Exhibit Essay
Feeding the Bite
By Tairone Bastien, Curator
Feeding the Bite is a group exhibition featuring works by Emily Au, Emily MacDonald, Elizabeth Peters, Jasmine Monk, Marcel Grimard, Natalie Tawadroos, Olivia Dubé, Scarlett Rivet, and Taylor Elliott, all of whom are fourth-year honors students in the VISA 4F06 course, a critical studies and studio class led by Dr. Linda Carreiro. I had the pleasure of getting to know these nine artists and their work over the course of the year, doing studio-visits on three separate occasions. With each visit, I gained insight into their practices, interests, and ambitions, as well as the inevitable challenges and roadblocks they faced along the way.
For their final project, each artist honed a powerfully distinctive body of work that, although singular in form, material, and narrative content, shares with the rest an underlying concern with the contemporary moment. For this cohort of students, the last three years have been exceptionally calamitous, a period characterized by the existential crisis of climate change; the COVID-19 pandemic and the resulting shutdown and retreat from public life; deepening social and political divisions; and the dissolution of commonly held truths or a shared reality as people retreat into mediated echo-chambers reinforced by closed-loop tautologies of unreason.
(From Left to Right) Natalie Tawadroos, A Journey Within, 2023-2023. Wire, insulation foam, plaster, fabric, string, paint and plastic. Scarlett Rivet, My Mother’s Daughter, 2023. Acrylic on canvas. Angel Eyes, 2023. Acrylic on canvas. Mirror Mirror, 2023. Acrylic on canvas. Splitting image, 2023. Acrylic on canvas. Inherited, 2023. Acrylic on canvas. Emily MacDonald, A Series of Odd Encounters, 2023. Analogue photographs. Endless Moments, 2023. Analogue photograph bound book with wax thread.
And it is, in part, because of the heightened sensitivity and anxieties caused by such cataclysmic events that these students have approached their artistic practices as an outlet to work through the upheaval. In their work, some of the artists face discomfort with certain relations; whilst others examine individual and collective pain; and still others address deeply personal—at times, difficult—experiences and memories. In our discussions, many of the students described the issues surrounding their work as “traumatic,” which is a compelling word choice. The term “trauma” is etymologically linked to the Greek word for “wound,” and has been used to describe both physical and psychological injury. But it is also a loose signifier that can be both hyperbolic and banal. Although “trauma” has specific meaning in psychology, and particularly in psychoanalysis, to describe exposure to an incident or event that is emotionally disturbing or life-threatening, its use is now more widespread. Today, “trauma” is used by many people to describe an ever-expanding array of psychic and emotionally painful phenomena, which makes it difficult to pin down, whilst also creating more room and opportunities to discuss it. Indeed, one could argue that some positive outcomes of our crises-prone era, is the increased access to information about trauma and how to heal from it, and the ability to find others who share similar experiences and more readily establish networks of care. There is also growing comfortability among more people with talking openly and honestly about mental health.
The students chose the exhibition’s title, Feeding the Bite, to reference their shared interest in facing difficult—and, for some, painful—aspects of their lives through their art. The phrase, “feed the bite” refers to a self-defence technique used against a biting attacker. One’s instinct would be to immediately pull away, which may cause the assailant to bite harder and risk tearing flesh as you retreat. Instead, the tactic is to pull the person towards you and lean into their bite, which would force their jaw open so you can pull yourself free. The phrase strikes a chord with the exhibiting artists because it speaks to the need for higher-order thinking in times of crisis. And indeed, their time in this class, with its affordance of studio-time, guided critique, and focused study, enabled them to take a step-back from the painful and emotionally profound experiences in their lives and channel it into the work. Rather than getting lost in the moment which would risk worsening the wound and causing more lasting damage, they chose to reflect critically and bravely. Through their title choice, the artists are signalling their desire to resist and 2 examine impulsive behaviors, confront dark and troubling issues head-on, and explore the wounds, tenderness, and heartaches of being human.
The exhibition is spread across two galleries. The first is the Visual Arts Gallery and Exhibition Space inside the Marilyn I. Walker School of Fine and Performing Arts building. Here, visitors encounter works by Elizabeth Peters, whose paintings consist of drips, splashes, swirls, scrapes, and pours of paint in a riot of warm and cool colors. Rather than hung on a wall, the works are installed edge-to-edge in a grouping on the floor. Viewers can take-in the paintings from any angle, forming a somatic relationship with them as they walk around. For Peters, each canvas is a representation of the chaos in her mind. In her artist statement—printed in this catalogue—she writes openly and honestly about her neurodivergence, and her desire for this work to be a catalyst for generating conversations about mental health. Upon closer inspection, one notices that each painting is bisected by a hard-edged line of varying widths in a solid, flat color of white, orange, or green. The lines slice through the roiling multi-color clouds, providing a stable counterpoint, a clear direction to guide one through the storm.
(From Left to Right) Jasmine Monk, November 10th, 2022 #1, 2022. Ink on Stonehenge paper. November 10th, 2022 #2, 2022. Ink on Stonehenge paper. November 10th, 2022 #3, 2022. Ink on Stonehenge paper. November 10th, 2022 #4, 2022. Ink on Stonehenge paper. March 31st 2023 #1, 2023. Ink on Sumi-e paper. March 31st, 2023 #2, 2023. Ink on Sumi-e paper. February 3rd, 2023, 2023. Ink on Sumi-e paper. February 10th, 2023 #10, 2023. Ink on Stonehenge paper. March 3rd, 2023, 2023. Ink on Stonehenge paper. January 18th, 2023 #1, 2023. Ink on Stonehenge paper. January 18th, 2023 #2, 2023. Ink on Stonehenge paper. March 3rd, 2023 #4, 2023. Ink on Stonehenge paper. March 6th, 2023 #1, 2023. Ink on Stonehenge paper. January 18th, 2023 #3, 2023. Ink on Stonehenge paper. February 10th, 2023 #2, 2023. Ink on accordion sketchbook. Elizabeth Peters, “Why can’t you just be…”, 2023. Acrylic on canvas. Olivia Dubé, Bad with Words, 2023. Acrylic, spray paint and liquid glass on canvas. Never Truly Lonely, 2023. Acrylic and spray paint on canvas. Chrome Hearts, 2023. Acrylic and spray paint on canvas.
Nearby, Jasmine Monk presents a sexually charged series of paintings that depict parts of the female anatomy. Images of breasts, labia, armpits, and pubic hair are captured in highly saturated blue ink that seeps into crisp white paper. In addition to a series of drawings there are small, accordion-style journals also on display, referencing the artist’s interest in writing. In the journals—which the artist calls “pillowbooks”—Monk’s forms are elegantly spaced, leaving large expanses of white in-between, creating a feeling of syntax and rhythm. The unseen is as important, if not more so than the seen. Body parts float amidst a blank void; the absences and occlusions convey a sense of unknowability—of others and of ourselves. Monk explains in her artist statement—printed in this catalogue—that her model is her partner, and she views this series as an examination of female queer desire. Alongside the drawings, the artist presents a redacted letter she wrote to her lover, conveying an intimate relation that refuses to be seen or known. The right to opacity is especially poignant for queer desire. It’s a resistance to be recognized, known, or defined by others’ opinions and assumptions.
Also in the Visual Arts Gallery are surrealist paintings by Olivia Dubé. The largest work depicts a young female figure draped across a bed, her head lying back, and her face obfuscated behind pixels. The artist’s statement—printed in this catalogue—describes the painting as a self-portrait, which, given the obscured female figure at the heart of it, suggests a discomforting sense of alienation. A heart-shaped tattoo on the figure’s arm has the word “Mom” written within, pointing to a relationship with a parent who is otherwise not present. The only other figure in the painting is a large crawling panther, a popular WWII-era tattoo that was often applied, because of its dense blackness, to cover-up older and unwanted ones. Some things here are hidden. The alternating painterly style of the panther and woman create a narrative and aesthetic tension that suggests this might be a dream centered on a symbolic conflict between predator and prey. The disturbing dreaminess extends to Dubé’s other, smaller paintings where female figures wearing platform heels and wings—their faces hidden beneath long hair—are surrounded by dozens of tiny floating eyeballs. This is a recurring theme in the artist’s earlier work, and the representation of an unwanted gaze.
The exhibition’s other site is Niagara Arts Centre in downtown Saint Catharines. Upon entering the gallery, visitors encounter a work by Natalie Tawadroos, a floor-based sculptural installation that consists of more than a dozen small human figures, constructed out of wire and insulation foam, and dressed in similar miniature grey hoodie and dark slacks. The title of the work is “A Journey Within” and the uniformed dolls—which the artist describes as self-portraits—have no faces, only 3-D printed hands. Strings are attached to the figures’ hands and feet like marionettes, but they are not bound to an external control. Instead, they are inter-connected with each other, positioned in dynamic poses moving in multiple directions, pulling the strings taught like a game of cats-cradle. It’s as if the multiple selves of the artist are vying for control, a reference the artist discusses in her artist statement—printed in this catalogue. Through this work, Tawadroos admits to addressing an internal power-struggle, the conflict for control within herself. She demonstrates a willingness, shared by others in this class, to reflect on her inner conflicts, here turning towards subterranean tensions.
Emily MacDonald’s photographs are presented unframed and mounted in a loose and floating arrangement. The idiosyncratic hang emphasizes the odd and unconventional subjects of her photos: a traffic cone discarded and half-hidden in tall grass; a dried-out sweet potato snapped in two and positioned carefully on a ledge. MacDonald’s keen eye is attuned to seemingly forgotten objects passed every day without notice. By directing attention to such things, the artist compels a closer read, a desire to know their purpose and story and by extension the time, place, people, and events they evidence. Alongside this series, the artist also presents an artist book filled with photographs of things in motion: a flock of birds, raindrops in a puddle of water, and a plane ascending into the clouds. MacDonald has left the prints unfixed which leaves them susceptible to light; they will gradually develop and change color over the course of the exhibition. The viewer is invited to flip through the book’s pages, troubled, perhaps, by the realization that their interest will contribute to the images’ eventual passing from visibility to invisibility, from presence to absence, and from memory to loss.
Marcel Grimard’s installation consist of six glass panels on which the artist applied brightly colored ink and glue to create translucent abstract images, ranging from depictions of body parts strewn across a battlefield, to a row of smokestacks emitting toxic yellow clouds into the sky. Light shining through the glass panels casts pools of colored light on the floor, recreating the optical sensation of being in a church. The reference to organized religion is important for Grimard, who seeks to confront, in part, the terrifying history of Catholic indoctrination and genocide finding correlation with our current neoliberal reality and capitalist regimes of power and control. Layered into this experience, is an unsettling discordant recording of “It’s the Dawn of a New Era,” a hit song from 1970 looped and mixed with sounds of bombs and people screaming, unsettling the unrealized idealism he grew up with. Installed nearby is another important body of work by Grimard, a series of brightly colored, absurdist drawings of his partner. The six portraits reveal the artist’s biting wit that can, perhaps, serve as a salve, however temporary, to the trauma of history and our mounting existential crises.
(From Left to Right) Emily Au, Stir Fry Beef Strips Vessel, 2023. White stoneware, underglaze, glaze. Tall Wagyu Vessel, 2023. White stoneware, underglaze, glaze. Bacon Vessel, 2023. White stoneware, underglaze, glaze. Hot Pot Meat Vessel, 2023. White stoneware, underglaze, glaze. T Sliced Ribeye Vessel, 2023. White stoneware, underglaze, glaze. Round Sliced Ribeye Vessel, 2023. White stoneware, underglaze, glaze. Chicken Skin Vessel, 2023. White stoneware, underglaze, glaze. Shabu Shabu Wagyu Vessel, 2023. White stoneware, underglaze, glaze. Taylor Elliot, She Is So Beautiful, I Think About Her Every Day, 2022-2023. acrylic, marker, oil pastel, pen, pencil crayon, conté, sewing needles, and embroidery thread on canvas. How Could You Do That To Someone You Love, 2022-2023. Bed frame, mattress, pillow, LED light, acrylic, marker, oil pastel, pen, and embroidery thread on canvas. Suture, 2022-2023. Acrylic, marker, oil pastel, pen, pencil crayon, conté, sewing needles, and embroidery thread on canvas.
Emily Au presents a series of ceramic objects that appear to be a variety of vessels made from strips and pieces of animal meat. One work looks like thin slices of raw beef contorted into the shape of a flower. Another vessel seems to be made from large bacon strips turned-in upon themselves and stacked to form a column. Whilst another object looks like a container made from dull-colored pieces of chicken skin. The fleshiness of these works is uncanny, familiar yet strange, as it has an unsettling proximity to human tissue. According to Au’s artist statements, her work examines the abject, which lies in the depiction of raw meat using ceramics, the seeming transmutation of mortal flesh into an ostensibly immortal material. Au uses ceramics—a highly intuitive, responsive, and organic process—to create beautifully eternal objects that represent an unsettling reality, not dissimilar to the processing of living animals into packaged goods that are marketed and sold to consumers in stores.
Scarlett Rivet presents a series of fantastical self-portraits in which a female face is obscured by images of birds, flowers, fungus, and other quasi-organic forms. With each painting, the paraphernalia becomes increasingly thick and ornate, overtaking the features of the person’s face as the image shifts from darkly angelic to more monstrous than human. As the artist explains in her artist statement—printed in this catalogue—she sets out to reflect upon her traumatic relationship with her mother. Next to the paintings is a poem written by Scarlett’s mother in which she calls her daughter ‘angel eyes’, a term of endearment. A tense relationship is formed between her mother’s words and her image of herself, leading one to question what caused the distance between the love letter and a painful self-image, one that is increasingly obscured. Another key feature of these works is the pale, monstrous skin tones—green, grey, blue—that recalls sick and dying flesh. The artist demonstrates the act of feeding the bite by examining the source of her pain: her mother-herself.
Taylor Elliott presents two works. One is a large painting on unstretched canvas, at the centre of which is a half-naked male figure that appears to be in pain and bleeding from a wound—possibly a bite—in his belly. Floating to his left is a representation of the Venus de Milo, a famous broken sculpture of an idealized woman missing both her arms. Red thread is stitched into the cavities on either side of her torso to look like blood. Red thread is applied elsewhere like stitches on fresh wounds or scar tissue, and in other areas it’s applied in orderly patterns to depict raindrops from roughly drawn clouds. Nearby, the artist also presents a sculptural work that appears to be an adolescent bed, with a canvas laid across like a bedspread over the wooden frame. The canvas’ surface is painted similarly to the wall hanging, shifting from deep blues on one side to red on the other. In the centre is a roughly sketched bouquet of disembodied arms, with hands in motion and unfurling, as if swaying in a silent breeze. According to Elliott, these works bear witness to cycles of abuse enacted against people close to him. In particular, he grapples with the anxieties and frustrations of adolescent males isolated by technology and disconnected from the world. Elliott’s works contend with the trauma of unreciprocated desire; an adolescent’s bed is the site where such alienation begins, and the painted tapestry is a representation of that journey.
The artists in Feeding the Bite examine intense emotional events, encounters, and relationships through diverse material practices. From my first visit with this class of students, I’ve been enamoured by their candor and their willingness to discuss and work through their traumas, pushing through the layers of their own psychology to confront fears, phobias, demons, and anxieties. Not to run, but to face them, using art to soothe and make sense of the pain.