Dion, dinosaurs and other findings in Toronto

The main purpose of my late-ish Friday trek into Toronto was to attend Mark Dion’s lecture at the ROM, but I did manage to arrive in the city early enough to squeeze in a belated visit to the Power Plant for their current roster of exhibitions, Stephen Shearer’s being the clear and deserved focal point as evinced by the striking entryway.

What’s truly impressive about Shearer aside from his penchant for shamelessly indulgent poetic works is the consistent clarity of his project through a dizzying mixture of media and approaches. There are over forty works on display in this solo show, some comprising mixed components besides, and his ability to make his rather specific thoughts on male youth, gender ambiguity and popular suburban culture speak clearly across photography, painting, ballpoint pen drawings, sculpture and archival practices is both impressive and easily overlooked. He certainly offers a more complex meal than the other two, admittedly smaller-scale exhibitions on right now: Andrea Bowers presentation on the AIDS Memorial Quilt is fairly straightforward and frustratingly immune to criticism, while Stephen Andrews’ ‘Cartoon’ just doesn’t seem to jive with its purported interest in media violence.

Given the strong attendance figures at Mark Dion’s talk, I was quite right to turn up early to collect a ticket in advance, which also gave me time to explore the Michael Lee-Chin Crystal, have some quality time with the dinosaurs, and check out the Institute for Contemporary Culture’s current exhibition, ‘Shapeshifters, Time Travellers and Storytellers.’ As an exhibition placing the work of contemporary First Nations artists alongside various native historical relics, the question of cultural balance is unavoidable, leaving the real successes to those who manage to negotiate the issue in unexpected ways. Brian Jungen’s Cetology, a show-stealing suspended skeleton, constructed from white plastic chairs and plainly evocative of the ROM’s dinosaur displays, is a clear example of a practice that successfully negotiates a dual exchange of appropriations from both aboriginal and western cultures, but I was just as impressed with Suvinai Ashoona’s minimal yet intricate ink drawings, as much for the handling of the medium as their modest display flat in a vitrine (I wish I could recall where I recently read someone claiming that drawing, unlike painting, should always be viewed on a horizontal surface, because this really cemented the point), as well as Faye HeavyShield’s book crafted from white beadwork - finally, something that both a craftsperson and a minimalist can drool over.

The Mark Dion talk was being held a long way down from the ICC’s top floor space in the crazy Crystal, in a lecture theatre that periodically rumbled with the passing subway cars on the Yonge-University-Spadina line. Despite that, Dion put on the ideal survey of his work, starting from 1992 and progressing through to very recent work in a matter-of-fact, sometimes self-effacing and generally entertaining format. He seemed well aware of the potential for artist’s talks to get bogged down in heavy conceptual chatter but managed not to shy away from honestly explaining the ideas as well as some of the scientific basis of his pseudo-archaeology. Despite having been at this for a while, he clearly retains a fanboy’s love of the museum, but is intelligent enough to constantly assess the ways he approaches what he admits are ‘impossibly damaged institutions.’

But it’s not a high-profile artist talk without some self-important knob in the audience to ask a question that isn’t so much a question as it is a three-minute soliloquy on the blatantly obvious history of museum practice in an effort to prove how clever one is, chased down with a wobbly query about Dion’s interest in objects. The whole ordeal was maybe only slightly less awkward than walking in on a teenager masturbating. To give the rest of the audience credit where due, there was a degree of vocalized derision that kicked in about halfway through this embarrassing performance which is quite unprecedented in my experience of audience-questions-that-we-all-know-are-ridiculous-but-let’s-be-polite-anyway. Dion himself waited patiently through the ordeal but even he couldn’t resist a gentle stab at the long-winded nature of the ‘question’ before attempting to frame a response.

Far more satisfying was a short and deceptively simple question on the fate of Seattle’s Neukom Vivarium once the developing biosphere grows to exceed the scale of his carefully-designed greenhouse. The problem of its long-term preservation raises far more interesting issues of museum conservation, and Dion’s honest lack of a plan says as much about the fallacy of museums as it does about his own mortality as an artist. That he only hopes he’ll live long enough to see the growing branches of the Vivarium touch the glass is strangely poignant, and definitely answer enough.

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