Illustration by Tom Magee
My first assignment from Galleries West 11 years ago thrust me into warfare. I had covered gun-blazing battles for other publications but this mission was different. It was to write about the state of contemporary war art in Canada.
It was the summer of 2014, when Galleries West was still a print magazine. For that story, I interviewed some extraordinary artists and curators who became regular contacts for the next decade of arts journalism. They were among dozens of others who helped me contribute regularly to Galleries West as a writer and, for a few months, as acting editor.
One member of that war art crowd was Lindsey Sharman, a young curator at the military-themed Founders Gallery of Calgary. During the next decade, as Sharman transitioned to a senior curatorial role at the Art Gallery of Alberta in Edmonton, I often turned to her for advice on art exhibitions and artists to highlight in Galleries West. Thanks, especially, Lindsey, for telling me about the magical lens art of Dwayne Martineau, a member of the Frog Lake First Nation whose videos can make any forest enchanted.
Another memorable character in that initial war story was Adrian Stimson, of Siksika First Nation. At the time based in Saskatoon, Stimson had recently returned from Afghanistan as part of a Defence Department program allowing artists to become embedded with troops at home or abroad.
In works such as Sandbox, 2011, Stimson managed to convey the true horrors of war with a simple children’s sandbox encircled by menacing barbed wire. Stimson became a regular in my stories over the years and even accepted my invitation to contribute an essay to Galleries West one Christmas season on the treatment of Indigenous art by the art establishment. It wasn’t a happy story.
Looking back on the last decade, I must admit I paid greatest attention to art and artists to my native Saskatchewan. I often joke that when I fly into the province from my current home in the Ottawa area, I immediately start speaking “Saskatchewan.” It’s not an accent; it’s a way of thinking, a way of approaching life and solving problems.
A notable contact was Amber Andersen, who served as head of the Estevan Art Gallery and Museum for several years. Estevan is a small city of about 11,000 in southeast Saskatchewan. Courageous and sophisticated, Anderson seemed determined to exhibit the kind of art seen in much larger cities.
Two shows especially stood out for me: They were both imported from Ottawa and focused on unusual art about the body. One of the artists was Cindy Stelmackowich, who is originally from Melville, Sask. and, like me, can talk “Saskatchewan” at the drop of a hat. Her exhibition, Wound Care, turned found objects into bloody cuts and broken limbs.
Looking back on the last decade, I must admit I paid greatest attention to art and artists to my native Saskatchewan. I often joke that when I fly into the province from my current home in the Ottawa area, I immediately start speaking “Saskatchewan.” It’s not an accent; it’s a way of thinking, a way of approaching life and solving problems.
Another daring Saskatchewan gallerist I encountered was Kim Houghtaling, former director of the Art Gallery of Swift Current in Saskatchewan’s southwest. The area is more known for cowboys than risqué art. How then can one explain the solo exhibition by Lyle Reimer, who is professionally known as Lyle XOX?
Based in Vancouver, Lyle is from the Swift Current area and Houghtaling was determined to exhibit this native son’s photographs of his unique living sculptures, the wildest headgear found on Planet Earth, especially beloved by Vogue magazine and those who luxuriate in cheeky fabulousness.
And speaking of cheeky, one can’t forget Winnipeg artist Diana Thorneycroft whose art is widely exhibited across Western Canada and beyond. I knew her from my earlier days as senior arts writer with The Ottawa Citizen but frequently turned to her while at Galleries West to enliven our pages. Thorneycroft is constantly evolving and pushing boundaries, giving us insight into human behaviour even when the invented creatures she draws look barely human.
Winnipeg is the also the home of writer Alison Gillmor. During the months when I filled in as Galleries West editor, I tried to load as many assignments as possible onto Alison because I knew she would deliver a first-class, insightful exhibition review, on time and with nary a typo. Vancouver writer John Thomson is another journalist to whom you can assign any kind of story and he will respond only with excellence. Thanks for all your great work, Alison and John.
I end this little memoir with a thank-you to former Galleries West editor Portia Priegert who assigned me that first war art story and most of the others I wrote for the publication. Back in the 1980s, Portia and I simultaneously worked on Parliament Hill, she for The Canadian Press and me for Maclean’s. Both of us hung out with the same large group of carousers at the National Press Club discussing politics. At the more sober Galleries West, we dived into many thorny journalistic issues over the meaning and consequences of art. Imagine the vigorous debate over Deanna Bowen’s National Gallery mural about Canadian racism.
In the end, covering politics and covering art are not all that different: All art is politics, after all. Sometimes, covering art is even a bit like covering a war although it can be more difficult figuring out who are the good guys and who are the bad. There will be one less venue for those debates with the demise of Galleries West. ■