in conversation with Becky Forsythe and Penelope Smart <\/strong><\/h1>\n <\/p>\n
In The Wildflower<\/em>, we\u2019re transported into a disorienting horizon full of flowers, non-flowers, stones, glass and jelly. Bringing together artists and writers from Canada and Iceland, the exhibition questions, uncovers, and challenges various problems and possibilities surrounding nature, land, landscape, and what it means to those who dwell on it.\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nAs I sink into thoughts about my personal relationship to both the Canadian and Icelandic landscapes, the initial parallels are clear. They both carry postcard-like perceptions of vibrancy. Large, open space, fresh air, and curiosity – from fjords and hot springs in Iceland, to great lakes and tall trees in Canada. They share northern geographies and similar flora. Contemplating the propositions that the show offered brought forward many questions. What is considered an Icelandic landscape, and what is considered a Canadian one? Whose perspectives are given space and whose voices are missing? Where do these stories intersect, and where do they part?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nThis conversation with curators Becky Forsythe and Penelope Smart, much like <\/span>The Wildflower<\/span><\/em> itself, spanned countries, viewpoints, and time(zones). Generously offering a glimpse into their collective vision of the show and beyond, we spoke about traditional craft in contemporary spaces, what inclusion means, notions of past, present and future in landscape, as well as the added labour of distance.<\/span><\/p>\nJuliane Foronda: Your shared connection to nature is quite evident. What other interests or curiosities informed this show?\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nBecky Forsythe:<\/strong> Themes circulating nature are so vast and varied \u2014 and saying The Wildflower<\/em> is solely grounded in nature only scratches the surface. Our intention was a layered exhibition, and first and foremost one about artists whose works are exciting, re-envision natural material, personal history, or land in new ways. This was sparked by an interest in reimagined craft-based practices as a way to narrow in on familiar, foreign, future landscapes and unfold the layers in those concepts. It is also quite natural for us to work with female artists spanning generations and most definitely emerging into their practices.<\/span><\/p>\nPenelope Smart:<\/strong> I think craft based practices have a lot to say to traditional visual art practices in a gallery. They are often connected to domestic skills or \u201cwomen\u2019s work\u201d, and are now seen as something extremely alive in a contemporary art space.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nBF:<\/strong> Arna weaves, but none are present in the show. She does however weave together preserved flowers in <\/span>Untitled<\/em> <\/span><\/i>(2014). Her practice is very conceptual, and I am not sure that she would consider her practice craft-based. But her work stems from a long history of weaving and conceptual fiber sculpture in Iceland with people like <\/span>\u00c1sger\u00f0ur B\u00faad\u00f3ttir (1920-2014), Hildu<\/span>r H\u00e1konard\u00f3ttir and G.Erla (Gu\u00f0r\u00fan Erla Geirsd\u00f3ttir), who have opened up the reading of \u201cwomen\u2019s work\u201d in contemporary art since the fifties, sixties or seventies.<\/span><\/p>\nPS<\/strong>: <\/b>As a curator who loves craft, there’s a powerful point in the idea of permission, responsibility and ownership. Craft can immediately connect you to a community that may or may not be your own, and you may or may not have permission into it. Where I am in northern Ontario, I think there are really generative experiences of how craft is connected to Indigenous communities, traditions, and other histories that you may not be trusted into just because you think it\u2019s interesting. We were thinking about representations of nature in the future, and there is a paradox presenting works that connect to craft practices and traditions. That tension is consciously at play in this show.<\/span><\/p>\nBF:<\/strong> This tension in the exhibition plays with work elements that would be identified as craft-based, and how they appear in the artists\u2019 work through other means. For example, N\u00edna\u2019s work, where she embroidered the tablecloth with local flora. This is a skill she acquired as a young woman, and she utilizes her skills, as any artist would, in conceptualizing an installation which is in some ways about the traditional practice of stitching, but reaches beyond that and into an atmosphere of cultural awareness.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nJF: What was your motivation behind fostering this conversation between the Canadian and Icelandic landscapes, and why was this important to you?\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nPS:<\/strong> The idea of Iceland and Canada sharing latitudes and plant histories because of their geographies is something we were interested in. The work that was coming out of the studios in each of these places were often related to each other, especially between Newfoundland and Iceland. There\u2019s so much more research that can be done, we\u2019ve just skimmed the surface.<\/span><\/p>\nJF: Both Iceland and Canada have strong and specific overarching narratives around what it means to belong to, represent and live on these lands. Many of these narratives surround notions of home, heritage, legacy and access. Are varying perspectives and experiences, such those from the many refugees and immigrants who also inhabit these lands represented in The Wildflower<\/em>?<\/strong><\/p>\nPS:<\/strong> I don\u2019t know if all those views are represented. The artists included in the show from Canada and the North are Indigenous, mixed ancestry, or white and\/or of European descent, and are drawing from their own experience. I\u2019m okay with someone pointing out that there are people and stories missing from the show, because that\u2019s definitely true and for me, isn\u2019t a reason to feel like the show fails in terms of a show that\u2019s thinking about landscape. If <\/span>The Wildflower<\/span><\/em> does play a part in bringing up conversations about what\u2019s lacking, where stories are missing about the experience of landscape, or what it means, if anything, to talk about flowers in a northern landscape, that\u2019s great. These conversations are hard, but they\u2019re important.<\/span><\/p>\nBF:<\/strong> The view we present is<\/span> not a universal vision of land or landscape, but an act to deconstruct or counter or address imbalance in contemporary conversations on the topic. The exhibition itself wasn\u2019t so much about transporting the experience of Canada here, or matching it to the experience of Iceland, but about creating a dialogue where questions would arise. Break up out-dated representations, I would say, and present a new potential for landscape. There are experiences that are missing, and that is okay, this is just one open possibility gathered from many voices.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/artzine.is\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/12\/Artzine_Wildflower_1_Kristi\u0301n-Pe\u0301tursdo\u0301ttir.jpg\")
<\/span>Installation view with J\u00f3n Gunnar \u00c1rnason, Bl\u00f3mi\u00f0,<\/em> 1967, The Wildflower, Hafnarborg 2020. Photo: Krist\u00edn P\u00e9tursd\u00f3ttir<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/artzine.is\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/12\/Artzine_Wildflower_3_Kristi\u0301n-Pe\u0301tursdo\u0301ttir.jpg\")
Asinnajaq, Where you go, I follow<\/em>, 2020, digital photograph on polysheer. Photo: Krist\u00edn P\u00e9tursd\u00f3ttir<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/artzine.is\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/12\/Artzine_Wildflower_5_Kristi\u0301n-Pe\u0301tursdo\u0301ttir.jpg\")
Katrina Jane, Tools of Being<\/em>, 2020, Portuguese marble. Photo Krist\u00edn P\u00e9tursd\u00f3ttir<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/artzine.is\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/12\/Artzine_Wildflower_4_Vigfu\u0301s-Birgisson.jpg\")
Leisure, Narrative no. 9<\/em> (cotton grass, berry hand, summer 1943 on Bonavista Bay and women picking berries on the barrens 1912-15\/2016), Narrative no.13<\/em>, 2017, photo montage and Invisibility Cloaks<\/em>, 2020, haskap, blueberries and cranberries on canvas. Photo: Vigf\u00fas Birgisson<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\nJF: Is nature and\/or land(scape) inclusive?\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\nBF:<\/strong> The way that nature\u2019s been handled is not inclusive. I guess it depends on who is telling the story? Whose nature is it? And who has access? But if you think about this in the environmental or cultural context, then nature has been misused in a way that\u2019s not inclusive at all and has kept certain cultures, genders and races repressed.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nPS:<\/strong> This is such a good question. I do think this comes up in the sense of nature as a resource. And who has access to it. In the exhibit, there\u2019s the idea of nature as a resource related to different histories and in terms of the materials themselves, the view of nature as something that gives or has given, and gives innately, and how we take.<\/span><\/p>\nJF: While this collaboration was always planned to have an element of long distance to some capacity, you came across many unexpected challenges due to COVID-19. Can you talk a bit about the obstacles, joys, added labour and findings that came from this?<\/strong><\/p>\nBF:<\/strong> The long distance nature of our collaboration meant the transition into the reality of COVID-19 just happened. We had worked in a lot of research and preparation that would take place onsite in Iceland, that was affected quite early on and became impossible. We pivoted in this new vulnerability, like colleagues, exhibitions, museums and galleries everywhere are currently doing, and found new approaches. This transformed our selection of work, but also pushed us, in a good way, to reconsider the place of our work in the field.<\/span><\/p>\nPS:<\/strong> It\u2019s unfortunate that I wasn\u2019t able to go to Iceland. At times it felt like constantly asking <\/span>do we cancel this?<\/span><\/em> became the work. But this was happening for everyone. I often felt like I couldn\u2019t do my fair share because I wasn\u2019t physically there. It didn\u2019t change how the show went for me in the end, as it looked exactly how it would have if I had been able to be there. It makes me excited for the next thing we get to do together.<\/span><\/p>\nBF:<\/strong> We were lucky that we walked into this with a consistent working practice, weekly meetings and reliable communication. Onsite\/online, we weren\u2019t only doing this long distance, but between time zones too. I really see the labour that went into this exhibition as balanced\u2014 whether conceptual, physical or intellectual. It was heartbreaking that Penelope couldn\u2019t be here, because we had organized to a certain extent, but also left room to respond together in the space once we were in it, and we really didn\u2019t get to experience that. That\u2019s an exciting part for me to really feel works in the space, get in there and respond.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nJF: (How) will this collaboration exist after this exhibition is over?<\/strong><\/p>\nBF:<\/strong>\u00a0<\/strong> I think we did walk into it with the idea that this project, and at least the beginnings of this research extend into something beyond. Our list of artists, contributors and writers was so huge. We definitely couldn\u2019t include everyone that we wanted to in <\/span>The Wildflower<\/span><\/em>, and that leaves us with exciting research to continue. The fact that we\u2019ve survived this massive exhibition at this time, long distance – across countries and with COVID, it\u2019s left me really excited to attempt something new. Whether that\u2019s realised as an exhibition or another format, it\u2019s still up in the air. There\u2019s still a lot that we haven\u2019t unpacked and it\u2019s about finding the right time for those things to happen.<\/span><\/p>\nPS:<\/strong> The ways that we experience and engage with art are shifting. It\u2019s no longer about getting on a plane to do research and studio visits, and a lot more art is now happening outside of traditional gallery settings. This means that we have to think about how our work as curators can continue to be of value to audiences moving forward. I\u2019m interested and learning how to talk about land, how to belong to it and where I belong, what does belonging actually translate to, how does history play out in a landscape, how do you claim it or not, and how do you revisit yourself in land. I want to be able to work with artists who are looking at these questions.<\/span><\/p>\n——————<\/p>\n
Following my question about if nature and landscape was inclusive, Penelope posed a series of questions back at me. She asked how inclusivity feels, where it lives in the body, and what emotions are present when we talk about if nature is inclusive. These questions in relation to my personal relationship with land and nature have been circulating in my headspace since being asked, and I will likely continue to sit in the reality of these thoughts for some time.<\/span><\/p>\nI immediately thought of my family\u2019s first winter in Canada, and the small toboggan (sled) my parents got us so we could all play in the snow. I thought of the first time I realised I didn\u2019t know how to ice skate or ski like most of the kids at my primary school could, who were predominantly of white settler-colonial descent. I also remembered my first trip to a friend\u2019s cottage in my teens, and how they taught me how to canoe at sunset. My thoughts also fall back to listening to my father tell me stories throughout my childhood about his rural village in the northern region of the Philippines – stories of mango trees, being showered by the warm tropical rain, playing with spiders, stones and banana leaves, and about how bright the stars were at night. This landscape is completely opposite to the one I grew up in and is one that I barely know myself, but I feel inherently connected to it from these stories that have been told and retold to me over the years. I also thought about when I moved to Iceland, and how my body surrendered to the slow pace of the dark winter. I remembered the first time I saw the northern lights, and I can still hear the sound of the strong winter wind whistling through my window. I also often think of that soft pink light that peeks out around February, which breaks the darkness and makes the whole landscape seem to glow in silence for a few moments.<\/span><\/p>\n
As I sink into thoughts about my personal relationship to both the Canadian and Icelandic landscapes, the initial parallels are clear. They both carry postcard-like perceptions of vibrancy. Large, open space, fresh air, and curiosity – from fjords and hot springs in Iceland, to great lakes and tall trees in Canada. They share northern geographies and similar flora. Contemplating the propositions that the show offered brought forward many questions. What is considered an Icelandic landscape, and what is considered a Canadian one? Whose perspectives are given space and whose voices are missing? Where do these stories intersect, and where do they part?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n This conversation with curators Becky Forsythe and Penelope Smart, much like <\/span>The Wildflower<\/span><\/em> itself, spanned countries, viewpoints, and time(zones). Generously offering a glimpse into their collective vision of the show and beyond, we spoke about traditional craft in contemporary spaces, what inclusion means, notions of past, present and future in landscape, as well as the added labour of distance.<\/span><\/p>\n Juliane Foronda: Your shared connection to nature is quite evident. What other interests or curiosities informed this show?\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Becky Forsythe:<\/strong> Themes circulating nature are so vast and varied \u2014 and saying The Wildflower<\/em> is solely grounded in nature only scratches the surface. Our intention was a layered exhibition, and first and foremost one about artists whose works are exciting, re-envision natural material, personal history, or land in new ways. This was sparked by an interest in reimagined craft-based practices as a way to narrow in on familiar, foreign, future landscapes and unfold the layers in those concepts. It is also quite natural for us to work with female artists spanning generations and most definitely emerging into their practices.<\/span><\/p>\n Penelope Smart:<\/strong> I think craft based practices have a lot to say to traditional visual art practices in a gallery. They are often connected to domestic skills or \u201cwomen\u2019s work\u201d, and are now seen as something extremely alive in a contemporary art space.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n BF:<\/strong> Arna weaves, but none are present in the show. She does however weave together preserved flowers in <\/span>Untitled<\/em> <\/span><\/i>(2014). Her practice is very conceptual, and I am not sure that she would consider her practice craft-based. But her work stems from a long history of weaving and conceptual fiber sculpture in Iceland with people like <\/span>\u00c1sger\u00f0ur B\u00faad\u00f3ttir (1920-2014), Hildu<\/span>r H\u00e1konard\u00f3ttir and G.Erla (Gu\u00f0r\u00fan Erla Geirsd\u00f3ttir), who have opened up the reading of \u201cwomen\u2019s work\u201d in contemporary art since the fifties, sixties or seventies.<\/span><\/p>\n PS<\/strong>: <\/b>As a curator who loves craft, there’s a powerful point in the idea of permission, responsibility and ownership. Craft can immediately connect you to a community that may or may not be your own, and you may or may not have permission into it. Where I am in northern Ontario, I think there are really generative experiences of how craft is connected to Indigenous communities, traditions, and other histories that you may not be trusted into just because you think it\u2019s interesting. We were thinking about representations of nature in the future, and there is a paradox presenting works that connect to craft practices and traditions. That tension is consciously at play in this show.<\/span><\/p>\n BF:<\/strong> This tension in the exhibition plays with work elements that would be identified as craft-based, and how they appear in the artists\u2019 work through other means. For example, N\u00edna\u2019s work, where she embroidered the tablecloth with local flora. This is a skill she acquired as a young woman, and she utilizes her skills, as any artist would, in conceptualizing an installation which is in some ways about the traditional practice of stitching, but reaches beyond that and into an atmosphere of cultural awareness.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n JF: What was your motivation behind fostering this conversation between the Canadian and Icelandic landscapes, and why was this important to you?\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n PS:<\/strong> The idea of Iceland and Canada sharing latitudes and plant histories because of their geographies is something we were interested in. The work that was coming out of the studios in each of these places were often related to each other, especially between Newfoundland and Iceland. There\u2019s so much more research that can be done, we\u2019ve just skimmed the surface.<\/span><\/p>\n JF: Both Iceland and Canada have strong and specific overarching narratives around what it means to belong to, represent and live on these lands. Many of these narratives surround notions of home, heritage, legacy and access. Are varying perspectives and experiences, such those from the many refugees and immigrants who also inhabit these lands represented in The Wildflower<\/em>?<\/strong><\/p>\n PS:<\/strong> I don\u2019t know if all those views are represented. The artists included in the show from Canada and the North are Indigenous, mixed ancestry, or white and\/or of European descent, and are drawing from their own experience. I\u2019m okay with someone pointing out that there are people and stories missing from the show, because that\u2019s definitely true and for me, isn\u2019t a reason to feel like the show fails in terms of a show that\u2019s thinking about landscape. If <\/span>The Wildflower<\/span><\/em> does play a part in bringing up conversations about what\u2019s lacking, where stories are missing about the experience of landscape, or what it means, if anything, to talk about flowers in a northern landscape, that\u2019s great. These conversations are hard, but they\u2019re important.<\/span><\/p>\n BF:<\/strong> The view we present is<\/span> not a universal vision of land or landscape, but an act to deconstruct or counter or address imbalance in contemporary conversations on the topic. The exhibition itself wasn\u2019t so much about transporting the experience of Canada here, or matching it to the experience of Iceland, but about creating a dialogue where questions would arise. Break up out-dated representations, I would say, and present a new potential for landscape. There are experiences that are missing, and that is okay, this is just one open possibility gathered from many voices.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n JF: Is nature and\/or land(scape) inclusive?\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n BF:<\/strong> The way that nature\u2019s been handled is not inclusive. I guess it depends on who is telling the story? Whose nature is it? And who has access? But if you think about this in the environmental or cultural context, then nature has been misused in a way that\u2019s not inclusive at all and has kept certain cultures, genders and races repressed.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n PS:<\/strong> This is such a good question. I do think this comes up in the sense of nature as a resource. And who has access to it. In the exhibit, there\u2019s the idea of nature as a resource related to different histories and in terms of the materials themselves, the view of nature as something that gives or has given, and gives innately, and how we take.<\/span><\/p>\n JF: While this collaboration was always planned to have an element of long distance to some capacity, you came across many unexpected challenges due to COVID-19. Can you talk a bit about the obstacles, joys, added labour and findings that came from this?<\/strong><\/p>\n BF:<\/strong> The long distance nature of our collaboration meant the transition into the reality of COVID-19 just happened. We had worked in a lot of research and preparation that would take place onsite in Iceland, that was affected quite early on and became impossible. We pivoted in this new vulnerability, like colleagues, exhibitions, museums and galleries everywhere are currently doing, and found new approaches. This transformed our selection of work, but also pushed us, in a good way, to reconsider the place of our work in the field.<\/span><\/p>\n PS:<\/strong> It\u2019s unfortunate that I wasn\u2019t able to go to Iceland. At times it felt like constantly asking <\/span>do we cancel this?<\/span><\/em> became the work. But this was happening for everyone. I often felt like I couldn\u2019t do my fair share because I wasn\u2019t physically there. It didn\u2019t change how the show went for me in the end, as it looked exactly how it would have if I had been able to be there. It makes me excited for the next thing we get to do together.<\/span><\/p>\n BF:<\/strong> We were lucky that we walked into this with a consistent working practice, weekly meetings and reliable communication. Onsite\/online, we weren\u2019t only doing this long distance, but between time zones too. I really see the labour that went into this exhibition as balanced\u2014 whether conceptual, physical or intellectual. It was heartbreaking that Penelope couldn\u2019t be here, because we had organized to a certain extent, but also left room to respond together in the space once we were in it, and we really didn\u2019t get to experience that. That\u2019s an exciting part for me to really feel works in the space, get in there and respond.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n JF: (How) will this collaboration exist after this exhibition is over?<\/strong><\/p>\n BF:<\/strong>\u00a0<\/strong> I think we did walk into it with the idea that this project, and at least the beginnings of this research extend into something beyond. Our list of artists, contributors and writers was so huge. We definitely couldn\u2019t include everyone that we wanted to in <\/span>The Wildflower<\/span><\/em>, and that leaves us with exciting research to continue. The fact that we\u2019ve survived this massive exhibition at this time, long distance – across countries and with COVID, it\u2019s left me really excited to attempt something new. Whether that\u2019s realised as an exhibition or another format, it\u2019s still up in the air. There\u2019s still a lot that we haven\u2019t unpacked and it\u2019s about finding the right time for those things to happen.<\/span><\/p>\n PS:<\/strong> The ways that we experience and engage with art are shifting. It\u2019s no longer about getting on a plane to do research and studio visits, and a lot more art is now happening outside of traditional gallery settings. This means that we have to think about how our work as curators can continue to be of value to audiences moving forward. I\u2019m interested and learning how to talk about land, how to belong to it and where I belong, what does belonging actually translate to, how does history play out in a landscape, how do you claim it or not, and how do you revisit yourself in land. I want to be able to work with artists who are looking at these questions.<\/span><\/p>\n ——————<\/p>\n Following my question about if nature and landscape was inclusive, Penelope posed a series of questions back at me. She asked how inclusivity feels, where it lives in the body, and what emotions are present when we talk about if nature is inclusive. These questions in relation to my personal relationship with land and nature have been circulating in my headspace since being asked, and I will likely continue to sit in the reality of these thoughts for some time.<\/span><\/p>\n I immediately thought of my family\u2019s first winter in Canada, and the small toboggan (sled) my parents got us so we could all play in the snow. I thought of the first time I realised I didn\u2019t know how to ice skate or ski like most of the kids at my primary school could, who were predominantly of white settler-colonial descent. I also remembered my first trip to a friend\u2019s cottage in my teens, and how they taught me how to canoe at sunset. My thoughts also fall back to listening to my father tell me stories throughout my childhood about his rural village in the northern region of the Philippines – stories of mango trees, being showered by the warm tropical rain, playing with spiders, stones and banana leaves, and about how bright the stars were at night. This landscape is completely opposite to the one I grew up in and is one that I barely know myself, but I feel inherently connected to it from these stories that have been told and retold to me over the years. I also thought about when I moved to Iceland, and how my body surrendered to the slow pace of the dark winter. I remembered the first time I saw the northern lights, and I can still hear the sound of the strong winter wind whistling through my window. I also often think of that soft pink light that peeks out around February, which breaks the darkness and makes the whole landscape seem to glow in silence for a few moments.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/span>Installation view with J\u00f3n Gunnar \u00c1rnason, Bl\u00f3mi\u00f0,<\/em> 1967, The Wildflower, Hafnarborg 2020. Photo: Krist\u00edn P\u00e9tursd\u00f3ttir<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n Asinnajaq, Where you go, I follow<\/em>, 2020, digital photograph on polysheer. Photo: Krist\u00edn P\u00e9tursd\u00f3ttir<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\nKatrina Jane, Tools of Being<\/em>, 2020, Portuguese marble. Photo Krist\u00edn P\u00e9tursd\u00f3ttir<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\nLeisure, Narrative no. 9<\/em> (cotton grass, berry hand, summer 1943 on Bonavista Bay and women picking berries on the barrens 1912-15\/2016), Narrative no.13<\/em>, 2017, photo montage and Invisibility Cloaks<\/em>, 2020, haskap, blueberries and cranberries on canvas. Photo: Vigf\u00fas Birgisson<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n