveries.

Born in Summerside, Prince Edward Island, Logan MacDonald is a Canadian artist, curator, and educator and activist. He is of European and Mi’kmaq ancestry (connected to Elmastukwek, Ktaqamkuk) and he identifies with both his settler and Indigenous roots. MacDonald’s artwork has been exhibited across North America and he is an Assistant Professor in Studio Arts at the University of Waterloo. In 2019, he was long listed for the prestigious Sobey Art Award.

Funding for this project was provided by SK Arts, Artist in Communities grant.

Essay

Kway Kiishkwihk

Wuskiixaskwal waak Waapsowihleewi Niipaahum

neewaanihka

niish tawsun waak takwiinaxke waak ngwuta

 April 15, 2021

 Dear Logan,

It has been such a pleasure to get a glimpse into your project with the Dunlop Art Gallery and Winston Knoll's Deaf and Hard of Hearing program. I love working as an artist because there are often opportunities to share our skills with communities that we might not otherwise be able to connect to. I am not currently part of the Deaf or Hard of Hearing community. However, hearing loss runs in my family, and I know that I fit into a "normal" range of hearing right now but that it won't always be the case. I am grateful that my experience as a person with a learning disability/neurodiversity within the visual arts has led me to get to know and work with you and other Deaf and Hard of Hearing artists. I enjoyed the stories you shared about working with the students, their passion for making, interests and community. Projects like these are interesting and tricky to identify where the art is. Is it a kind of relational aesthetic? A community art practice? Research? You have described these drawings as letters to the students. 

When I think about art and disability and accessibility, I think about the multitude of ways that people are creative. One of the most exciting parts about studying art at school was learning that there are so many ways to express oneself. Western art history is full of people experimenting challenging and manipulating those boundaries. These ideas of what is defined as art get even more hard to define when we think about art outside of the western canon. 

These drawings look to me like notes from a meeting I was not part of, but it feels familiar. Taking notes as drawings is something that I have always been drawn to; recently, I have practiced this kind of notation more regularly, embracing it. As a young student taking notes in class was one of the things I hated most because it was a distraction, and I could never "keep up."  In contrast, it is common practice in Indigenous spaces to call for presence and attention by asking that people do not take notes. When I was young, I always felt vindicated in these moments, where the group was called to participate in a way that aligned with my skills and attributes. There is no one way to learn, to teach, to speak, or to perceive. We are all given special gifts. In these drawings, repeated references to speaking, hearing and seeing, bring our attention to those senses. The beadwork images, hands walking together, and the word "connect" and "Collectively" all reference community, gathering, or our aptitude to be together.

I want to let the reader into some more of your process. There are concentric circles of experience and understanding existing in this work, you held workshops, art-making studios and discussions with students at Winston Knoll's Deaf and Hard of Hearing program. Together you share the experience of what you all accomplished, felt, understood and made. Logan, you shared some more details of what that experience was with me. In this essay, I pass on some of what you told me but not all of it; and I am sure there were details from those experiences that remain between you and the students alone or just you. The strategy of not telling all, carefully choosing what aspects to keep private is practiced and powerful. Our Indigenous family and ancestors have used it to keep cultural knowledge safe from the consumptive prying hands of anthropologists and colonists. Within the disability movement, the slogan "Nothing about us without us" reminds everyone not to represent others. Not to "speak" for someone else's experience because we cannot know all or share all, and it is unethical to try or claim to do so.

When you told me that primrose and tobacco, in a sense, speak in screeches that are inaudible to our human ears, I was thrilled and am not surprised. I recently listened to the Lenape creation story; one aspect that resonated with me was that kishalawowan made it so humans would have to use plants and animals to communicate with the spirit world. we cannot, or most of us do not have a direct connection. We use plants and animals to pass our messages on. There are so many forms of communication happening around us that we might not be aware of.

Anushiik waak Katwalill niijoos

Vanessa

Vanessa Dion Fletcher is a Lenape and Potawatomi neurodiverse artist. Her family is from Eelūnaapèewii Lahkèewiitt (displaced from Lenapehoking) and European settlers. She Employs porcupine quills, Wampum belts, and menstrual blood reveals the complexities of what defines a body physically and culturally. Reflecting on an indigenous and gendered body with a neurodiverse mind Dion Fletcher creates art using composite media, primarily working in performance, textiles, video.

Installation Images

Photos by Don Hall

Media

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Hazel Meyer   Muscle Panic
Oct.
23
to Jan. 22

Hazel Meyer Muscle Panic

  • Dunlop Art Gallery (map)
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Image: Hazel Meyer, Muscle Panic objects, 2018. Installed at the Art League Houston, Texas. Performed with Gee Okonkwo, Mina Silva, Lou Stainback, Evan L. McCarley, and Charli Sol.. Photo credit: Alex Barber

Image: Hazel Meyer, Muscle Panic objects, 2018. Installed at the Art League Houston, Texas.
Performed with Gee Okonkwo, Mina Silva, Lou Stainback, Evan L. McCarley, and Charli Sol.. Photo credit: Alex Barber

Hazel Meyer’s mutable body of work, Muscle Panic, considers the performance of the athletic. Evoking the imagery of momentous sports history, the bodily gestures and actions of a drill or warmup and the aesthetics of the gymnasium, Meyer instigates an arena of sweat and queer desire. Multiple iterations of Muscle Panic have taken the project from a rogue basketball gym built in an abandoned barn to a clandestine locker room to a warehouse-like gymnastics studio. Simultaneously an installation and a performance, Muscle Panic transforms the banal and austere white cube into a hot physically charged site for emotional and physical exchange. 

Essay

By Robin Alex McDonald

Queer theorist Jennifer Doyle suggests that “thinking about sports is like thinking about a novel that has five dimensions. It can be hard to pin down your object. The sport text has watery boundaries: Is it the event? The competition? The broadcast? The arena, fan culture? Training? The match report?”[1] Similarly, thinking about Hazel Meyer’s Muscle Panic is like trying to pin down an immeasurable imagining, one that shape-shifts from idea to archive, from archive to installation, from installation to performance, from performance to print. Each adaptation of Muscle Panic offers new constellations of sport history ephemera, locker room curiosa, and affective objects that reveal the oft-repressed queer and feminist sensibilities of sport cultures: “Sport Dyke” locker labels, a multi-gallon thermos of Lez Hulk Sweat, net-less and bare basketball rims, photographs of women athletes whose tenacity is palpable even on cardstock, a shiny silver whistle around which countless lips have closed. Doyle claims that the athlete’s sense of self is “fluid, changeable, contingent,” but Muscle Panic expands on this to show that the material cultures that constitute the athlete’s world are fluid, too.[2] Their archives take on new shapes and new forms, depending on where and how they are being housed (a gym locker, a storage room, a hall of fame, a gallery) and what their caretaker deems meaningful.

Past iterations of Muscle Panic crescendoed in multi-participant performances that relished the rigor of athletic rituals and the sweet idiosyncrasies of women and queer people occupying space together. In them, Meyer and her team of performers donned handmade jerseys, stretched one another’s bodies, passed basketballs back and forth (and back and forth, and back and forth) between them, inhaled the odour of their own and each others’ armpits, tied their long hair back into sport-ready ponytails, double-knotted each other’s shoelaces. Within the homosocial world of sport, in which teams are segregated by sex and the existence of queer touches, looks, and desires are actively denied, these types of interactions are mostly dismissed as teammate comradery or game-time rituals. In the constructed world of Muscle Panic’s performance, however, these interactions both educe and exceed the intimacies of sex – sweaty touches, heavy breathing, furtive eye contact, giggly asides – and thus speak aloud what Heidi Eng has called the “silences underlying and permeating discourses of normality” within the world of sport.[3]

Named after the sociological concept of moral panic, a fear of something dangerous and threatening to “discourses of normality” as well as the status quo of the social order, Muscle Panic uses touch and sweat to terrorize the gender binary and its attendant presumption of heterosexuality on which most sports rely. Now, in a world where touching, sweating, and breathing together have become dangerous in altogether new ways, Meyer has been tasked with translating the collaborative and spontaneous spirit of performance into another, safer format. For the 2020 version of Muscle Panic, Meyer has solicited five women and/or non-binary athletes to create a collaborative print project that draws from the codes and aesthetics of instructional exercise posters. Such a poster project recalls elementary school gymnasium décor, but it also recalls the safer sex cartoons and information pamphlets created during the AIDS crisis of the 1980s by organizations like the Gay Men’s Health Crisis and the National Coalition of Gay Sexually Transmitted Disease Services, wherein communities disproportionately affected by the epidemic sought to communicate information and care using their own languages and signs.  Renowned art historian and political activist Douglas Crimp discussed these instructional comics in his 1987 essay, “How to Have Promiscuity in an Epidemic,” where he referred to community-created materials as “precisely the sort of safe sex education material that has proven to work.”[4] While there are obvious differences between teaching someone how to properly put on a condom and instructing them how to perform the perfect jump shot, there are similarities as well: a flicking motion of the wrist, the need to be gentle yet shrewd, the importance of practice and the risks that sloppiness carries. Both tasks demand focused attention on the body and are usually done in the presence of another body. And if the instructional posters of the 1980s helped gay men to have promiscuity in an epidemic, perhaps this instructional poster can teach its audiences how to create new intimacies in a pandemic by reminding us that the queer desires that exist in sport – the desire to touch, to be playful, to work together in new ways – have not gone away.

Meyer has stated that Muscle Panic is about the need for women’s bodies, queer bodies, and sick bodies to “take up space” on the field, on the court, in the locker rooms, and in the gallery.[5] Now, in the absence of these bodies, we instead have Muscle Panic’s stuff: scaffolding that stands strong like skeletons, pompoms that caress like fingers, the pebbled texture of basketballs like our craggy skin. If, as queer affect scholar Ann Cvetkovich suggests, “objects are meaningful as expressions of desire,”[6] we might think of the objects that make up Muscle Panic as “testimon[ies] to social relations” between an imagined team of women, femmes, queers, crips, and others whose bodies and identities have been, and continue to be, marginalized within sport cultures.[7] Like that stink of sweat that cannot be evicted from a gametime jersey, these relations endure – their affects linger, their politics persist.

Robin Alex McDonald (they/them) is an independent curator, writer, and academic currently living and working as an uninvited guest on Robinson-Huron Treaty territory, the traditional territory of the Anishnaabeg people and specifically, the Nipissing First Nation. Robin works as a part-time faculty member in the Fine and Visual Arts department at Nipissing University in North Bay, an instructor in the Visual and Critical Studies program at OCAD University in Tkaronto/Toronto, and a PhD Candidate in the Cultural Studies Program at Queen’s University in Katarokwi/Kingston, Ontario. Their academic and arts writing has been published in such journals and magazines as Literature and Medicine, Queer Studies in Media and Popular Culture, n.paradoxa, Syphon, nomorepotlucks, Spiffy Moves, and Guts Canadian Feminist Magazine (with Elly Clarke, Amanda Turner-Pohan, and Michelle Ty). To view more of their work, please visit www.robinalexmcdonald.com

[1] Jennifer Doyle, “Introduction: Dirt Off Her Shoulders,” GLQ  19, no. 4 (2013): 423.

[2] Ibid., 426.

[3] Michel Foucault as cited in Heidi Eng, “Queer Athletes and Queering in Sport,” in ed. Jayne Caudwell, Sport, Sexualities and Queer/Theory (Taylor and Francis Group, 2006),

[4] Douglas Crimp, “How to Have Promiscuity in an Epidemic,” October 43 (Winter 1987): 264.

[5] Hazel Meyer, interview for the MacLaren Art Centre, August 2015.

[6] Ann Cvetkovich, “Photographing Objects as Queer Archival Practice,” in eds. Elspeth Brown and Thy Phu, Feeling Photography (Durham: Duke University Press, 2014), 275.

[7] Ann Cvetkovich, “Personal Effects: The Material Archive of Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas’s Domestic Life,” NoMorePotlucks 25 (Winter 2013), no page numbers.

Artist

Hazel Meyer

Installation Images

Photos by Don Hall

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崔金哲:留恋往返 Cui Jinzhe: My Love for You Lingers On
Sep.
17
to Nov. 13

崔金哲:留恋往返 Cui Jinzhe: My Love for You Lingers On

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Sherwood Gallery, Regina Public Library, (map)
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Cui Jinzhe’s work The Nymph of the Luo River was inspired by the ancient Chinese poem by the same name, written by famous poet Cao Zhi 曹植, who lived between 192-232. Cui intricately and tenderly traces this story of a man who falls in love with a water nymph, which follows a familiar narrative arc of an unfulfilled love story. Combining elements of traditional Chinese art with pop culture visual styles, Cui weaves a complex and beautiful mesh, connecting time and culture through the common human experience of love and longing.

Cui Jinzhe is an Edmonton-based multidisciplinary artist whose practice includes drawing, painting, installation and public art. Cui was born in Dalian, China and earned a Bachelor of Art from Dalian University of Foreign Languages and Master of Art at Dalian Polytechnic University. In 2008, she came to Canada where her work has focused on self-enlightenment, community intervention and cultural integration.

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Leah Marie Dorion: Thirteen Moons
Feb.
5
to Sep. 11

Leah Marie Dorion: Thirteen Moons

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Sherwood Gallery, Regina Public Library, (map)
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Métis artist Leah Marie Dorion shares the moon teachings through her detailed painting and poetry. Important to Indigenous women’s wisdom and traditional cultural knowledge, the moon teachings honour women as vital life-givers. The moon, known by many Elders as “Our Grandmother”, marks the passage of time. It provides wisdom, comfort, protection and strength from its position above us in the sky. Through her work, Dorion restores Indigenous women’s teachings and connects us to the sacred and healing natural law cycles.

Leah Marie Dorion is an interdisciplinary Métis artist, teacher, filmmaker and writer from Prince Albert, Saskatchewan. Dorion holds a Bachelor of Education and a Bachelor of Arts from the University of Saskatchewan and a Master of Arts from the Athabasca University. She has received numerous awards and grants and her work is held in many public and private collections and.  Dorion is a published author of books about Métis history, cultural teachings and storytelling. 

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Hannah Claus:  trade  treaty  territory
Jan.
17
to Mar. 13

Hannah Claus: trade treaty territory

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Central Gallery, Regina Public Library (map)
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The artworks of this exhibition bring together elements of trade, treaty and territory to demonstrate ideas of relationship, both Indigenous and colonial. Through sensory engagement with materials, light and shadow, her installations piece together an atemporal space critical of Western ideologies and systems.

Hannah Claus is an intermedia artist of English and Kanien’kehá:ka heritage who has been living and working in Tiohtià:ke [Montreal] since 2001. Within her practice, Claus engages with an Onkwehon:we epistemology to highlight ways of being in relationship with the world and those around us. She completed her undergraduate studies at the Ontario College of Art and Design (1998) and her Master’s of Fine Art at Concordia University (2004). Her work belongs to various public and private collections, including the National Gallery of Canada, the City of Montreal and the Department of Global Affairs. She is a recipient of the 2019 Eiteljorg fellowship. Current exhibitions include Àbadakone| Continuing Fire at the National Gallery of Canada (Ottawa, ON), Blurring the Line at the Eiteljorg Museum (Indianapolis, IN) and Inaabiwin at the Ottawa Art Gallery (Ottawa, ON). Claus is a member of the Tyendinaga Mohawks of the Bay of Quinte, Ontario.

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Julie Oh: Tunnel, Air, Mother
Nov.
20
to Jan. 26

Julie Oh: Tunnel, Air, Mother

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Sherwood Gallery, Regina Public Library (map)
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Julie Oh works with photography, video, and installation to examine our understanding of, and relationships with, common objects. By questioning her selected object’s use and nature using intuitive, sometimes nonsensical approaches, Oh positions the viewer to consider the use and values of these objects in new ways.

Julie Oh is an emerging artist from Saskatoon. She completed her MFA as a Fulbright Fellow at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago in 2012 and holds a BFA from the University of Saskatchewan. Her work has been featured in group exhibitions including: Living Architecture (2018), 6018 North, Chicago; Double Gaze (2018), ACRE Projects Gallery, Chicago; Punctured Landscape (2017), Art Museum of the Americas, Washington, DC; The New Normal (2017), Supa Salon, Istanbul, Turkey and The Hanger (an UMAM D&R Project), Beirut, Lebanon.

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Marigold Santos: MALAGINTO
Nov.
8
to Jan. 12

Marigold Santos: MALAGINTO

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Central Gallery, Regina Public Library (map)
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Marigold Santos’ practice explores the ways in which ideas of self-hood can become multiple, fragmented, and dislocated and then reinvented and recreated through a reflection of movement, migration and change. In particular, she returns to the memories associated with her family’s immigration from the Philippines to Canada in the late 80’s as an auto-biographical point of departure, and considers the experiences of a young person coming to terms with a new sense of self in relation to their new environment. Negotiating narratives of the past and present results in the creation of a personal myth, a visual vocabulary influenced by the hybrid of Filipino and Western folktales of Santos' early youth, the Canadian pop culture of the late 80’s and early 90’s, the science and social politics of that period, and the Canadian geography and landscape.

The imagery within Santos' interdisciplinary work consists of elements that reflect on the notion of a self that is plural and in-process, and takes place within the realms of the otherworldly - where the porous boundaries of reality and the fantastical rupture, overflow, and reconfigure. Persistent in her work is the reference to the creature of fear in Filipino folklore known as the Asuang - a supernatural shape-shifting witch and ghoul who has the ability to self-sever. In her work the narrative is reconfigured; these Asuang speak not of malevolence, but of lived experience, self-awareness, transformation, and empowerment to celebrate and embrace plurality and fragmented identities.

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Liz Ikiriko: Flags of Unsung Countries
Sep.
25
to Nov. 15

Liz Ikiriko: Flags of Unsung Countries

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Sherwood Gallery, Regina Public Library (map)
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Flags of Unsung Countries charts artist Liz Ikiriko’s process to understand her father’s struggles as an African immigrant challenged with mental illness living in the Canadian prairies. The work asks several questions: What is required of a home? Do we choose to belong or does belonging choose us? Flags of Unsung Countries uses photography to map a path of the African diaspora. Ikiriko’s deeply personal and moving work explores memory, family and identity, and reimagines boundaries between past and present.

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Keith Bird: Spiritual Veterans
May
4
to Jun. 16

Keith Bird: Spiritual Veterans

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Sherwood Gallery, Regina Public Library (map)
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In his recent paintings, Saulteaux and Cree artist Keith Bird honours Indigenous leaders and warriors of past and present, recognizing historical leaders such as Crazy Horse, Pound Maker, Geronimo, Chief Piapot and many others. Through Spiritual Veterans, Bird sheds light on the spirituality, strength and resilience of Indigenous veterans who have fought and continue to fight to protect land, culture and human dignity.

 Keith Bird was raised on Gordon First Nation in Saskatchewan. He received a BFA from the University of Regina in 2008, followed by an MFA in 2013. His work is both privately and publicly collected.

 The artist would like to thank the Saskatchewan Arts Board for the generous support of this project.

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Nicole Kelly Westman | for every sunset we haven’t seen
Mar.
9
to Apr. 24

Nicole Kelly Westman | for every sunset we haven’t seen

  • Dunlop Art Gallery, Sherwood Gallery, Regina Public Library (map)
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We want a potential that is wide and ebullient, luminous and spacious, quivering with the hues of a waning day. We like the kind assurance of the exiting sun, a finale to another day lived, ushering in the sweetness of night that falls like a blanket. We’d like a promise of perfect sunsets.

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