Annie Pootoogook, artist at the center of Indigenous dialogues

The first piece that the visitor sees upon entering the exhibition space is an obituary to Annie Pootoogook, a prominent Inuk artist who passed away in 2016. The obituary was written by Heather Igloliorte in Inuktitut, and the English translation is only available on the exhibition’s website. This situates the work as primarily by, about, and for Indigenous artists and visitors. It regulates who has primary access to the language space, thus redefining and reclaiming it. Annie Pootoogook, “a hugely influential artist who forever changed the face of Inuit art,” according to Igloliorte, holds a central space in the exhibition. Her work Coleman Stove with Robin Hood Flour and Tenderflake is the only one to remain in the exhibition space over the course of all four gestures. Her drawing shows the ingredients and instruments required to make bannock, a simple bread, embodying the exhibit’s goal of showing specific expressions of Indigenous identity in detail. The ingredients in Pootoogook’s drawing have meaning and purpose only when positioned together; they are part of a recipe, though the dish itself is never shown. Much like these ingredients, the other works in the gallery also create meaning and purpose in the space throughout the different gestures. Pootoogook’s open-ended artwork is also an attempt to give agency to the spectators, by avoiding to give them patronizing instructions on how to read her piece or the exhibit as a whole.

Lines as vectors of history and memory

It is important to focus on the title of the exhibition to understand what it seeks to transmit. “Kahatenhstánion tsi na’tetiatere ne Iotohrkó:wa tánon Iotohrha / Drawing Lines from January to December” poses the question: “What is a line and what can its powers be?” The exhibition pamphlet speaks of “the power of line to mark history and invoke memory” and clearly states the artists’ mission to create “lines without beginning or end as a way to imagine Indigenous futurity.” For example, Charlene Vickers’ Diviners is composed of several long sharpened cedar spears positioned in small groups in the back corners of the exhibition space. The lines pass through one another and intersect. The cedar spears reference their historical uses in weaponry, hunting, and shelter-making, while being positioned in a contemporary context. Much like the exhibition which, through the unfolding gestures, becomes a line without start or end, the cedar spears call up past meanings to create new ones and legitimize their place as present and future cultural markers.

A decolonial project: reclaiming spaces, voicing resistance

The exhibition engages with colonialism and recognizes that it is ever present in its silencing and exclusion of Indigenous voices. This is especially relevant during this year’s anniversary celebrations, which fail to acknowledge that they only celebrate colonisation and genocide. In this context, “Kahatenhstánion tsi na’tetiatere ne Iotohrkó:wa tánon Iotohrha /Drawing Lines from January to December” can be seen as a disrupting force, taking up space in colonised ground and recreating exclusive space for the peoples dispossessed. When I thought about this context, Linklater’s “lines without beginning or end” took on a new meaning. They were ways for the artists to refuse categorization, to resist being restricted to the past, as the Canadian government seeks to define the country’s existence with start dates supposedly marking the end of Indigenous sovereignty.

There is a sense of reciprocity and communication in the project with non-Indigenous people. The exhibition pamphlet mentions the “tenants of treaty” as part of the project. The exhibition thereby seeks to educate and demand responsibility from settlers in the role they have in listening to Indigenous peoples and investing themselves when needed in the path to decolonization. Over the course of the four gestures, Wood Land School creates multiple occasions for dialogue by giving space to community initiatives such as talks or performances. They connect audiences and artists beyond the gallery’s walls, for them to join forces in the process of decolonization.

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The experience begins as the intrigued viewer puts on a headset and is instantly spirited away into an overwhelmingly detailed and unknown environment. The first component, four ten-minute films, create alternate experiences of aging and growth by exploring the relationships formed along the way. Minotaur begins by taking the viewer on an abstract journey through life, death, and rebirth. The emotional trajectory experienced by the creature portrayed in the film – and by extension, the viewer – ranges from anger and fear to love and finally serenity. The next film, The Rose and I, is inspired by The Little Prince, a French novella about a stranded pilot encountering a young prince who fell from an asteroid. Set on an imaginary planet, the film explores the gentle relationship between its only inhabitants: a rose and her human companion. The touching and poetic film was presented at the 2016 Sundance Film Festival. Emmy-award winning Henry tells the story of a lonely hedgehog and his lifechanging birthday wish. Narrated by Elijah Wood, it was brought to life by some of the creators behind Brave and Toy Story 3. Finally, Lost follows a robotic hand’s quest for its body, in a dark forest populated by fireflies. This short immersive experience was equally presented at Sundance Film Festival in 2015.

Each work reveals a poetic and inventive universe, where head movements become similar to camera motion, producing the illusion that the viewer creates the work they witness. It sparks a desire to move closer, to stretch out a hand, in order to feel a physical presence within the animated environments. When turning your head means catching a glimpse of a hedgehog’s bedsheets through a doorway, or of the movement of a distant planet hovering away, the immersion is complete. However, awareness of the virtual illusion is often present as the viewer’s body is never materialized within the screen.

The short films are followed by the presentation of a first person-video game, Ubisoft’s visual masterpiece, Eagle Flight. The player becomes an eagle soaring over Paris, fifty years after the extinction of the human race. Emblematic monuments are overgrown and populated by elephants, deer, and other animals who have escaped from the zoo. The game provides an experience of overwhelming freedom that creates unprecedented physical sensations. The player can choose to fly through the rusty arms of the Tuileries Ferris wheel, the buttresses of Notre Dame cathedral, or explore the depths of derelict metro tunnels and gardens surrounding the Eiffel Tower. It becomes possible to catch fish in the Seine or uncover hidden passages in narrow streets, as well as complete challenges in story mode or compete against other birds in multiplayer.

Overall, the installation provides an aesthetically pleasing experience. However, the messages the films deliver prove disappointing in their lack of power and relevance. The videos demonstrate the boundless potential of immersive technology in engaging the viewer, without yet providing a challenging content closer to current issues. With such advanced technology and talented creators, narratives could convey a more socially or politically relevant message, rather than stories of lonesome hedgehogs and fragile roses. The short films, though emotionally powerful and creative, failed to provide thought-provoking material involving the viewer’s visual participation, who instead experiences pure physical sensation without the potential to act on it.

To understand the viewer’s relationship to a work of art, it is essential to consider the art form itself and how it makes the work accessible to the public. The Phi Centre’s exhibit is free, which means that anyone can watch the sunset hovering between two imaginary planets or over an abandoned Paris, though not everyone has access to information concerning the exhibit, or the time and physical capability of going there. These contextual problems aside, the technology itself has potential to break socioeconomic barriers, create interactive artistic experiences for all, and allow spectators to define their relationship to and perception of the work. The Virtual Reality Garden shows the powerful and promising results of creating a dynamic relationship between artist and viewer, between art and technology.

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