Corps Étranger, Sarah Garzoni, Galerie Art Mûr By Greg Stone

Art Mûr
5826 rue St-Hubert
+1 514 933 0711
January 8th to February 26th

When I walk into the exhibit room for Corps Étranger at Galerie Art Mûr, I get the sensation that I'm seeing something I'm not supposed to see; that I found this place by accident and that if anyone found out I'd been here, they'd want an explanation. It's located at the very back of the gallery, after three other rooms full of unassuming paintings and photographs, right beside the freight elevator. So, because of this and mainly because of the content, I feel like I've stumbled into some mad-genius' attic full of botched experiments. Or remember the scene from Beauty and the Beast where Belle, ignoring the strong advice of the clock and the candlestick holder, tiptoes into the west wing of the Beast's castle and finds the enchanted rose? OK, I'm stretching it with that analogy, but really, this exhibit is riské. There's a tension in the room that could be finely sliced, but a personal curiosity that spreads like mayonnaise. I mean, it's taxidermy art.

The day I went to go see the exhibit at Galerie Art Mûr at 5826, Rue Saint-Hubert was the biggest blizzard the city had seen this year, so I bundled up and headed out (wait, didn't Belle brace a similar snow storm to get to the castle in the first place? Ok, ok, I'll drop it). When I get to Art Mûr, it provides the shelter from the storm I'm looking for. Well-lit with track lighting and staffy smiles, I chat quickly with an employee and no, the artist, Sarah Garzoni is no longer in Montreal. She's from Paris and went back last week but I can try to email her. I did try, but never heard back. Unfortunately. I had and have so many questions for her. But I did learn a couple things about her. I know that she is a visual artist who focuses on taxidermy and a connection between the human world and the natural world. Like I said, she's French, and she's young, only 29. Her website says that she has only been exhibiting since 2005. She studied art, mostly in Paris, but, there is a Canada connection; she also studied at OCAD in Toronto in 2007.

Corps Étranger isn't a big exhibition. In all, there are only 11 or so pieces. But it feels way bigger than that. It feels downright expansive. The first piece that got my attention, and will likely get yours, is the pig in the middle of the room. Taxidermied in mid-trot and titled Boudoir, this pig has gotten Ms. Garzoni a lot of attention, not just because it's so nicely stuffed, but because it's upholstered like a chesterfield. Ms. Garzoni punched buttons into its sides and back and connected them with seams. And it's shocking. Obviously, there's the statement about people making couches out of animal skins. For sure that's there. But the title is also revealing. A boudoir is a woman's bedroom and the word comes from the French verb bouder, to sulk. There are indications that Ms. Garzoni is targeting the human neurosis here. That people's own egos blind them from their habits and from ideas like the only difference between a stuffed, upholstered pig and a stuffed, upholstered leather couch is its form.

Boudoir by Sarah Garzoni, Taxidermied Pig 110 x 61 x 31 cm, 2008 Photo Greg Stone

Mascarade by Sarah Garzoni Taxidermied Chicken, Rabbit 62 x 24,5 x 29 cm, 2005 Photo Greg Stone

If Boudoir isn't the first piece you're drawn to, then it will likely be Mascarade. The tag on the wall lists the materials used to create it: a chicken, a rabbit, taxidermy materials, zipper. Ms. Garzoni took a rabbit, skinned it and put a zipper on it to make a tiny fur coat. Then she took a chicken, plucked it and taxidermied it to stand upright, and fitted it with the rabbit coat. It's Orwellian to an uncomfortable degree. And again, there's the obvious message about the de-naturalization of animals, and the ethics of fur but there's also this bigger question of neurosis. Fashion and clothing are things that cover us over. They can let you smother yourself with color and form. Not that this chicken is having neurosis problems, but there's no doubt that fashion, ego, and compulsion are becoming themes here.

Another focal point of this exhibit is Narcisse. Hommage à Isodore et Charles D. Using a taxidermied peacock grafted to a sewing machine, it presents the peacock sewing its own brilliant tail feathers. I really like this one a lot. In some ways, it's her most cynical piece. And it's just a really, really beautiful metaphor, both in how it literally looks and in how well the metaphor works. Narcissism. Proud as a peacock. It's almost mythological in nature; a peacock so in love with itself that it's punished to sew its own tail for eternity.

Narcisse. Hommage à Isodore et Charles D. by Sarah Garzoni, Sewing machine, stuffed peacocks 95 x 74 x 86 cm, 2010 Photo Greg Stone

Breaching by Sarah Garzoni, 19th century corset, plaster, wax, shark teeth, 2010 Photo Greg Stone

Another excellent piece is Breaching, a plastered corset lined with shark teeth on the inside. OK, I'm starting to hit you over the head with this narcissism thing, but I do really like how Ms. Garzoni uses animals to connect the gap between egos and the means of fulfilling them. And they can be judgmental, these animals. Like these shark teeth, the more you bite into your ego, the more these teeth bite back. And Boudoir, the pig. You can barely look him in the eyes. There's a lot of gravity involved with these pieces. Like I said, this exhibit's only 11 pieces, but it's dense.

Honourable mentions need to go out to a few other pieces. Mimésis, for example, is an assortment of real butterflies that Ms. Garzoni took, printed images onto their wings, and pinned them to a board. The images are usually corporate logos; there's a glimmering blue butterfly with the Playboy bunny logo on the tip of either wing, for example. Or the one with the Nike swoosh. Really great idea here, but maybe a little over-the-top, especially the one with the barcode. Rhéa is another beautifully delicate one. It's a stick-bug planted in a little flower pot like a tree with extra arms grafted on, and green-painted wings attached as leaves. The cherry for this one is the glass case it's under; a statement about ownership and human influence. And Homo-Faber, a Victorinox Swiss Army Brand Knife^© with sterling silver insect parts for tools, acts in a similar manner.

Homo-Faber by Sarah Garzoni, Silver Casting, 16 x 12,5 x 2 cm, 2006 Photo Greg Stone

Some people might say about this exhibit, 'Hey! Whadda? Where's PETA on this one? Where are all the animal rights activists?' And if they did say that, they would be wrong. They would be wrong because they didn't understand Ms. Garzoni's message. Because if this exhibit doesn't send a strong message about the proper treatment of animals, about the human exploitation of creatures, of the de-naturalization of animals, then I don't know what would. I once had a friend with a very big brain who, when we got on the topic of art, would say that the best thing that could happen to the Mona Lisa, and to art in general, would be for someone to walk into the Louvre, take the Mona Lisa by the frame and smash it. Of course, I thought he was full of shit. But I heard him out. He went on to say that when people go to see the Mona Lisa, they are certainly moved by it; that it elicits some emotions in them. But to what degree? Are people so moved by the Mona Lisa that they fall in love with art and are thus compelled to preserve all art forms? No, probably not. Are people really that stunned? I know that when I went to see Leonardo's masterpiece in Paris, I was underwhelmed. So, argues my friend, someone smashes it and the world erupts in response. Suddenly everybody and their dog feels more strongly about art than ever before. Stronger measures are put into place to protect our remaining masterpieces, and, more importantly, the Mona Lisa evokes the degree of emotion that its hype suggests (though a different type of emotion). I'm still not sure I agree with my friend. I mean, it's a pretty extreme example and a difficult idea to get on board with. However, you can't help but see this in Ms. Garzoni's work. Though instead of art being the beneficiary, she's doing it for animal rights. Actually, I don't want to say animal rights. That sounds too specific and wrong. She's doing it to show the complete lack of respect we have for anything non-human. And so when Ms. Garzoni upholsters a pig, she's destroying it. She's putting it in the last state we want to see it in. And when she prints corporate logos onto the wings of a butterfly, she's obliterating everything natural about them. Call it shock value if you want, but what she's doing is rattling raw emotion out of people, which happens too rarely in the art world. Or if it isn't rare, there are rarely artists who do it so powerfully, beautifully and poignantly as Ms. Garzoni has done with Corps Étranger.

Corps Étranger is on now at Galerie Art Mûr until February 26th. You should go see it.

Petit losange laqué veiné, Valérie Blass at Parisian Laundry By Jessica Surendorff

Parisian Laundry
3550 rue St-Antoine Ouest
+1 514 989 1056
January 13 – February 19, 2011

By Jessica Surendorff

What drew me in was the little skeleton-head painted on the middle finger.

Courtesy Parisian Laundry

Made primarily from found objects, Valérie Blass's sculpture Femme panier was the first image on the Parisian Laundry homepage. That was enough to get me off the computer, out of the apartment and on the Metro in 15 minutes.

I somehow always manage to visit an exhibition when the gallery is empty (or close to empty). This is perfect, as I have the space all to myself and I can be as greedy as I want. The interior of Parisian Laundry has a mixed feeling of being industrial and homely. Industrial in the sense that this building has been gutted and refitted, with a gloss-concrete floor; and homely in the way the sturdy wooden support beams remind me of a cozy ski cabin. The space, which is run by Jeanie Riddle and Dacil Kurzweg, seems ideal for the collection; as the collage, found object and mixed-media creations of Valérie Blass fit right in. Actually, one should not use the words "fit right in" in regards to Ms. Blass' work, so it is probably better to say "fit right out."

My greedy solitude is interrupted by another patron of the gallery, whose squeaky shoes snap me out of day-dream. For me, this exhibition is a bit of a treat as I am a sucker for thrift stores and other places where you can find curious things. I am soon left alone again, however, as the other visitor squeaks his way up to the second floor of the building. I can see Femme panier in the centre of the gallery, like a sun surrounded by a cosmos of weird sculptures. I exercise some self control and refrain from going to it first.

Photo Jessica Surendorff

I stop myself at the first sculpture, which is essentially a crane. The sculpture itself is simple enough, made from wood and paint, but the concept behind it is what makes it complex. Little red bricks have been painted onto the crane, which makes me think of the process of building or creating. The crane is used for construction, and bricks are used to make the building. But, this crane is made from bricks so what was used to make this crane? Another crane? I like this sculpture, with its 'chicken and egg' theory. The sculpture La somme en rondelette is displayed on a pedestal that has been covered with a woven checkered textile, which echoes the pattern of the brickwork painted onto the sculpture. I realize I have maybe been staring a little too hard at the tiny crisscross patterns, as I feel like I have been staring into something like a 3D illusion… (It's a telephone… no! It's a bicycle!)

Courtesy Parisian Laundry

I notice a considerable number of blank spaces on the wall, along with the tell-tale red dots, so it's obvious that Ms. Blass has an immense fan base. What is left is still very impressive. There is a consistency in the composition of these pieces, in that Ms. Blass has used various photos of her sculptures and placed different parts to create a new artwork. For many of the photo-collages Ms. Blass has used an image of her own sculpture She was a big success: a strange hybrid of the lower half of a mannequin awkwardly balancing on one hand (the other arm is missing), and the head and torso having been replaced by a giant mass of black hair. (Almost like the top half of this one-armed woman has been engulfed by an enormous judge's wig).

Courtesy Parisian Laundry

Unfortunately, She was a big success was not at Parisian Laundry at the time. Because of the sculpture's unique silhouette it is easily recognized in the collages, and I understand why Ms. Blass has chosen to re-use this particular sculpture in other works as it is quite a powerful image. Ms. Blass has re-made the photo by replacing the mass of black hair with other sections of photographs. In particular, in Collage 4 the photograph used to fill the cumulus-nimbus space is that of a woman's torso. Displayed next to this is Collage 5 where the torso now has been replaced by a photograph of a woman's legs. I like what she has done, which is in keeping with her style of recycling, remaking and reusing objects and art (even her own art).

Photo by Jessica Surendorff

Another piece that incorporates disembodied parts is Cargo Culte which reminds me of a creepy child's mobile made from wood-working clamps, plaster hands and ready-made objects (like an ashtray and cigar). There are six hand that protrude from it. One of the hands holds a figure of a topless woman; dangling precariously by her head from two fingers. On the same axis, but at the opposite end lies the empty ashtray. It is only natural that a hand holding a cigar has been placed above the ashtray; but what if the some of the cigar ash were to fall below? Would this upset the equilibrium and cause the little topless woman to be choked, or perhaps fall? Amongst the clamps and the hands are two hiking canes; both inscribed in German. Like the other sculptures in this collection, Cargo Culte has been displayed upon a podium covered with a woven textile. Taking in all the elements of this sculpture, I begin to see a common theme between the objects: hands, clamps, hiking canes…they all provide grip. These various found objects convey different types of 'grip'; whether it is the delicate way one holds a cigar or the sure-fast grip of a clamp.

Courtesy Parisian Laundry

Femme planche dominates the space with its size and design. Created from Styrofoam, paint and pottery, the sculpture, made from wood is of a woman in an awkward position (think downward-facing dog-like). This wooden woman, like so many of Ms. Blass' female representations, has no face - just a 'head' made from pieces of pottery. To finish off the piece in a cheeky manner, a large shovel has been placed along the length of the legs, with the head of the shovel resting on the woman's derriere. There is something organic looking about this piece; as if this yoga-practicing wood woman has grown out of the earth only to attempt to bury her head back into the ground.

Courtesy Parisian Laundry

I cannot ignore Femme panier any longer as it placed next to to Femme planche. The first thing I notice is that this sculpture is unlike the others in the collection, as it has not been displayed on woven fabric but just a teal-painted podium. I realize that this is probably the case because femme panier consists of so many different textures and patterns, that it would have been far too 'busy'. I really like this piece because it is just so "Please don't tell me you are seriously wearing that shirt with those pants". The sculpture is of a female figure made from a mannequin with a wicker basket for a torso (hence the name of the sculpture). The figure is dressed in a very loud blouse; which looks like someone has been rolling in cupcake icing. This blouse has been teamed up with some fishnet stockings. It's as if this basket-case woman got dressed in the dark. (A more likely reason for this combination is probably the woman's lack of a head). The posture of this figure is powerful; arms stretched out, with one hand brandishing a sharp tool. The other hand is empty, formed almost into a fist and painted black with a little skeleton detail to finish it off. I find this piece bold with touches of humor; and rather powerful in the sense the posture reminds me of an Olympic discus thrower.

Courtesy Parisian Laundry

Photo by Jessica Surendorff

The collection continues upstairs, with a number of Ms. Blass' collages on display as well as some more of her quirky sculptures. Some work that I am instantly drawn to is a set of grumpy looking gargoyle heads. Petite tete en gris souris are two clay-made busts with a high gloss finish, which showcase Blass' talent in pottery. Although I initially went to this collection to see Femme panier, this sculpture is my favorite. I am quite impressed at how well Ms. Blass can work in various mediums; at it seems like art making in any form comes naturally to her. Ms. Blass' sculptures and collages at Parisian Laundry are disjointed in their composition, with a strong theme of fractured figures, and broken and recycled objects. The amusing way that Ms. Blass has placed together her found objects, thrift-store treasures and sculptures makes this collection even more enjoyable.

Flesh and Blood, Shary Boyle at Galerie de l'UQAM by Meaghan Thurston

Galerie de l'UQAM
1400, rue Berri (angle Sainte-Catherine)
+1 514 987 6150
January 7 – February 12, 2011

Shary Boyle's Maudlin Miniatures are After my Own Child-Heart

by Meaghan Thurston

I usually withhold this information, but inspired by Canadian artist Shary Boyle I'll come out with an 'uncool' fact about myself: I'm a dollhouse enthusiast. Unlike most of my peers, I spent my pre-teens playing with a dollhouse. Perhaps this is why I can't play the guitar, I don't know how to screen-print, am still catching up on cult movies from the 90s and I've never made a zine. That said, my dollhouse had an amazing collection of miniature items, including working light fixtures. It was also peopled by dolls in historically accurate Victorian costumes, which I made. While Dollhouse Hobbyist is not exactly a peer-respect gaining pursuit, the collection and crafting that goes into dollhouse designing develops certain personal attributes: attention to detail and in my case meticulous sewing techniques, to name a couple. But, there is something eerie about the spirit of the doll's house. Why else do you think Henrik Ibsen called his masterpiece play about smashing traditional roles of men and women in 19th-century marriage, A Doll's' House? Dollhouses represent frozen models of some kind of backward domestic fantasy. But, when I think back to how as an awkward twelve year old, I was more comfortable playing with this elaborate idealized miniature home than with trying to belong to one of the terrifying pre-teen she wolf packs, I don't think it's so strange after all.

While I admit that it might have been better for me to do something slightly less introverted, extreme devotion to the craft of the miniature has produced great results for Canadian Artist Shary Boyle. Her miniature porcelain figure work, one of her many mediums, is executed following Meissen factory techniques developed in Germany in the early 1700s. Ms. Boyle's show Flesh and Blood is now on at Galerie UQAM is a fantasy-fiction come true for her and curator Louise Dery. The show is recognition of her 2009 win of the Iskowitz Prize, which goes to an artist who has made a significant contribution to Canadian art. And the interest curators have taken in Ms. Boyle has also helped spur the spread of her work across the country. The show has already run in Toronto. I'm sorry I missed it because the AGO reinstalled four of its first-floor European galleries to host Ms. Boyle's work, while paintings by the great Masters looked on. Oh, how many times I could have used the favorite word of first year English Literature students, juxtaposition, if I'd reviewed that show! Flesh and Blood will make its way to Vancouver from Montreal.

Her delicately detailed figurines recall Royal Doulton Pretty Ladies, yet BlogTO declared rightly that they "would seem at home on my grandmother's knickknack shelf if it wasn't for all of the monstrous sex."

By Ms. Boyle's hand, the fine craft of porcelain figure making is married with animist mythologies, sexuality, relationships and the dark side of human nature. Some reviews have thus declared that Boyle challenges preconceptions of beauty in her multidisciplinary practice. If anything, like Otto Dix, Ms. Boyle explores the disconnection that exists between the ideal of beauty and the seductiveness and strangeness of the body. Many of the sculptures, paintings and installations on display for the Flesh and Blood exhibit depict characters that would fit right into Lewis Caroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, or perhaps in one of the tales of the Brothers Grimm. I felt the show addressed the subject of childhood fears and fantasies, than questions of beauty. Ms. Boyle speaks in images to human psychology and she is eerily attuned to the most gruesome possible outcomes of human nature. While most of us are familiar with the cliched idea of childhood rebellion against their parents, in Ms. Boyle's figurine Family, she has sculpted a ghastly alternative: two peasant 'parents' sit and watch, campfire style, over the roasting heads of their children. Another figurine, My Funeral, depicts a girl clad in lace, laid out in her coffin (I'm guessing that Boyle is a fan of Lydia from Beetlejuice) She does not shy away from tantalizingly taboo thoughts.

Family, porcelain. Photo by Sarah Dea courtesy the Toronto Star

As a result the separate parts of Flesh and Blood can be labeled by all of the following: beautiful, funny, bizarre and brutally ugly. That's a fair number of conflicting adjectives, but Ms. Boyle's work covers it all.

The Lute Player by Shary Boyle on the cover of the Montreal Mirror

Beautiful: The Lute Player, which I'm sure every rocker girl covets. It graced the cover of the Montreal Mirror, in which Ms. Boyle was quoted as saying with respect to her sculptures that, "They're not just objects that I've made as an artist, they're their own thing, and I'm like, 'I totally respect you.'" She was speaking about her installation/projection Virus (White Wedding), which despite its apparently laborious conception, is mostly interesting for its use and revival of the overhead projector as a gallery-staple. Also something to behold is White Light. Mark Medley writing in the National Post, saw this sculpture 'in the light' described Ms. Boyle's spider-lady best:

Her eyes are piercing, and her mouth is slightly ajar; she looks human, but reptilian, too, with elongated, claw-like feet and fingers. She strikes a pose both sexual and violent. The audience won't be privy to the same level of detail; the sculpture is to be viewed under black light; with the lights off, one can only see the string, her body delineated by the web.

Funny: I'm not sure I would refer to the sex Ms. Boyle exhibits as 'monstrous', however; I thought the installation piece, Scarecrow, was monstrously hilarious. Boyle herself has described it as "sad—but strangely sexy" How can a scarecrow have passionate sex with a woman fashioned of thousands of pieces of celadon porcelain, you ask? Just the mere thought of the mechanics of this unlikely pairing is enough to give me the giggles. And from the "Highland Series," Queens Guard (2007, oil on panel) depicts a shirtless male highland dancer with the foot of his female companion wedged deep into his mouth. I think that one will either make the Scots laugh, or more likely squirm uncomfortably.

Queens Guard (2007, oil on panel)

Scarecrow

Bizarre: While the installations were dramatic, it was her paintings that left more of an impression, particularly two paintings entitled Angel Trumpet Flower of Death and Bloodie is Born and Born Again. The Angel Trumpet Flower is quite literally a 'flower of death' — otherwise known as Brugmansia, these plants contain dangerous levels of poison and may be fatal if ingested. Or, in the world according to Ms. Boyle, send you on an extremely terrifying trip where grisly looking creatures rule the not-so-natural world. If Ms. Boyle's painting doesn't deter you from eating unknown plants, then you deserve what's coming to you. What inspired Bloodie, on the other hand is beyond me, but if you ever played with Barbie dolls, pulled their heads off and reattached them using duck tape, then you'll get the gist of this work.

Brutally Ugly: Beast (2007, oil on panel) stands out in the show like a sore thumb (or a hair-covered thumb?). I did not linger long in front of this unusually ugly portrait which bears a great resemblance to Chewbacca in mid lip-lick. Beast's presence in the show suggests that Ms. Boyle's reputation can withstand such a painting. In fact, her reputation may depend on it.

Beast (2007, oil on panel)

The range of human psychological and emotional states that Ms. Boyle explores is certainly energetic, sometimes allegoric, and yes, probably feminist. In Ms. Boyle, the image of the woman crafter is reinvented. What I took away from the exhibit is that Ms. Boyle's figurines, like my dollhouse, are totems for coping with life's troubles. "Characters are necessary to confront the anger, grief, and helplessness of being alive," Ms. Boyle is quoted as saying in the glossy, 200-page bilingual publication that accompanies the exhibition. After an hour in the presence of her work, I felt that if we'd been 12 year-olds together, Ms. Boyle and I would've made good friends. I'm relieved that she is bringing the practice of miniature sculpting back into the modern spotlight. Dollhouse hobbyist to maudlin miniaturist: I get you Shary Boyle.