Ociciwan Opens
A new Indigenous-run space in amiskwacîwâskahikan – a.k.a. Edmonton – focuses on place and relationship in its first show.
Jane Ash Poitras, “Fort Chip Future,” 2000
mixed media on canvas, 66” x 30” (photo by Dwayne Martineau)
For the last five years, amidst delivering everything from art shows across the country to a double vinyl album of experimental music, the Ociciwan Contemporary Art Collective has pursued one overriding goal: a permanent Indigenous-run art space.
Hard work and focus has brought Ociciwan (otsi-tsi-wan) to that space and its first show, amiskwacîwâskahikan. That’s the Cree word for “beaver hills house” – the region so named before settlers tagged it Edmonton – where the group is based in a shiny two-storey building on the east side of downtown.
The centre, originally due to open March 29, was shuttered by COVID-19 two weeks before, which also delayed finishing touches on the building’s renovations. Adding insult to pandemic injury, was a burglary in June. New media equipment was stolen, along with an irreplaceable artwork, Lana Whiskeyjack’s beaded Three Generations of nitêh (my heart), due to be a mesmerizing centrepiece in the centre’s first show.
The new home of the Ociciwan Contemporary Art Collective in Edmonton. (photo by Tracy Bradley)
Yet every story runs in a circle – good follows bad – and, as gallery director Becca Taylor says: “I actually believe everything happens for a reason.” And so, on Sept. 30, the centre – which takes its name from a Plains Cree name relating to current or river, a reference to the North Saskatchewan River – finally started taking bookings to see the group show in a contemplative and personal way.
MJ Belcourt Moses, “From the Beginning,” 2018
deer rawhide, red willow, jute rope and acrylic paint, 65" x 51” (photo by Dwayne Martineau)
Eight artists were invited from senior to emerging ranks, with art ranging from MJ Belcourt Moses’ deer rawhide cast of a pregnant woman’s torso to Dwayne Martineau’s mirror-image photos of dead trees. They bring out unnerving faces if you look carefully, and are a response to a friend’s death.
Dwayne Martineau, "One Dead Tree #2" (left), 2012, and "Propagation," 2020, backlit film print, 80" x 53.5” each (photo by Dwayne Martineau)
They speak of human bonds, like most of the works, including Lauren Crazybull’s paintings of siblings Autumn and Jordan.
George Littlechild, “Great Grandfather, how did you feel when you buried them?,” 2014
mixed media, 16" x 24” (photo by Dwayne Martineau)
In the window-lit main floor space, a triptych of George Littlechild’s mixed-media collage and paintings includes the striking portrait, Great Grandfather, how did you feel when you buried them?
Tanya Harnett, “Genocide,” 2020
graphite and acrylic on canvas, 64" x 84" (photo by Dwayne Martineau)
Facing the main door, Tanya Harnett’s simply titled Genocide is a detailed map based on research into the spread of smallpox along fur trade routes to the area where her ancestors lived.
Right beside it, there’s more recent pain with a painting that declares in bold letters: “I WILL BE CAREFUL WHO I SHARE MY MEDICINE WITH.” This is Whiskeyjack’s answer to the theft of her work: Painting my anger, praying for stolen medicine(s). It’s hard not to linger on this one, an open wound, and the missing art painted within.
Lana Whiskeyjack, “Painting my anger, praying for stolen medicine(s),” 2020
acrylic on canvas, 36" x 18” (photo by Dwayne Martineau)
Down in the basement of this converted community centre, Conor McNally’s layered film about his brother’s dream is running on a digital projector after the original vintage projector gave out. The old technology dominated the room with a hissing whirr, though, so once again, good follows bad.
Conor McNally, “nisîmis, or my brother’s dream of a bicycle,” 2020
16mm Ektachrome film (photo by Dwayne Martineau)
Down here, senior artist Jane Ash Poitras, whose mother died of tuberculosis, has a collage – Fort Chip Future – that mixes old family photos with drawings and images of Spider-Man and The Sandman’s Cain and Abel, comic book narratives of family tragedy to consider within a wider context of both hope and trauma.
As a last stop, Martineau’s two large prints hang backlit in the dark, a mirrored shrine to grief. And yet the art itself, like all that surrounds it, beside and above, speaks of absorption, subsequent creation and, above all, ongoing connection.
1 of 2
Lauren Crazybull, “Jordan,” 2019
acrylic on canvas, 6’10’’ x 6’ (photo by Dwayne Martineau)
2 of 2
Lauren Crazybull, “Autumn,” 2019
acrylic on canvas, 58.5” x 52” (photo by Dwayne Martineau)
For a show so intentionally about a specific place, what really stands out are universal ideas, particularly metaphorical expansions on the idea of family.
“Generations is a major theme that came into play,” says Taylor. “But there’s also this connection to physical and spiritual relationships, too.” She says all art is about materiality, “your spirit and your body as you’re making, but I really felt it within this exhibition.”
Getting back to Taylor’s “everything happens for a reason” – the pandemic delays, the thefts – she notes: “It really allowed us – just us – to really get to know the space, to really envision what could really happen here without too much outside noise."
“We’ll have a big party one day, though,” she adds. “There’ll be lots of opportunities to gather, down the road.” ■
amiskwacîwâskahikan at the Ociciwan Contemporary Art Centre in Edmonton from Sept. 30 to Nov. 28, 2020.
Correction 6/11/2020, 2:34 p.m.: An earlier version of this article misstated details about the subjects of Lauren Crazybull's paintings and the use of mirrors in work by Dwayne Martineau. The post has been updated.
PS: Worried you missed something? See previous Galleries West stories.
Ociciwan Contemporary Art Centre
10124 96 Street NW, Edmonton, Alberta T5H 2G5
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Wed to Sat 12:30 pm - 4 pm