The Power Plant Contemporary Art Gallery at the Harbourfront Centre is known for its diverse public programming and provocative exhibitions. It emphasizes accessibility of art and is intent on enriching the Toronto cultural landscape. Thus, the gallery is free to visit all the time throughout the year. Thankfully, the artists of the Fall Opening of such a modern institution provided unique takes on the tradition of art history.
We live in a world of increasing social, political, and sociological awareness and it is abundantly clear that, much of the time, the systems holding these constructs together are as broken as the constructs themselves. This has come sharply into focus in structures like the current American political theatre. The broken system has become the “A” story, while the political message takes the backseat. Such a broken system is evident in art history, as often-oppressive, singular narratives, and exclusions have shaped art history into quite a one-sided story. Current contemporary art often shares modern and cutting-edge ideas but, increasingly, artists and their art are calling bullshit on the systems that have been in place for a long time.
In the upstairs of the gallery lies Maria Loboda’s Some weep, some blow flutes, an installation of works that draw from archaeology and the pre-dynastic era. The exhibition begins traversing a narrow, stuccoed hallway that opens up into a warm, womb-like room. The room is filled with works that have been inspired by her exploration of early cultures, archaeology, and ancient belief systems. These meditative ideas are wound throughout the works but most striking are her three pottery vases: The Unattainable Original Condition, displayed in what Loboda herself called a “Sotheby’s atmosphere.” In contrast to the commoditised auction-esque lighting, the vases are holed in spots with garbage peeking through, as if they were badly restored antiques. The compelling message of the vase is one of sarcasm, poking fun at the traditions of restoring and selling art and antiquity.
Located in a grand, two-story hallway is Latifa Echakhch’s engrossing fresco, Crossfade: a decrepit sky-scape that has been hacked away to show the wall underneath. The impressive installation in the tall, narrow space of the gallery is consuming. The viewer stands in between two walls and amidst the rubble of the frescoed sky and clouds. One can’t help but be reminded of frescoes in antique and renaissance art—Echakhch literally hacking away at a deeply rooted medium in art history used by masters like Michelangelo in the Sistine Chapel. To add insult to the proverbial injury, Echahkch doles to art tradition. The narrow hallway encourages those more rambunctious gallery-goers to walk upon the rubble of fresco—both the artist and the viewer, if only by accident, traipse over such a classical beloved method of art history.
In her exhibition on the first floor, Faux Guide, Yto Barrada examines the relationship between the museum system and the artefacts it cultivates and condemns. The works produce a rather explicit commentary on the role of the museum in determining value in objects and their history. A series of fossilised rocks, carved to look like Coca-Cola bottles, highlight the commodification of the museum and its artefacts. The real showstopper is Barrada’s short film Faux Départ, an ode to the craftspeople of the Tangiers that work in a world somewhere in-between real and forgery. The intricacy and beauty of the craftsman’s art almost make the viewer forget they are creating forged fossils. In this regard, Barrada gives as much primacy to the forged as real thing, questioning traditional ideals of authenticity and originality in art.
The questioning of historical authority that runs through the show feels right for this specific moment in time, albeit perhaps overdue. Neither Loboda, Echakhch, nor Barrada claim they have solutions to this upheaval, nor does it seem they are concerned enough to do so. Rather, the reflection and questioning of these archaic systems is a spark to the fire. We have a long way to go for a perfect world, and these reflections count. In a room that was humming with discussion of the latest social injustice or political tableau, the questioning was enough for me.
Photographs courtesy of The Power Plant Gallery.
