It’s the middle of winter and it’s a gorgeous day — jacket weather, sunny. I’ve done the bike ride around Stanley Park before, so this time I bike to the Art Gallery of BC to see a new show of BC artists. Some fun stuff, like an artist who made fake elevator doors, but almost as interesting was the amazing bird poop splatter in the top of the rotunda.
There was also a nice audio piece — outside the museum entrance, hidden speakers playing the sound of English starlings from a tree.
I then visit a museum devoted to the world of Bill Reid, an artist and activist who passed away in 1998. His dad was of European descent and his mom was from Haida Gwaii — she was Haida, one of the Northwest Indian or First Nation tribes on the west coast of North America. He made a huge sculpture dedicated to her, and that place, called “The Spirit of Haida Gwaii.”
An image of this sculpture is on the Canadian $20 note. An old English lady is on the front. In the many photos of Bill in the museum, it seemed he looked pretty much like a typical Canadian of European descent, but he declared himself Haida and all his work owes a huge debt to the traditional work of those peoples. It’s a curious thing for me to try and wrap my head around. Reid’s work is somewhat contemporary — the material of the sculpture is untraditional — and he also made prints and lithographs. But what is curious to me is that the images look like, or are very closely related to, those typically seen in and on Northwest Coast tribal lodges that date back a century or more. He must have made a conscious decision to become part of a long lineage of imagery and mythology.
I suspect that the Haida view of art is different from the European view that dominates most museums. Reid worked using styles, images, characters and mythologies that were not his alone, but part of the long history of his people. Though he contemporizes the work by pulling the imagery into newer materials and contexts, he leaves very much of the traditional imagery intact — like an artisan working as an apprentice in a renaissance workshop. From a European standpoint, his work lies outside “official” art history — but he would say he’s part of a longer, deeper history.
Reid became an activist, helping to prevent logging and deforestation of Haida lands. He constructed an elaborate model of a traditional village that is incredible — a giant diorama of decorated lodges, side by side, interspersed with a myriad of totem and other poles. The whole village appears like one giant ritual object, or a living symbolic sculpture, facing the nurturing sea.
I then rode over to North Vancouver, over a bridge with a great view of the town, and a range of snow-capped peaks in the background. I’d been told by a friend in Seattle about a great Indian restaurant called Vij’s. Vij’s was only open for dinner (and I’ve got a show to do) but their next-door café Rangoli was open for lunch. It was worth the trip. I had a drink of something called Jal Jeera, a mixture of tamarind and cumin. I’d never tasted anything in the world like that combination before. I saw other people’s dishes arriving and they all looked incredible. I settled on the goat curry (how often do you see that on the menu?), which was delicious but not so different from flavors I’d had before — possibly just better, fresher.
There was a rack of coolers over by the register with pre-made boil-in-a-bag meals, so I bought a grocery bag’s full to divide among the buses for our long ride to Edmonton tonight. This restaurant is no local secret — Mark Bittman and Jamie Oliver have raved about it.
Our show, in the 3000-seat Queen Elizabeth Theatre (that old English lady again), went very well. I noticed a little old lady, in an usherette/security uniform, trying to get people to stop dancing — or at least stay in their seats — but after the 4th song she gave up. After that there was no stopping the crowd — they were dancing almost the entire rest of the set.
After the show, I was told that the mayor was backstage. Keith, Mauro and I hauled a bucket of beers and wine into the green room, where the guests were waiting. The mayor, Gregor Robertson, and his wife Amy chatted with most of us, and it turned out they had arrived on bikes! At one point they seemed slightly antsy, so as an out I offered that they probably had to get going, but they hung around — and after a bit, we all went to a nearby bar-rest for local wine and mussels. I chatted with Robertson about my own bike rides around Vancouver, and how NYC has made great strides in becoming more bike-friendly. I mentioned the efforts of Enrique Peñalosa, Janette Sadik-Kahn and Jan Gehl in transforming some cities into more livable places.
Robertson said that there has been a radical transformation of the land and cityscape in a generation. Vancouver is no longer a small city, and having seen all the new condos and office buildings here, I wondered aloud if developers were simply unstoppable; if the city might lose some of its charm and character; that the human scale of the city will be lost if profit is left as the prime force determining urban texture. In Peñalosa’s terms this means that people with lots of money determine how everyone else lives, and what kind of city we all live in — which, he feels, is undemocratic.
Robertson responded,
He continued that the development industry in Vancouver has built lots of great stuff, and has accepted the terms and conditions requiring large whacks of community amenities (parks, childcare, public art, community centers, etc.). He claimed that the Vancouver formula is far better for the community than almost any other city’s, which has made for some very livable urban hoods.
Being a New Yorker, maybe I’m sadly more cynical. In spite of how well things are going in New York, the balance is always precarious. I offered that the economic downturn might slow development a bit, and turn out to be an opportunity for all folks, wealthy and less wealthy, to reassess what kind of town they want to live in and what kind of life they want — given the unexpected (for some) break in the years of relentless acquisition and striving. “Given a second to think about it, would people really choose to live in vertical ‘rabbit hutches’?” I said, glancing out the window at a new condo tower with only a few lights on. “Well-appointed rabbit hutches,” Robertson replied. Change is not always a bad thing; I wouldn’t claim that all development is evil. But maybe with some safeguards in place, we might save that which makes a city livable — and that seems to be the tack that Robertson is taking.
Being only a visitor, my impressions are of the surface, and probably influenced by the mess that many US cities are in. Judging from their health care industry, maybe the Canadians have more perspective.
Robertson chatted with Paul and mentioned the gang problem that Vancouver is dealing with. Paul suggested, semi-seriously, that the mayor might watch some episodes of The Wire.
We said good night, I folded up my bike, and the drivers began the long haul to Edmonton. A little before 8am, I got out of my bunk to pee and glanced at the spectacular scenery outside. I never went back to bed. Here is the road around Lake Louise, near some hot springs — steam rose off the water and covered the road.
