The room was dark, yet the four projection sheets standing in a square-like formation in the center of the room formed a bright light, impossible to overlook. Changing images and video clips flashed on the screen and commanded my gaze – an athlete in a basketball jersey dancing in a gymnasium, men laughing around a small table, a person in a navy blue suit and red tie speaking directly to the camera. A pulsing, quick beat accompanied the images, propelling them forward and adding an exciting energy to the footage.

Vietnamese-Canadian artist Tam Khoa Vu first drew inspiration for his immersive installation by talking to a group of Vietnamese diaspora who were living in Vietnam at the time. In an interview with the Daily, Vu said that “we were talking a little bit about this dual identity of belonging and also not belonging in Vietnam, and belonging maybe to whatever Western parts of the world we had originated from.” He explained that the term “condition” appealed to him because of its connotation of a “sickness.” He said, “It’s almost a little bit tongue in cheek, you know? There’s a little bit of this melancholia or sadness that can occur when reflecting on identity […] but it’s not entirely just trauma and pain […] it can be joy, also.”

Vu explained that at the surface level,  “hybrid condition” is “a cool sounding phrase that comes from different aesthetic backgrounds,” and that when you peel back the layers, “you can find deeper meaning to it.” This idea reflects the nature of Vu’s installation. At first glance, the viewer is attracted to the video installation and its fast moving images “like a moth to the light,” Vu said. “But once you sit with the work and experience the work, you realize all of the layers and what it does [on a deeper level].”

At first, Vu began creating Hybrid Condition to represent the Vietnamese diaspora within the world of fine and contemporary arts. Vu told the Daily that his name is “so front and center” to “show other Vietnamese people [and] other Asian people the possibilities within the contemporary arts world.” In developing his installation, Vu also imagined his 12-year-old self viewing his work. He said, “when I was 12 years old, I didn’t have role models to look up to. I had Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee […] and they’re not even Vietnamese.” Vu explained that there is nothing wrong with appreciating such figures, but that it “felt very limiting.” He added, “I like Kung Fu, sure, but I also like fashion, I also like shoes, you know?” Because Vu did not know other Asian or Vietnamese designers when he was a child, he wishes to be such a role model for youth today.

Vu is open to criticism. In fact, he encourages it from young people of colour as an avenue to create “space for the diaspora” in the arts world. He told the Daily, “If some 12-year-old looks at my project and is like, ‘wow, that is so whack, I can do that better,’ for me, that’s also incredible. It’s like, ‘go on, go do something that you want.’”

Vu’s installation does not only speak to diasporic populations or people of colour. Vu said, “I realized that I don’t need to tell a Vietnamese-Canadian, or a Vietnamese-American, or an Asian-American, or a Black-American, what it means to be othered […] because we know what feeling othered feels like.” Vu gives “110 per cent” of himself into his installation, and he wants “white people to feel 10 per cent of what it feels like to be othered.” If white people can feel even five per cent, Vu told the Daily, “I would feel like this installation has succeeded.”

To draw in a wide breadth of audiences, Vu works to create an inclusive gallery space. “I want to create a space that my mom can go to and understand, but also that is equally fresh, that your Mile-Ender can also appreciate.” One way in which Vu approaches this is through using modern digital platforms that can appeal to numerous demographics. His installation includes video extracts projected on four different screens, playing in a loop and at differing times, so that each visitor will have a unique experience.

When asked where he sourced the video footage, Vu told the Daily that much of his footage comes from memes online. He said that he “conducted a lot of that research the way a lot of people conduct their research – first thing in the morning, when you wake up and crack open Instagram.” He started saving numerous memes, and soon, individuals began sending Vu memes as well. Vu also shot a large part of the footage himself; one screen of footage is entirely shot by Vu in Vietnam.

Vu also uses social media as an “artistic vision” and as a “marketing tool” for his work. In addition to his visual artwork and his current installation, Vu is the founder of an import business, TKV Fine Arts & Financial Arts. The business subtly challenges perceptions of Vietnamese culture by giving new meaning to apparel and objects commonly found in Vietnam, such as grocery bags, sandals, and blue-collar workwear. Vu told the Daily that he uses his e-commerce business “as a vehicle for storytelling” to explain to his audiences why these common garments are important. Through his social media usage, Vu can market both his art installation and his business. He said, “When I have marketing and hype for the business, it channels into the artwork, and the artworks also feed into my art practice.”

In an interview with The Creative Independent, Vu said, “I don’t want to go to bed on Sunday just being afraid of Monday. Life can pass you by in that way.” Vu told the Daily that this mentality still informs his work today. Vu stated that he is “unabashedly” himself, and that his sincerity and upfrontness inform his work. He said that “a lot of Asian-Canadian people are typically seen as ‘timid,’ and ‘meek,’ and ‘model-minorities,’ and then when you have someone like me ‘qui peut changer de langue facilement,’” – Vu speaks English, French and Vietnamese fluently – “does that make people scared, or worried, or does it challenge their notions of what an Asian person is?” Vu predicts that his installation will encourage visitors to confront the question “am I racist?” and hopes that his work will overturn prejudices.

Vu strongly encourages McGill students to visit Hybrid Condition. Entry to the exhibition is free and runs until March 30 from Tuesday to Saturday between 12:00 and 6:00 PM. For more information on the exhibition, visit m-a-i.qc.ca/en/event/hybrid-condition. To learn more about Vu and his upcoming artistic pursuits, check out his Instagram page @tamvu.biz.

The post A Look into Tam Khoa Vu’s Hybrid Condition appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Filled to the brim with sensational satire and whimsical wit, this interpretation of Wilde’s text was truly a joy to behold. Celeste Gunnel-Joyce and Maite Kramarz gave captivating lead performances as Algernon and Jack. As they bantered and battled with one another, the audience hung onto their every word in anticipation of what playful quip would pass through their lips next. Every aspect of the sets, blocking, and acting choices was meticulously chosen, coming together to create a cohesive story that was truly a labour of love. Even the power outage that hit Morrice Hall that night humorously worked in the play’s favour, striking just as Act I ended and coming back on right before intermission. 

I will never forget the experience of shining our smartphone flashlights on the actors during that second act. As part of a majority-queer audience, watching a queer production of a historically queer-coded play, I could feel in that moment the heart of this take on The Importance of Being Earnest. TNC’s adaptation is a celebration of the queer roots of theatre. Its joyful, collaborative spirit is a breath of fresh air in a world of serious, overly-earnest media. 

I sat down with the director, Carmen Mancuso, on behalf of The McGill Daily to discuss more about the production. The following interview has been shortened and edited for clarity. 

Eliana Freelund for The McGill Daily (MD): Why choose to put on The Importance of Being Earnest? Why is this play relevant now?

Carmen Mancuso (CM): First and foremost, it’s just such a funny show. The social satire transcends the time it was written in. It’s a perfect example of a work that was written during a very socially conservative time when none of the freedoms we enjoy today could ever have been imagined. It’s well known that during the premier in 1895 Oscar Wilde was publicly confronted by the father of the man he was seeing at the time, which led to a libel trial and his eventual imprisonment. Continuing to put on this play is a way of honouring both him, and the progress we’ve made. 

MD: What was the thought process behind creating a lesbian retelling of the play?

CM: This time around, reading the dialogue in the play, I found myself thinking “Wow, this just sounds so butch, this sounds so gay.” The way Wilde creates these dandy-ish men lends perfectly to a modern, lesbian reading. This got us thinking, “What if we restaged this play with all women, and without having them do drag? What if we really embraced, and leaned into that angle?” Going from there, it seemed a natural progression to change the time period, since our vision didn’t seem to suit the 1890s anymore. We landed on doing a 1920s, very gay, Importance of Being Earnest.

MD: How did you go about changing the location and time period? 

CM: It’s all due to our costume, set, and prop designers – Tea Anderson, Léa-Mirana Metz, and Ilesh Thomas. They worked really hard to visually, spiritually, and artistically recreate the time period, and not lean into the gaudy, flashy stereotypes we see in so much of our media today. A lot of research was done into what exactly the gay and lesbian subculture looked like at the time, and then using that visual language to aid in how we portrayed the characters. 

MD: One of the standouts of this production is its truly joyful tone. In the playbill, you explain that “the goal was to make something entertaining, something towards modern queer audiences without the traditional misery-centered narratives that often overwhelm queer stories.” How did you achieve this feeling, and why is it so important for this particular retelling?

CM: We ultimately wanted to create something for all the gay theatre kids out there. Something that is unapologetically happy, silly, and entertaining. This is a play where no one dies. The saddest people get is over eating muffins. We wanted to do something fun, in a queer way – which unfortunately doesn’t always exist in modern media. It was also important for us to do this with something that is a fundamental part of “the canon.” In many ways, The Importance of Being Earnest is the archetypical university production – it’s been done so many times, even as recently as 2017 here at McGill. We wanted to take something from the canon and twist it in a little way that would just completely reframe it, while still keeping the original elements of the script. I’m so proud of what we ended up with, and I really hope that all our hard work came across!

The last week of shows for The Importance of Being Earnest will take place from November 22 to 24 at 7pm at Morrice Hall. Pay-what-you-can tickets can be purchased on Eventbrite. For more information, visit Tuesday Night Café Theatre’s Facebook and Instagram pages. 

The post A Love Letter to Queer Theatre Kids appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Randa Mohamed for The McGill Daily (RM): What is your role at Usine 106u?

John Williams Lanthier (JL): I’m a volunteer here. They call them docents in the museums — people who keep an eye on the art. Docents make sure nobody steals anything, but they also sell things and answer questions. And I help hang the art here. Once a month, we have all the artists dropping off and picking up their art to handle the transfer. And then we put together the jigsaw puzzle of all the different sized paintings. We try to fill all the space on the walls.

RM: Do you guys put up the new art before the Vernissages [an exhibition to showcase new art]?

JL: The Vernissages are on the first Thursday of the month, so we put it up on the first Sunday, I guess, or the Sunday before the Thursday.

RM: How many years have you been part of the Usine?

JL: Six, maybe seven. I guess I first showed up for a month or so, off and on, and then it became more permanent.

RM: How many artists have their work up in here right now?

JL: I think it’s like 35, 40.

RM: Could you describe what a Vernissage is?

JL: Well, it’s an event where people can drink and enjoy the art at leisure and even meet some of the artists and talk to them. And there’s music.

RM: What do you do in your own work? Do you do mainly sculptures these days?

JL: I’ve been working with multimedia assemblages, but I still do some painting. I did a little mural inside the storage closet recently. But many sculptures do include paint.

RM: Did you start out doing sculptures from the beginning?

JL: No, I mean, I was painting for a while, but then I did in art school have a sort of 3D phase and then I went back to super flat and then I got back into the 3D.

RM: Where did you go to art school?

JL: Concordia University. I did painting and drawing as a major and art history as a minor.

RM: Do you think that your work is reflective of themes in your life or that it’s kind of an unrelated outlet?

JL: It’s inspired these days mostly by the objects that I find, which have their own histories. And I just try to combine them in a way that makes sense, that tells a new story.

RM: So you feature a lot of found objects in your art. How do you find them? Do you spend days where you search for things? Or is it more so just as you live your life, you come across things?

JL: Yeah, it’s more like that. I dumpster dive sometimes, but mostly when I pass by and there’s some cool stuff on top of a bin or a box or somebody puts a little sign: “for free”, or something.

RM: This one that you found, [pointing to a cement sculpture of a screaming head painted black] was that found in an abandoned building, you said?

JL: Yeah. I went with some roommates. It was super abandoned. Like total shit. Like all the water covering the floor. Very dangerous.

RM: So these are things which nobody’s going to be looking for anyways.

JL: Yeah.

RM: When you are working on pieces, is there any kind of music that you listen to or any kind of specific mood that you try to get into?

JL: I suppose when I would work on guitars, I would get some custom commissions, so musicians would give me their instruments and they would ask for, a sort of, theme. So, I would pick music that went with that theme. But right now I’m just sort of listening to whatever. Some days, nothing. But, I used to not be able to work without music.

RM: Do you plan things completely before you start making them, or is it just that you kind of start making something and then figure it out as you go?

JL: Exactly. Yeah, that. If you plan too much. It doesn’t leave much room for improvisation.

RM: Yeah. So, the series of sculptures that you worked on with the referees, for example, was it planned that it was going to be a series?

JL: The Beast Battles. No, it wasn’t. I just had a lot of fun with the first one. Then the second, and third. I think I’m at, like, 20 or 21 now.

RM: Could you tell us about those sculptures?

JL: Well, I just make little monsters and then make little environments for them to live in and fight. But I make another little character, the referee, with black and white stripes, and he’s there to make it more sporty, I guess. He’s monitoring it so it doesn’t get out of hand.

RM: Do you think that your work is affected by the different seasons that are happening? In the winter do you find that the work is different from how it is in the summer?

JL: It’s possible because of the found objects. That depends on the season, because people throw out different things. So, in the summer I actually find more Christmas-y stuff because it’s not as much of a hot commodity. So things are not necessarily matching the seasons. I have some Halloween thing that I’ve been working on for a while. I’ve been working on it for maybe a year and a half. Just whenever I find a Halloween-y sort of thing. 

RM: Have you been doing art your whole life?

JL: I used to do more crafts when I was a kid. I liked Lego and paper maché, friendship beads, paper dolls, that sort of thing. And then I used to draw comics. Then I got into more realistic portraits, I suppose. And then I got more surreal and then more psychedelic. And now it’s sort of in between pop art, surrealism and psychedelia.

RM: Growing up was there a lot of art going on in your life?

JL: I was a clown. We did a lot of shows. And for maybe six, seven years before that, I was singing and dancing.

RM: Do you have any advice you would give to budding artists?

JL: Make time to do art every day, even if it’s just like, in the metro. And don’t get too focused on the results. It’s the process itself that keeps you engaged with it.

RM: Do you think that doing art can be a form of therapy?

JL: Oh, definitely. It’s helped me a lot to enjoy life, relax.

RM: Has the Usine been a good way to meet other artists and form a sort of community?

JL: Oh, definitely. I’m not that social a person, but yeah, here, I’m forced to engage with the artists who bring their work, and they’re mostly nice people, and I’ve learned a lot from seeing their creations here every month. I try not to steal too much of their style.

RM: Is there something that connects the artwork between all the different artists that are here? Are there some similar themes shared between everyone?

JL: Sort of outsider art, one could say. Not necessarily the minimal or tasteful conceptual art you’ll see in most galleries. It’s more street art, but it’s more of the moment, more real. They are regular people. This is their inner world that they’re sharing with us, whether or not they’re legitimized by the big institutions of art.

RM: Is there a message that you want other people to get from your art?

JL: No, not necessarily. I mean, some of them have a little narrative or whatever, or some sort of color scheme. But no, all these found objects, I guess, have different meanings for different people based on their associations with them. Like if that was like their favorite childhood toy or something.

RM: Do you have a favorite piece that you ever made?

JL: I have a collage that’s covering my apartment, all the ceiling. That’s probably the biggest thing I ever made. I spent a long time on that. It’s very 3D. It’s mostly black and white — all fractals and tracing paper and a lot of movement. A spiral cosmos. We called it entropia or chaosmosis.

RM: Entropia. What does entropia mean?

JL: I made that up in  school with two other classmates. It’s from entropy, utopia, or dystopia. And then chaosmosis, another word, is like osmosis, but chaos.

RM: Do you often work at home?

JL: I can do the pipe cleaner stuff there. I just need glue. And it’s not that messy. I can do it on the couch, watching a movie, or something. For almost ten days, I think, I didn’t have a phone since mine cracked. So yeah, I’d be just pipe cleaner-ing — sometimes while waiting for the metro.

RM: So you bring it with you everywhere?

JL: Well, yeah, I always have something to do when I’m out to keep from getting bored.

RM: Do you usually like to keep your hands busy?

JL: An idle mind is the devil’s workshop. 

If you’d like to keep up with John Williams Lanthier’s upcoming projects, you can follow him on his Facebook page, John Lanthier Art. Are you an aspiring artist in Montreal? Would you like to see your art displayed in a gallery? You can contact submit photos of your work to usine106u@gmail.com. For more information, visit Usine 106u’s official website.

The post An Idle Mind is the Devil’s Workshop appeared first on The McGill Daily.

This interview has been shortened and edited for clarity.

Frida Sofía Morales Mora and Eliana Freelund for The McGill Daily (MD): What exactly are the goals of the McGill Classics Play? How did this whole thing start?

E. Weiser (EW): The McGill Classics play was started by Professor Lynn Kozak back in 2011 with the goal of integrating theatre back into classics. Theatre was a huge part of classical literary tradition, so this was a way to revitalize that. It’s also our goal to make the plays we put on accessible to a general public which might not have as much knowledge about these stories.

Audrey Michel (AM): We’ve also seen a bit of a shift in the past two years in how the McGill Classics Play operates. We’re encouraged to put our own creative spin on these stories rather than just directly translate what’s on the page to the stage. You can definitely see this with our play this year – it’s very different from the original text!

MD: What was the reasoning behind choosing this particular story? Why is Homer’s Odyssey still relevant in 2023?

AM: As E. mentions in our program, we are both haunted by Odysseus. We wanted to give space for many different areas of interpretation. This all came as a response to a very personal reckoning with the text.

EW: The themes of the Odyssey come back again and again in popular culture. Odysseus’s archetype as the wily trickster, the clever man who can escape from any situation – this trope comes back all the time. It’s the same thing with the idea of the Odyssean voyage home. These themes are ongoing and are constantly being reinterpreted in modern media.

MD: The form of this particular play is very unique and comedic! What made you choose a gameshow format? Why Ithacan Idol?

EW: We have a policy that everyone who wants to get involved in the McGill Classics Play can get involved. This usually means that we have to be pretty strategic in how we structure things, though, in order to make sure that everyone gets the chance to shine. So, we just thought, why not go camp?

AM: The concept of the game show is actually not irrelevant to the Odyssey. It goes straight back to the ancient tradition of presenting these stories during events such as festivals, where everyone puts their own twist on a given story and competes against one another to determine who has the best version.

EW: And in a way the contestants in our play are recreating the contest of the bow in the Odyssey, where the competitors compete to see who can get Penelope’s attention.

MD: In your program you define the ancient Greek term polytropos – to have many (poly-) manners or ways (-tropos). How is this concept relevant to your play?

AM: That term is basically an encapsulation of why we are haunted by Odysseus. It comes from the first line of the Odyssey: “Tell me, Muse, about the polytropos man.” It calls into question the idea of identity itself. In the text, this refers to Odysseus’s identity as a husband, as a father, and as a former soldier. This also applies on a metaliterary level: Is Odysseus a criminal? Is he a refugee? Is he someone we should sympathize with? There are just so many layers and so many variables.

MD: When we saw the play, both of us agreed that the Polyphemus scene depicting colonial violence was both incredibly moving and very difficult to watch. Can you explain the thought process behind writing this scene?

EW: When you think of this scene more simply, it’s basically this: someone rolls off onto your island, eats your shit, attacks you, and then  leaves. The thing is, in the Odyssey we get the version told by Odysseus, where Polyphemus is not painted in a good light simply because he doesn’t understand Greek customs and traditions. Polyphemus is othered – he is one-eyed, he doesn’t speak “proper” Greek, he isn’t familiar with Greek hospitality customs (xenia). According to Odysseus’s version of the story, that gives him permission to invade Polyphemus’s home. This is the part in the Odyssey, especially from a modern perspective, where you see the biggest pitfall of the hero. Because he is not a hero in this scene; he is just a colonizer.

AM: It’s important to recognize that colonization was going on during antiquity. Of course it looked very different, but it’s important that we talk about this now, especially because these narratives were used to justify later colonization. During this time, people were trying to define what it meant to be Greek. And to Odysseus, it seems that to be Greek is to not be what he would have considered “barbarian.” The tension in this scene is essentially, “you don’t look like us, you don’t respect my customs, you don’t speak like us.” 

EW: The part in our play where Polyphemus is holding his lamb and laments to the audience is taken directly from the text. So you have this painting of him as a devastated farmer who just lost his pet. And then you cut to Odysseus boasting over the fact that he’s just taken Polyphemus’ most prized lamb.

AM: In a way, it’s just twisting what he’s really known for the most – his trickster nature – and turning it into cruelty.

MD: How did the actors portraying Odysseus and Polyphemus feel when acting out this scene? It must have been very difficult emotionally. 

Thea S. (TS): Portraying Polyphemus required a lot of vulnerability on my part. As a Lebanese person, as a person of colour, as a person whose country is constantly affected by external forces, this scene really helped me rethink the struggles my country has to deal with. Here it’s a different framing: there are different characters, different forces, but the elements are still there. The part where Polyphemus gets scared and asks “who are you?” and “what did you say your name was?” really affected me. He gets defensive; he tries to defend himself. Peoples who have been colonized are often depicted as weaker, and the narrative is often that they were colonized because they were unable to fight back. I think it’s important to remember that that’s an unfair way to perceive these events in history. Nothing about colonization should ever be justified. This narrative of the weaker versus the stronger – it’s not real. It’s an illusion created by the oppressors. 

Gabrielle Gaston (GG): I had a difficult time acting in this scene in a different way. I’m playing a colonizer; I’m playing a villain. And at the same time I am fully aware of my positionality in this scene – as a white person, as a settler. I’m aware of the power dynamics that are in place, not only the privilege that I have in my day to day life in Canada, but also the power dynamics in the scene. I’m not only older than Thea, but I am a white person, and she is a person of colour. I know that she is in a more vulnerable state here, and there are a lot of really intense moments in that scene. I really wanted to make sure that we established a relationship of trust while working on the play together so that she could be as comfortable as possible. I wanted her to be able to tell me when something was too much. The most important thing to me was that she would feel safe.

MD: We are currently in the middle of Black History Month. Was there a conscious decision to put on the play during this month? How is the content of the play relevant to Black history?

GG: Although it wasn’t a conscious decision to put on the play during Black History Month, I think that the content is very much relevant to Black history. The way that E. and Audrey wrote and directed the play, specifically with the scene depicting colonial violence, speaks to the ongoing effects of colonization. In a play that is so campy, we were told that that scene had to be completely sober. It was very important for us to convey the weight of that scene – this is not something that’s over; it’s something that is still going on. Antiquity is effectively the foundation of Western civilization. It’s important to note that these traditions carry on, even though, as Audrey said, colonization looked different back then. These stories, these traditions, these narratives – they’ve shaped so much of Western culture. The transatlantic slave trade, the colonization of the African continent – these things have been catastrophically traumatic on a generational level. And whether or not Odysseus really existed, the idea of him – the idea of this OG colonizer figure in Odysseus has persisted throughout Western culture. The themes of domination and colonization in the Odyssey still exist to this day – and their effects can still be felt among Black people and on the African continent. I think it’s important to shift the narrative of how stories of colonization are told, to a place where the white person isn’t the hero. 

EW: Classics have historically been used to justify white supremacy. It’s incredibly important to not perpetuate that narrative. We don’t need another Odysseus-the-hero narrative – it was time to tell a different story.

TS: The medium of storytelling is really powerful. For the liberation of the oppressed, it is vital to keep the stories of the victims alive. It’s important for the truth to be heard – it’s necessary for justice, and it’s necessary for healing to start.

MD: The play remains open-ended as to who exactly Odysseus was. What does Odysseus mean to each of you?

EW: For me, Odysseus is all of these interpretations at once. You can’t distill the connotations his name has down to a single source.

AM: I think Odysseus is a question about who I want to be. His story about wandering, looking for home, looking for belonging – it resonates with all of us. But this story also asks us, what are you going to do in that situation? How do you want to be remembered, how are you going to treat people?

GG: To me, Odysseus is more of a concept than a real person. He’s kind of transcended being a real man because of the many ways he’s been interpreted and how they build off of each other. 

TS: I think Odysseus is very much a multi-faceted character. As Gab said, he really is more of a concept than a person. There are so many perspectives on his character, but I think it’s important not to get lost in one or two interpretations. Instead, we should look at every aspect of him in a way that leaves room for critical thinking and for nuance. 

If you are interested in being a part of McGill Classics Play, proposals for its 2024 production are currently being held. For further information, contact lynn.kozak@mcgill.ca.

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Yehia for The McGill Daily (MD): I would like to start with a question that might not seem relevant. As a writer, do you have strong opinions about fonts, software, stationery, etc.? 

Curtis John McRae (CJM): Hilarious. That’s a great opening question. Yes, I have strong opinions about many of those things. It’s actually funny you should ask. I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to go through the yolk website, but we have submission guidelines, and we suggest submitting work in Garamond. I’m not quoting directly here, but if you don’t, you’ll be taking a side in a tireless, endless debate within yolk. I fall on the side of Garamond. So if anyone reading this is thinking about submitting, please do take Garamond. I’m a big fan of Garamond. Also Goudy Old Style. I don’t know if you know about it, but it’s got a bit more kick in it, a bit more pizzazz. 

MD: How did yolk come about, and how did you become involved in it? 

CJM: So yolk began about three years ago. I co-founded it with a couple of friends. It started between myself and my best friend, who is the current fiction editor, Alexandre Marceau. We had been trying to start writing workshops for a couple of months with no success. Eventually, Alex pivoted and said we should start a project and get a literary journal going  – gather a couple of friends, people we know who write, and just start this passion project. That’s how it began. Initially, we were five or six members, and we just met up on Sundays in a park and had discussions about our vision for the journal – what we wanted to add to the already rich literary scene in Montreal and Canada at large. We just found ourselves sort of falling into a rhythm and started assigning some tasks and roles and the next thing we knew we had our first print publication in our hands.

MD: Did you have a background in creative writing before yolk? 

CJM: The original members were just a group of friends. Alex, the fiction editor I just mentioned, and I have known each other since high school. Neither of us was studying creative writing, but we were big readers. I was working at Chapters, for instance, and was just constantly reading whatever and whenever I could. Alex was similar, so we always had that in common. Then we basically just brought on friends. The former editor-in-chief, Josh Quirion, was a friend of Alex’s. So he brought him on. I had brought on Sean Lee, the former social media manager, now social media projects. It was all very informal. We were passionate about literature, talking about it and writing it. But it was only later that we kind of in our own ways entered into [writing] programs. I had been studying English literature when I began yolk and then went on to complete my MA at Concordia. Josh was the only one who had graduated from a creative writing program when we began. Like I said, it was all very informal. Just a couple of friends with a shared passion for literature.

MD: What is yolk trying to do? 

CJM: That’s a big one. I would say that our project mandate is two-fold. The obvious one is the journal (the print and digital publication). For that, we’re just looking to cultivate a platform for both emerging and established writers to appear alongside each other in print and on our website. I guess, more broadly, we want to create a platform for good literature, for new writers and established ones, but also for experimental writers – perhaps for stories that might not find a home in a traditional journal. We’re looking for new, exciting, and fresh literature. We want to give a home for that. We’re also trying to keep the print journal alive. We’ve already seen some of our counterparts fold and transition exclusively to digital publications. So we find it very important to maintain that physical medium. We do this for many reasons, but one of the fundamental ones is that, for a writer, seeing their name in print is incredibly encouraging. To actually hold the journal in your hands and see your name on the page and see all the other pieces beside your piece.
 It’s very exciting. 

The second mandate is to create a sense of community. Beyond our publication, we’re very active in running and hosting events, curating spaces that aren’t exclusive to literature but welcoming to the art scene in general. So we’ve had performance art exhibitions, pop-up poetry events, readings. We’re just trying to curate a communal space for artists to gather in Montreal as well as publish their work.

MD: How different of an experience would it be for an artist to submit their work to yolk compared to a larger literary journal? 

CJM: As a newer literary journal in Canada, I think yolk can expose writers to a lot of unique elements and aspects of the editorial process. That’s just one way of looking at it, which is to say that writers work quite closely with our editors and get a lot of time and engagement with the editors. There is also a certain amount of care and attention we can afford because we’re dealing with a smaller pool of writers. We can champion them, create events for them, advertise for them, and bring them into a preexisting literary community. There are many advantages to small literary journals, but one of them is that sense of community and closeness that a writer may not feel while publishing in some of the bigger journals. 

MD: I wanted to talk about your last issue, “The Canadian Issue.” In the forward, written by the former editor-in-chief, you say that “there is a certain responsibility in defining what citizenship means” and that your “privilege is that you can try.” Why did you choose for this issue to be “The Canadian Issue,” and did you manage to define what it means to be Canadian? 

CJM: The short answer is no. But I think that’s a very long and ongoing project that we’re just trying to contribute a small footnote to. As to why we decided to do “The Canadian Issue,”, there were two reasons. It’s our fourth issue, so, of course, we’re still reinventing and experimenting with the model. Previously, we had been accepting international submissions, and we thought it would be interesting to see what it would be like to only accept submissions from Canadian artists. So it was also about giving a platform to elevate Canadian writers and their voices. That was the initial idea, but we recognized that “Canadian” can be a very troubled term. We wanted to be very loose about what “Canadian” meant, and we landed on the side of Canadian citizens abroad or anyone residing within Canada. Again, I don’t think we answered the question of what it means to be Canadian.
 But we’ve given a platform for Canadian artists, loosely defined, to publish their work.

MD: I wanted to learn more about the process of producing yolk. After the submission deadline has passed and you have acquired all this material, what happens next?

CJM: Every time I finish a new print issue, it feels like I’m reflecting on a fever dream. Then I need a month of just going to the spa. Kidding, but it’s quite intensive. Once the submission deadline has closed and we enter the stage where we’re selecting the work, we have genre pods. What that means is that our genre editors spearhead their own pods of readers. Those readers are both internal, like from the yolk masthead, and external. It’s within those pods that the selection is made. The genre editor, alongside the editor-in-chief, has the final and ultimate say over what makes it from the shortlist to the journal. By bringing in new minds and new readers, we keep it fresh while maintaining a consistency of style.

MD: What about the order in which pieces appear in the issue? How do you decide that?  

CJM: That’s a great question. You asked the right person because that’s always been my job. This is a question I’ve been trying to answer myself for all four of these issues because there’s no strict formula that I’m following. It’s very intuitive. I actually print everything out and spread it all out across this large wooden table I have at home. I read through everything two, three, four times. I start to mark recurring themes or subject matters in a notepad, and then I’ll start to arrange the pieces based on that. Then I’ll ask myself some questions: What progression do I want to show in the journal? What kind of art do I want to show? Or do I want it to be anti-art and sporadic? Based on that, I’ll start arranging the journal into a progression of themes. I’m always moving
 things around.

MD: How do you pick the cover design? 

CJM: For the first volume, we used the artwork of Marion Dale Scott, who was a Canadian painter. The original project was to begin to trace a trajectory of Canadian literature and art through the cover art, which we haven’t abandoned. For volume two, we selected work from what was submitted by artists to the journal. We thought it might be cool to juxtapose an artistic timeline of Canadian art with the contemporary art
 being submitted.

MJ: Did any of you have publishing experience before working on yolk? 

CJM: That’s a great question. None of us had experience. We figured it out by “faking it till you make it.” Honestly, I think what really helped us along was that we were always fuelled by a passionate group of volunteers who felt that there was nothing that couldn’t be surmounted. When the time to print came around, we asked, what do we have to do to do this? We just kept moving forward, asking lots of questions, and now it’s just a sort of a repeat process. There’s a lot of plug-and-play that goes on, and then we send the documents to the printing press we have a partnership with. A couple of weeks later, we get a bunch of boxes on our front doorsteps with the print issues.

MD: Do you foresee any funding coming soon? 

CJM: Yes. Since I began as editor-in-chief, I’ve assembled a funding committee who are exclusively working toward that. We’ve finally managed to check off a lot of boxes that make us eligible for a lot of the funding. But it takes money to get money. Most funding bodies want you to prove to them that you have passed the test of time. A lot of them require you to already pay your contributors, to be running for at least two years, and to have a certain amount of copies in circulation – something like 750. It’s expensive to finally qualify, but after three years running, we’ve just about got there. 

MD: What do you look for in an art submission? 

CJM: I’m not looking for anything particular in the work besides being stopped – being arrested. That can happen in many ways. It can be a fresh and exciting voice or a surprising turn within a piece. There are many sorts of elements of craft, style, and voice that can elicit that reaction. But the truth of the matter is, I want originality in style, content, and voice – something that, after I read it, I’m going to be thinking about for the rest of the day. I think that can only be achieved through originality. I think that’s what excites readers in general – when they come across something ever so subtle that it stops them in their tracks. 

MD: Everyone working at yolk is a volunteer, and you invest a lot of time and effort into this. Why do you do it? 

CJM: I ask myself that question all the time. Sometimes with high energy and sometimes with defeat. I think that people are thirsty for community spaces and for a place to publish their work. I know there are already other journals, but I think there’s room for more. I think that yolk has a unique tone and energy that people are excited about, and we want to keep that. I think, too, that the idea of a literary journal is incredibly important in the greater literary sphere. It’s important for platforming emerging writers. It’s democratic and egalitarian in a sense; you have emerging and established writers alongside each other. So it’s a useful tool for writers from all walks of life and at all levels
 of experience.

As an aspiring writer myself, I love the idea that the literary journal is not a dying medium but one that’s seeing a new surge of energy. If I can have any way to contribute to that, then I consider myself lucky.

MD: What’s your vision for yolk’s future? 

CJM: My dream is that the journal acquires funding. With that funding, we’ll be able to focus on establishing ourselves as at least a biannual print journal, and we’ll be able to maintain a very active online presence through more digital publications. But, most importantly, I think that yolk wants to embed itself not only in the Canadian literary sphere but in the Montreal one. One way we are hoping to do that is to procure a venue space where we can host events more frequently. If not in our own space, we’d like to continue to have events in Montreal. So to have a bigger, more consistent, and more frequent presence within the literary landscape is what we’re hoping to do.

***

Visit www.yolkliterary.ca to learn more about yolk!

The post How to Run a Literary Magazine appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Jenny Hval’s genre-bending novel tells the story of Jo, an international student trying to figure out her place in a new country and a new stage in life. Jo’s experience in this new city doesn’t go as smoothly as she had hoped: her roommate has no boundaries, and her house acts more like a living entity than an object. This is one of the weirdest books I’ve ever read. At its core, Paradise Rot is a coming-of-age story, but as the lines between reality and imagination blur, the story begs you to question your understanding of sexuality, bodies, and gender.

– Yehia Anas Sabaa, Culture Editor

TV SHOW – The Haunting of Bly Manor, created by Mike Flanagan

The Haunting of Bly Manor tells the story of a haunted, stately mansion in the English countryside. The show is seriously scary – it had me scared of the dark for weeks and on high alert for ghosts – but also features gripping storytelling and stellar performances (for everyone who is also in love with Victoria Pedretti) that make it hard to look away despite the horror. It additionally features a slow-burn WLW romance, which without giving too much away, is seriously unexpected and absolutely heart-wrenching. 

– Saylor Catlin, News Editor

MOVIE – Ravenous directed by Antonia Bird

Homoeroticism meets Western meets absurdist comedy, Ravenous (dir. Antonia Bird) is a great, unsung classic of ’90s horror. Set during the Mexican-American war of 1846, Second Lieutenant John Boyd is exiled to a remote military base in the western United States. His unit encounters a mysterious stranger, Colqhoun, who warns them of a certain Colonel Ives who murdered and cannibalized his friends. Featuring a sparkling cast of idiosyncratic characters and teeming with wit, the movie offers a striking indictment of Manifest Destiny and American imperialism. 

– Olivia Shan, Managing Editor

MOVIE – NOWHERE, directed by Gregg Araki

In Gregg Araki’s cult black dramedy, aloof yet uncomfortably in-your-face teens run amok as their peers either repent and face bloody rapture or continue their debauchery and meet lizard-faced alien invaders. Bad trips, allusions to Christ, and gratuitous sex scenes are intertwined into a spiralling narrative headed to the depths of meaninglessness. The film is awash in stunning sets, startling light displays, and out-of-this-world costumes, but the characters’ peculiar tenderness and vulnerability still comes through. It all ends with the most beautiful, heartbreaking, and frustratingly absurd queer confession of love I have ever seen.

– Will Barry, Commentary Editor

NOVELLA – Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu

Laura, the protagonist and narrator of the story, is being preyed upon by Carmilla, a vampire. Considered to be a classic of Gothic fiction,  Carmilla explores themes of duality, lust, and sexuality. The story also challenges Victorian concepts of gender roles. The publication of the novella predates Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897) by 26 years, and is one of the earliest examples of vampire fiction! If you’re looking for a short read with a WLW romance hidden in plain sight, then Carmilla is the book for you.

– Yehia Anas Sabaa, Culture Editor

The post Queer Horror Recommendations! appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Born Diane Nemerov on March 14, 1923, in New York City, Arbus grew up in an affluent Jewish family. A gifted student, she was initially drawn to writing and painting before being introduced to photography by her boyfriend, Allan Arbus. The pair married in 1941 and began a joint career in fashion photography. The business did well—their work was published in magazines such as Glamour and Vogue—but Diane came to disrelish the world of fashion. “I hate fashion photography because the clothes don’t belong to the people who are wearing them,” she once confided to a reporter, “When the clothes do belong to the person wearing them, they take on a person’s flaws and characteristics, and are wonderful.” Yearning for something more authentic, she turned to street photography and produced some of the most hauntingly original photographs of the 20th century.

Arbus took most of her photographs in and around the streets of New York City and selected her subjects based on their unique appearances. At a time when mainstream visual culture emphasized  uniformity and conformity, Arbus chose to highlight individuals who stood out. As David Vestal wrote in Infinity magazine, “she photograph[ed] individuals who in one way or another depart[ed] from conventional behaviour or appearance, but she d[id] not emphasize their ‘abnormal’ or ‘freak’ character.” Rather, she showed that they shared much in common with the people around them.

The exhibition hosted by the MMFA presents Arbus’ career chronologically. It begins with her intimate explorations of New York City’s streets and public places from 1956 to 1962 and culminates with her most famous work: the unwavering portraits shot from 1962 to 1971.

Some  of the gallery’s most interesting images were taken at Hubert’s Dime Museum and Flea Circus. Located in a basement underneath an arcade near Times Square, the establishment was a well-known safe space for members of the 2SLGBTQ+ community. In Three female impersonators, N.Y.C., three iron-willed performers pose in Hubert’s dressing room*. The trio is in full hair and make-up and stares directly into Arbus’ lens, their gazes uncannily intense. It is a mesmerizing image that stopped several museum-goers in their tracks. 

Another fascinating portrait is Identical Twins, Roselle, New Jersey, taken in 1967. The image of seven-year-olds Cathleen and Colleen in matching outfits was shot at a Christmas party and said to have inspired Stanley Kubrick’s characters in The Shining (1980).

The show concludes with pictures taken at a number of state institutions in New Jersey that housed individuals with developmental disabilities. Most of the series consists of large prints on 16 x 20-inch paper, making them impossible to overlook. In one of the most touching shots, a group of residents dressed for Halloween proudly show off their costumes. It is a peculiar image, but one that prompts audiences to take a closer look at the people who compose it. There lies the power of Arbus’ photography: the subjects are so candid and honest that one cannot help but be drawn to them.

Although Arbus’s fascination with subjects who created their own identities is endearing to modern viewers, her methods raise questions of exploitation. Did Arbus take advantage of the most vulnerable? Was she a humanist or a voyeur? In her 1977 book of essays, On Photography, Susan Sontag suggests that Arbus’ work is “based on distance, on privilege, on a feeling that what the viewer is asked to look at is really other.” Even supposing Arbus identified with her subjects’ outsider statuses, her family’s upper-class background bound her to New York City’s higher society. While her subjects were ostracized from the world at large, she had access to connections and resources.

All in all, Arbus’s portraits retain their power to unsettle and enthrall no matter the period or space they are presented in. Her photographs remain significant not just because of their peculiar beauty or their sharp construction, but because they ask us to reflect on the predatory nature of photography, to consider the lengths people go to capture the perfect shot, and to meditate on the complicity of the viewer in it all.

Diane Arbus: Photographs, 1956-1971, will run until January 29, 2023.

The post In Black and White appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Ajuinnata (“aye-yoo-ee-nah-tah”) means “to never give up and to commit oneself to action, no matter how difficult the cause may be.” In choosing this name for the series, the Office of the Provost and Vice-Principal (Academic) writes, McGill seeks “to recognize the Inuit studying, researching, teaching, and working in the McGill community, who champion ajuinnata and help move McGill forward.”

The series kicked off with an opening ceremony and exhibitio vernissage at the Macdonald-Harrington Building, where Inuit Qaujimajatuqangit: Art, Architecture, and Traditional Knowledge exhibition and the McGill Visual Arts Collection’s complementary Inuit art installation, Takunnanguaqtangit, remain on display. Professor Celeste Pedri-Spade, McGill’s first Associate Provost (Indigenous Initiatives), addressed a crowd of about fifty people, as did Interim Principal Christopher Manfredi and, via a somewhat off-putting pre-recorded video, Minister of Crown-Indigenous Relations Marc Miller. Isabelle Laurier, the curator of Inuit Quajimajatuqangit, then discussed her goals of integrating Inuit artwork into architecture and of giving Inuit artists visibility in an exhibition that has visited venues across Quebec, Iceland, and Dubai in the last five years. 

The real star of the evening, however, was Inuk elder Reepa Evic-Carleton, who performed a ceremonial lighting of the qulliq, a traditional oil lamp usually made of soapstone and filled with seal oil or whale blubber. Evic-Carleton hails from a small Inuit village on what is known as Baffin Island. When she was six years old, she and her family were forcefully relocated to “the South,” where she has lived ever since and where she once worked as a counsellor and program coordinator for the Ottawa Inuit Children’s Centre. Evic-Carleton may be far removed, by distance and by time, from her home in Nunavut, but she has fond memories of the qulliq. She explained to the audience the many uses of the lamp, among them lighting, heating, cooking, melting ice, and drying clothing. For Evic-Carleton, to feel the flames of the qulliq today is to recall a quieter, more tranquil way of life. “It’s soothing to me, and it’s grounding for me,” she said.

Following the opening ceremony, guests were ushered into the Exhibition Room of the Macdonald-Harrington Building to view the Inuit Qaujimajatuqangit exhibit and to enjoy hors-d’œuvres prepared by the award-winning Inuk chef Trudy Metcalfe-Coe. Having consumed far more than my fair share of feta cheese cups and blueberry-lemon parfait, I was ready to take in the stunning photos, videos, drawings, and sculptures capturing Inuit Qaujimajatuqangit.

Qaujimajatuqangit means “Inuit ways of knowing” and “Inuit ways of doing things.” In the words of Richard Budgell, an Assistant Professor in the Department of Family Medicine and an organizer of Ajuinnata at McGill, “It’s a beautiful term because it’s all-encompassing.” Laurier’s exhibit celebrates the convergence of Inuit art and architecture in the construction of the Canadian High Arctic Research Station (CHARS), located in Ikaluk-tutiak (Cambridge Bay), Nunavut. A competition opened to Inuit artists across the Inuit Nunangat territory – which encompasses Nunatsiavut, Nunavik, Nunavut, and Inuvialuit – solicited drawings and a sculpture from seven artists: Victoria Grey, Ulaayu Pilurtuut, Timotee (Tim) Pitsiulak, Sammy Kudluk, Ningiukulu Teevee, Koomuatuk (Kuzy) Sapa Curley, and Bobby Nokalak Anavilok. The artworks, digitally enlarged to cover the walls and floors of the research station, “illustrate the traditional Inuit knowledge’s contribution to the development of world-class science and technology, showcasing the past and present resourcefulness and inventiveness of the Inuit,” says Laurier.

Inuit Quajimajatuqangit challenges the myth that Indigenous knowledge and traditional knowledge are incompatible with Western science. It recognizes Inuit ingenuity and the impact this ingenuity has on Euro-Canadian enterprises in Canada’s Arctic. While I stood staring at a sunglasses-shaped diagram, a man approached me and asked if I knew what it was I was looking at. He explained to me that they were snow goggles, invented by the Inuit some eight hundred years ago to protect against snow blindness. “The Inuit were geniuses,” the man remarked. Although he used the past tense, it became clear to us both as we circled the exhibition room, continually raising our eyebrows in surprise as we drank in the written wisdom that accompanied the visual presentation, that the Inuit are geniuses still.

You might have missed the opening ceremony and exhibition vernissage, but there’s still time to celebrate Ajuinnata at McGill. All members of the McGill and Montreal communities are invited to attend the following: a screening of the film Three Thousand and a Q&A session with the director, asinnajaq (September 20); a roundtable discussion on Inuit self-governance (September 22); an Inuit games demonstration (September 28); a talk by the curator and anthropologist Krista Ulujuk Zawadski (September 29); the Zacharias Kunuk Film Festival (October 4, 18, and 25); a conversation on Inuit health and wellness (October 17); and a Climate change presentation by Sheila Watt-Cloutier. Members of the Indigenous community are invited to attend a niriqatigiit (“coming together to eat”) with Chef Trudy Metcalf-Coe on September 26.

The post Ajuinnata at McGill Celebrates Inuit “Excellence, Achievement, and Perseverance” appeared first on The McGill Daily.

The McGill Daily (MD): First, tell me about your background in fine arts.

Cloé Murphy (CM): My family has always been involved in the arts. My dad worked in art direction, and my mom was a producer for a long time. So I always had a lot of art influences growing up, and my parents really encouraged me to involve myself in the arts.

Still, I feel like I came to the arts later than most people. I didn’t go to a fine arts school until my final year of high school, and I had always thought I would go into a very “corporate” profession. However, I found art to be very comforting in my early high school years. I was going to an all-girls private school, and I had a hard time making friends. I’d often spend lunch drawing by myself in the art room. In Grade 11, I ended up switching to an art school in Toronto: Rosedale Heights School of the Arts. And it was good. It was what I needed. 

From there, of course, I decided to go to Concordia. I felt that moving to Montreal would give me more than staying in Toronto. I’ve focused mainly on drawing and painting for the past three years, but I’d like to experiment with other mediums. Recently, for instance, I joined a ceramics studio. I still enjoy drawing and painting, but I think they can be limiting, and I’ve found that I feel more satisfied with three-dimensional objects. That’s part of what drew me to zines.

MD: For those unfamiliar with the medium, what exactly is a zine?

CM: For me, a zine is a self-published booklet. The word “zine” comes from “magazine,” but whereas magazines are products of the corporate world, zines are intended as DIY projects, and they aren’t focused on making money. Making a zine is about spreading a message – or images or opinions or news – as fast as possible. There’s a rawness to it. You can really sense a person behind a zine.

MD: What got you interested in making zines? Did any particular person or people inspire you?

CM: I didn’t know much about the small press or zine-making until a couple of years ago. That’s when I met my friend Deb – she’s such a cool artist. She was always really into making zines, and she always teaches herself everything. We became pen pals, and she started sending me all these crazy things she was making, just at home or with her printer. She wasn’t spending any money on these things. And I really appreciated her approach to art because I find that at Concordia, or at any art institution, there isn’t an expectation voiced to you that you spend a lot of money, but it does feel that way sometimes.

Deb kind of introduced me to zine-making. They would come and do random pop-ups in parks where they would have a blanket and all of their shit in front of them and sell it to strangers. They actually own their own small business. At 17 or 18, they were reprinting zines for people and mailing them around the world. It was a really small community of people who were involved, but it was awesome.

MD: You yourself had the opportunity to host a series of zine-making workshops across Montreal this summer. Tell me about these workshops and about your role as organizer.

CM: Earlier this year, I applied to Concordia’s Elspeth McConnell Fine Arts Award, which offers $5,000 for students to work on a project with a non-profit. I thought of doing the zine-making workshops back in January, prepared the application, and got the award. I’ve been working since then with ARCMTL, a non-profit that runs Expozine, among other things. 

I did my best to give each workshop a focus. I didn’t want them all to be the same, and there are just so many different kinds of zines. You’ve got political zines, art zines, zines that tell personal stories, poetry zines, photography zines. There’s a lot of ground to cover, and I don’t know everything, so it was really important for me to reach out to others and get help from them. For example, I invited my friend Holly to collaborate with me on a poetry zine workshop. That was great because I was able to appeal to a whole other group of people that I probably wouldn’t have been able to reach otherwise.

Mostly, however, I wanted the workshops to be a space for people to gather and meet one another and relate to one another. It’s been so amazing meeting all these new people and making all these new friends. I had a few people who came to almost every workshop – they just always made an effort to come, and it was really sweet. Because I know that community-building is important, and things like this just couldn’t happen during the pandemic. I don’t mean to suggest that I started this, but I do think there’s been a lack of random little drawing events for people to show up to recently.

MD: What do you like about zines? What are the benefits of this medium? What are its limitations?

CM: I like that zines are a physical thing to hold. I like that they’re cost-effective. And I like that, for most zines, it’s perfectly okay to scan them, reprint them, and share them. It’s not an issue of stealing or copyright infringement if I reprint a zine, and I think that’s how information should be. A lot of the zines I brought for the Anarchist Book Fair were political; some were related to feminism, some to harm reduction. This stuff is meant to be shared. 

What are its limitations? There aren’t a ton. You can make a zine in so many different ways. I suppose it can be time-consuming, maybe a little intimidating – you don’t want to mess up.

MD: What can you tell me about the relationship between zines and activism? How have you seen activists, in Montreal or beyond, use zines to spread their message?

CM: Zines are inherently political, inherently energized. It’s so easy for an activist or activist organization to type something up, put together a zine, and spread their message around the world. Another advantage to activists is that, with zines, you don’t have to go through a publisher. This gives individuals full autonomy and power over their words – nothing has to be censored.

MD: Finally, I would like to start making zines, but I don’t know where to start. What advice can you offer me?

CM: There are a lot of really great resources online. If you want to follow along with someone, there are so many cool YouTube videos you can watch to learn quick and simple steps. I would definitely just do some quick Google searches if you’re feeling a bit lost.

In terms of materials, plain printer paper is super easy to find. You can write or draw by hand, or you can use a computer. There are plenty of free programs available – you definitely don’t have to use InDesign. Pens, pencils, and collage material are also helpful. If you have magazines or newspapers to cut, you’ll want some scissors, glue or tape, and perhaps an Exacto knife. But it doesn’t have to feel like you’re creating a book. I own a few zines that are just collections of people’s drawings and doodles. That can be a good place to start.

***

If you’re interested in zines or in attending a zine-making workshop in Montreal, follow @zinerecipe on Instagram!

The post Behind the Zines: Interview with Montreal-Based Artist Cloé Murphy appeared first on The McGill Daily.

From March 21 to April 7, the Macdonald-Harrington building hosts the Souq Stories: Reclaiming the Commons exhibition. I sat down with curators Amir Marshi and Layan Salameh to talk about the exhibition and Palestinian activism. 

Amir, studying at the University of Chicago, is from Nazareth, Palestine. He is the co-founder and coordinator of the project as well as co-founder of the Edward Said Forum for Palestinian students in the social sciences, humanities, and arts. 

Layan is an architect from Nazareth, Palestine. She is the co-founder and coordinator of the partner groups and exhibitions at Souq Stories. Layan is doing a master’s in Architecture and Urban Planning. 

The following is a short excerpt from a two-hour-long conversation with Amir and Layan. 

Yehia for The McGill Daily (MD): What did this exhibition look like in Palestine? 

Amir: This exhibition took place last June, and it took place in seven cities for seven days: Nazareth, Nablus, Gaza, Jaffa, Akka, Jerusalem, and Al-Khalil. The idea was to display these photographs in large print within the alleyways of the different souqs. So when you walked in Al-Khalil during those seven days, you would see photographs of the alleyways of Nazareth whereby you are not allowed to go from Al-Khalil to Nazareth. You don’t have the right to do so, according to Israel. So we try to create this common space and time to transcend these borders.

Here [at McGill], it’s very different. The idea is to show the distinct features of each souq but also to display them according to the overarching themes of common space, common time, and common history. We displayed the photographs all together on the wall; the idea here is to show one Palestine. When people look at Palestine, they see one portion of Palestine. We didn’t put the names of the locations. We want them to look at these spaces as first and foremost Palestinian spaces. We wanted to deconstruct and decolonize the way people look at Palestine. 

Layan: We wanted the exhibition to be accessible to all people, to whoever comes to the souqs in their daily life. We faced a couple of restrictions. The occupation power restricted our movement, our cultural activities, and our activism. In Jerusalem, we couldn’t install the photographs because the occupation power sees it as threatening to its identity, so we had to print the photos on T-shirts and give them to the merchants so that people could see them in the alleys. 

MD: Why did you decide to focus on the souq? 

Amir: We saw the souq as an inspiration. The last vestige of Palestinian sovereignty under the occupation. The souq, for us, meant our economic heartbeat, so it was important to revitalize it. We saw it as an opportunity to connect Palestinians because it’s a place that harbours a huge diversity of people. 

Layan: It has different levels. For hundreds of years, those souqs were the core of the cities. Cities and towns actually developed around them. With that comes all of the public encounters of different socioeconomic backgrounds. Now, the colonial power sees it as threatening to its identity. In order to maintain a sense of economic superiority, it suppresses those places on every level. The souq carries with it a very long history. My parents and my grandparents used to always tell me: “Oh, we lived there, and next to it there was this souq and we used to buy so and so.” Our project aims to shift the narrative from seeing those places as images of a fragmented space to images of a unified space. So when our parents talk about going from a market in Nablus to a market in Nazareth for commercial exchange, we want to see this as a narrative of connectivity. 

MD: Why are there Arabic journals behind the pictures? 

Amir: This is a newspaper for the Arab diaspora here in Montreal. I think, for me, it’s part of our long-term aim of connecting with the diaspora. It’s funny because the publisher of the newspaper came here and interviewed us, too. So, in a way, these pictures are going to sort of fade into the background and be part of this space permanently. So, yeah, that’s how you see the merging of the background and the foreground.

Layan: You can also see that many of the articles are talking about uprisings and resistance. This image of old newspapers is no longer accessible by virtue of the ever-expanding virtual world. So we wanted to exhibit those hidden newspapers, hidden stories, hidden knowledge and put it here so that people can see them. 

MD: Who are the photographers? 

Amir: That’s important because we tried to focus on young, aspiring photographers – even people who do photography as a hobby. We didn’t want to include a lot of professional photographers. We do have some professional photographers; one of them is Mustafa Al-Kharouf, who was born and raised in Jerusalem but doesn’t have any legal documentation. He’s trapped in Jerusalem because if he gets out he would never be able to come back. He’s not allowed to be unified with his family.

Layan:  Souq Stories was a place for [young photographers] to share their work. We connected with them through different social media platforms. We used our pre-existing network and we built on it and expanded it.  

MD: What were the main goals of the project? 

Amir: There are three goals: the strengthening of Palestinian unity, the revitalization of the national economy, and the empowerment of youth by virtue of connecting them across colonial borders.

Layan: We wanted a project that connects Palestinian youth with their fragmented geography. 

MD: Can you talk more about this fragmented geography? 

Layan: The movement of Palestinians is heavily restricted. We are given this paper that tells us where we can work and where we can live. Some places are better than others. In Gaza, it’s a total enclosure. It’s extremely difficult to get in or out.  This immense difficulty that Palestinians face when trying to move across different Palestinian cities contributes to the fragmentation. 

You also have all these settlements that try to make a discontinuous Palestinian state in all of the West Bank. So it also tries to fragment the West Bank itself into A, B, C areas where, for example, A is for Israelis, B is under the control of the Israeli army, and C is for Palestinian authorities. This process of fragmentation is still ongoing; it happened in 1948 and it’s still happening now. 

Both Amir and Layan wanted to stress that this exhibition was a collective effort. Many volunteers, organizations, and youth groups contributed to the project. There are two people that were supposed to come with Amir and Layan to Montreal: Waed Manaf Abbas and Shareef Sirhan. 

I contacted Waed, who is the co-cordinator of the curator group and the photography group and is on the general organizing committee for the project. I asked her about the reason she was not able to come to Montreal. 

Waed (I translated Waedís response from Arabic to English): I am from Jerusalem. People born in Jerusalem get this thing we call “the blue identity.” It’s not citizenship; it’s more like a permit that gives you the right of residence and the right to work. I have to live in Jerusalem, I have to work in Jerusalem, and I can only visit doctors in Jerusalem. I do have an Israeli social security number and access to Israeli medical care. Since I am not a citizen, travelling becomes complicated: I am considered to be stateless.  Like a lot of other people, if I want to come to Canada I have to go through the process of getting a visa – I can’t just decide to buy a plane ticket and travel. This process can get very complicated. To this day [March 31, 2022], my visa application is still pending. Even if it had gotten accepted in time, I would’ve had to give my fingerprints to an official service centre. The first office they suggested is in Amman, Jordan, which is ridiculous because I am not Jordanian. So I would’ve had to travel to Jordan in order to be able to travel to Canada. Anyway, it doesn’t matter because my application is still pending. 

MD: What were some of the main difficulties you had to deal with when you were working on the project?

Layan: A large part of the project took place during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. The occupation power used the pandemic as an excuse to further restrict our movement and our freedom. They also imposed crazy fines. If you just lowered your mask from your nose you had to pay a huge amount. Of course, the pandemic was just an excuse. They are always looking for an excuse to restrict us. So we had to deal with that every time we went to the streets to work on the project. 

After talking about the exhibition, I also talked with Amir and Layan about Palestinian activism. 

MD: Do you think there is a place for Palestinian activism in the West? 

Amir: There’s a lot that people can do in the West. I mean, the West is the one responsible. All the nation-states of the West are the ones supporting Israel; they are the ones supporting Israeli companies. What’s happening in Sheikh Jarrah – the company is from the U.S., man. The money is from the U.S. 

States like Canada and the U.S. help maintain the situation. Pressure needs to be applied by people; we can’t wait for international organizations. The companies that are selling arms in Israel are from the West. The companies that are stealing land in the West Bank are selling their stuff here. Boycott those companies. Participate. 

What I hear is that McGill is very implicated. It’s lovely to see that this exhibition correlated with the passing of the SPHR’s resolution.

Layan: This colonial system wants us to believe that Palestinians who are not in Palestine – Palestinians in the diaspora – are not part of the Kadeya and are not part of the Palestinian issue. This is not true at all. It’s just a strategy to further fragment us. The work that is being done here is important. And it’s not just solidarity – I hate the word solidarity. Of course, our daily confrontation with the occupation power back in Palestine is not the same as what the people are doing here, but our social power can be constructed by the union of the many movements happening in the West. This can create a sense of unity with Palestinians across the world. 

MD: Sometimes, Palestinian activists in Canada and the West get accused of being antisemitic. What would you say is the difference between anti-Zionism and antisemitism? 

Amir: The difference is huge. Zionism, if you understand its history, is intrinsically tied with antisemitism. Herzl himself was antisemitic. You have a lot of evidence for this. And you see how Zionists allied themselves with Nazis in the past. How they used the fact that Jews were hated in order to garner support for their movement. Zionism is part of racism. It’s part of the same racism that created anti-semitism. The problem here is that many people see Jewish rights as Israeli rights. That’s very dangerous. 

Layan: Antisemitism became this label that Zionists use to protect themselves. 

MD: How can we highlight Palestinian narratives in Canada and the West? 

Amir: Just listen to Palestinians. Let Palestinians speak for themselves. We are very articulate, especially this generation. We know what we want and we know how to ask for it. So, yeah, it gives us the space to talk. And don’t just stand for our right for basic rights – our right for bread. We are seeking life. We are seeking sovereignty. We are seeking a future that is beautiful and hopeful. 

This interview has been edited for brevity and clarity. 

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Souq Stories is a youth-led photography exhibit that captures daily life in seven historic Palestinian markets. With nearly two years of captured photographs, the work aims to strengthen unity among Palestinians across colonial borders, revive the national economy, and empower younger generations. 

Souq is Arabic for street market. The images capture a moment bursting with life, frozen within the frame. You are not sure where to look first – but then you find yourself staring. Fixated on one of the many photographs taken of Palestinian souqs. The visuals fill the space with colour, life, and memories that transgress national boundaries. The sounds of the marketplace emanating from the walls make you feel as though you should be looking behind you – as though a street vendor was calling at you. The exhibition places you at the center of a Palestinian souq. Scenes are brought to life as you imagine the narrowness of the alleyways and the hardness of the cobblestone street that blend into the darkness of the night sky. The faces in these images are so unfamiliar that you believe that you recognize them as strangers walking by you on the street. One photo captures a boy from Jerusalem pushing a cart of ka’ek al-quds, Jerusalem’s sesame bread. Another shows a  brown cloth bag filled to the brim with vibrant spices. A day turns into night as you walk past the fruit vendor and look into the neighbouring shoe store. You become enclosed within the city walls, within the presence of the locals. A fragment of Palestinian life and land. 

On June 24, 2021, a year following the latest war in the Gaza Strip, many demonstrated in front of the Israeli colonial prisons in Acre, Jaffa, and Nazareth in response to arrests made in recent protests. In Hebron and Nablus, many were spurred to protest the Palestinian Authority’s suppression of their freedom. At this time, homes in Silwan, Jerusalem, were being destroyed. Forced displacement threatened the Palestinians in the Sheik Jarrah neighbourhood. On the same day, more than 14 locally active organizations, in coordination with volunteers from the Insaniyyat Association, opened this same exhibition within the old markets of these seven cities. 

Here at McGill, there is a glimpse of these forceful acts of activism – a fight against forced displacement and a fight for the need to recognize rights in the past, present, and future. During the keynote presentation on March 29, Professor Helga Tawil-Souri of New York University described this exhibition as reminiscent of going to Damascus for ice cream followed by dinner in Beirut. A memory so vivid and a plan that feels like it is going to take place in the coming week. 

Colonialism is today. It is not part of the past. The exhibition reveals the relationship between the visual, displacement, and commons. The markets have been impacted by the attempted erasure of Palestinian identity and ways of life by Israeli colonialism, as Israelis encroach on their lands and forcefully displace families from their homes. The Hebron, Nazareth, Gaza, Jaffa, Acre, Nablus, and Jerusalem markets are distinguished by the character of their roadmaps and laneways. For Nablus, it was the city’s handicraft industries and its traditional Levant crafts, such as carpentry, cotton and woollen textiles that made it famous. The Acre market is characterised by its port, where barters and transactions took place. 

The noise that fills the space demonstrates to the viewer that markets themselves are ways of exploring the commons, a centre of social and political life. Commons are defined as places that encapsulate earth and natural resources, institutions, rural and urban spaces, physical products, and knowledge. They are places of public gathering, where hubs and networks are formulated and human interaction is promoted. Commons is the air we all breathe. The photographs demand that we recognize the significance of enclosures, as violence, colonialism and war forces enclosures on Palestinians and appropriates Palestinian lands. The power of photographs surpasses any sentence that could possibly be written about the experiences of the Palestinian people, as Mair Marsha, one of the curators for the exhibit, explained. 

Palestinian voices are triumphant. As Professor Tawil-Souri put it, the moment of politics is when possibilities happen. The viewer is confronted with testimonial documents, and the mere existence of these documents is a form of protest. The right to be recognized. An act of unification follows every act of fragmentation, and uprooting is followed by re-rooting. Palestinian identity, narrative, and social encounters are threatened by settler colonialism. But despite this enclosure, there is a tangible heritage that is captured in the exhibition – one that remembers that souqs are spaces of liberation and offers a decolonial perspective to life in Palestine. Palestinian souqs are places of reckoning and reclaiming, and through photographs we see these things happen. 

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Kezna Dalz

Kezna Dalz (known as @teenadultt on Instagram) is a visual artist who uses both digital and traditional illustrative styles in her work. Dalz works with ‘pop neo-expressionism,’ depicting “black women in their intimacy, in their solitary and loving dialogues, social and political.” She recently collaborated with author Shanice Nicole on the children’s book Dear Black Girls, a project she says was healing to work on, and that she would have liked to offer her childhood self.

Esther Calixte-Bea

Esther Calixte-Bea is a recent graduate from Concordia’s Fine Arts program, and a body hair activist whose work focuses on identity, beauty, and vulnerability. Her practice involves different mediums – while her primary medium is acrylic, she has received international acclaim for her photography in The Lavender Project, a self-portrait series about body hair. Calixte-Bea is also featured on the cover of the Daily’s Black History Month issue.

Danielle Murrell Cox

Danielle Murrell Cox is a graphic designer and illustrator. She creates prints, pins, stickers, colouring books, and plush toys, and is the author of the children’s book My Hair. Her diverse portfolio touches on a variety of themes, including representation, identity, and activism.   

Chloe Awali Cavis-Haie

Chloe Awali Cavis-Haie is a Montreal and Toronto-based designer who is “dedicated to designing strategies and media that inspires change.” She seeks to work with “industry disruptors,” and has created visuals for Cannabits Montréal, the Black Indigenous Harm Reduction Alliance, and the non-profit organisation Stella. Cavis-Haie is also an equity consultant, working with organisations such as Pride Montreal, as well as Concordia and McGill Universities, leading conflict de-escalation workshops and addressing intersectionality in the LGBTQ+ community.

Shanna Strauss 

Shanna Strauss is a mixed-media visual artist and community organizer whose work explores the African Diaspora, identity, and belonging. Her mixed-media designs predominantly feature images of people who represent a part of [her] and the different communities [she is] connected to.” Strauss notes the inherently political nature of her art, and how who she depicts in her work reflects her identity: “The people I portray tell a part of my story and are threads in the web of my kinship and the broader Diaspora.”

Noka Palm Trees 

Noka Palm Trees is a multi-disciplinary artist who creates work that “stems from afrocentric surrealism as a coping mechanism for navigating neurodivergency and unjust systems of oppression.” Working with both digital art and poetry, Noka Palm Trees invites their audience to “witness the rediscovering of [their] many selves through the shedding of intergenerational trauma and growing into (black) softness through [their] seasoned culture.” Their work features bright neon colours, outlandish performances and a unique blend of aesthetics from the ‘70s to the 90s.’ 

Zolani Stewart

Zolani Stewart is a graphic designer whose writing and visual designs inform his illustrations and brand work. Stewart has worked on booklet designs, album artwork, and advertising for Ray-Ban. With a wide ranging style and an eye for bold colours, Stewart is one of Montreal’s most notable designers.

Naskademini 

Naskademini is a portrait photographer who works with high-profile brands such as Nike, Little Burgundy, and Timberlands. Naskademini has created a sleek professional portfolio, allowing him to achieve his dream of photographing intimate portraits of people such as Malala, Dominique Anglade and Thundercat. Beyond his portraiture projects, Naskademini also produces some experimental art, which can be found on his website. 

The post Spotlight on Eight Black Montreal-Based Visual Artists appeared first on The McGill Daily.

The McGill Daily had a chance to speak with Chloé Giddings, a member of the Jeune Troupe du Quat’sous about their show, her career, and where she sees theatre going from here. 

The McGill Daily (MD): I was wondering if you could tell me a bit about yourself, and about your background and career with Quat’sous. 

Chloé Giddings (CG): I studied acting at two different theatre schools. I went to CEGEP at John Abbott College, took a year off, and decided to go back to school at the National Theatre School [of Canada]. I actually ended up getting in touch with Quat’sous because of that. I studied in English, but asked if I could join in on the French general auditions, [after which] I was offered a spot in the Jeune Groupe du Quat’sous. It’s partly a mentoring opportunity – we’re in the process of creating a show, but obviously that was interrupted. We got to meet with our director Mani Soleymanlou and his team, and we went to see different shows as a group. We talked about them, and understood where we wanted to go with our piece. 

MD: Can you tell us about “Prologue” and the original concept behind the play?

CG: We were going to do something that was inspired by the Shahnameh, which is an Iranian poem – basically a book of myths. Mani was interested in exploring the way that legends touch us now and what our current mythology is. We had a lot of conversations about the place of ancient myths and whether or not we are still touched by them, but also about what could have replaced them. Originally, we had a piece that we created through forty hours of discussion and rehearsal. Everybody spoke about their experience, background, their lives, their religious affiliations—every sort of conversation. It was going to be a creative piece about [how] we each intersect with mythology, and the place mythology [has] in our current lives. 

MD: How did you adapt your performance in light of social distancing measures? 

CG: The festival originally reached out to our director, and asked him if he wanted to try to digitize our show, and he didn’t want to because theatre is technically supposed to be something that happens live and in person. But I think the way we went about digitizing it involves that live and in-person element as well. Each of us picked a short, three-ish minute piece of text that inspired us, and that was loosely based on the conversations that we had been having as a group before [COVID-19] happened. That way, it could still be something that we chose, and that we each individually created, because that was part of our original process. Then, we would deliver it to somebody’s door, or to somebody in a park, or to somebody in a back alley behind their building from at least two metres away. We would also have someone filming from two metres away. But instead of filming the actor, it’s much more centred around the audience, and the experience that they’re having while listening to the piece, and connecting with the actor. 

MD: Do you think Prologue’s central themes, mythology and the tales that shape us, have remained the same, despite those changes?

CG: I think something interesting happened. We went from talking about mythology as some far away thing that happened in another time, and that we don’t really get to experience anymore, to all of the sudden living in times that feel mythological. They feel exaggerated and tragic, in ways that we only see in the old myths. So the theme that now runs through all of the new pieces is just isolation and social distancing. 

MD: How does it feel to perform in a space that’s so different from a theatre or traditional stage? Did the lack of these elements affect your performance?

CG: It totally changed my performance a lot, although I can only speak for myself. It was really nice to connect with someone face-to-face, even if it was from a distance. But it also felt a tiny bit painful for me, kind of melancholic. It felt like the act of theatre was happening, that moment of connection and storytelling was happening, but we were missing the element of gathering and community. We were missing the fact that when you get a large group of people together, and everyone has the same experience, you leave that experience feeling united. It was a bit bittersweet for me. 

MD: What new ways of performing do you think are being created right now?

CG: Definitely a lot of digital, interactive pieces, things happening on Zoom. I also really like the way big professional theatres are putting their filmed versions online. [Doing] that makes pieces more accessible. I would love for that to be a tradition that we keep going. I’m really curious to see if things like theatre in parks and in outdoor arenas will soon be a possibility again. 

MD: The description of your play asks the question: Can this art survive in the absence of a face-to-face happening? What do you think? 

CG: I think it can survive. I don’t know if it can thrive. I think it can last through this period, and come out again on the other side, provided that some adjustments are made, and precautionary measures are taken, and we start to have a plan for how that’s going to happen. The thriving would be an ability to have a modified version of a live show happen again, where we’re all in the same space. 

MD: How do you see performing arts as a whole changing because of COVID-19? We just talked about the importance of community – how do you see things going from here?

CG: I was doing an interview with my director a couple of weeks ago, and he mentioned that theatre has been readapting for as long as it has been in existence. That, to me, feels pretty accurate and true. It’s hard for me to imagine which restrictions will lift, and which will stay, but I think it’s going to feel more sacred than ever to be in a space with a group of people, laughing together, crying together, sharing an experience. It’s going to feel more sacred than it ever has before, and I have to tell you – I’m really looking forward to it. 

This conversation has been edited for length and clarity. 

For more information about Prologue and OFFTA, visit offta.com.

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