Christine Leviczky Riek

From Red Ink Letters

Christine Leviczky Riek is a poet and photographer from Surrey, BC. She is a graduate of SFU’s Southbank Writer’s Program and a 2017 student in SFU’s The Writer’s Studio, where she is working on a docu-poetry manuscript about the lives of her ancestors in the Carpathian Mountains of Central Europe. In 2017 she published her first poetry chapbook, Inventory for a Voyage [da Capo sin’ al Fine] (Light Factory Publications).

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Jordan Abel

Native Hosts

In 2017, the Morris and Helen Belkin Art Gallery launched a new series of investigations considering the public realm of the UBC campus. To help understand and enrich the changing collection, they commissioned several video responses to selected works under the direction of lmmaker Ian Barbour, including Nisga’a writer and scholar Jordan Abel’s response to Hock E Aye VI Edgar Heap of Birds’ Native Hosts (1991 / 2007), a series of text-based works situated in multiple locations on campus. Resembling way- finding signage, Native Hosts reverses the words “British Columbia” and inserts the names of twelve BC First Nations as hosts of provincial occupation. Excerpts from Heap of Bird’s work are reproduced here, with permission of the Belkin Art Gallery, along with Abel’s text response. 

Hock E Aye VI Edgar Heap of Birds, Native Hosts, 1991/2007, commercially prepared aluminum street signs. Collection of the Morris and Helen Belkin Art Gallery, The University of British Columbia, gift of the artist, 2007. Photo: Howard Ursuliak

Hock E Aye VI Edgar Heap of Birds, Native Hosts, 1991/2007, commercially prepared aluminum street signs. Collection of the Morris and Helen Belkin Art Gallery, The University of British Columbia, gift of the artist, 2007.
Photo: Howard Ursuliak

Excerpt from TCR fall issue 3.33

For Edgar Heap of Birds

Today your hosts are the high and countless summits. Today your hosts are
the people. Today your hosts are the inclines and the hills and the approaching morning. Today your hosts are the miles of water and the shores of the lakes and the water beyond the water. Today your hosts are the great distances. Today your hosts are the headlands and the dotted islands and the light and the wooded forests and the beaten pathways and the stretches of shores and the cheerful voices and the black rocks and the open heavens and the narrow passageways and the steep, rugged ascent. Today your hosts are the people. Today your host
is the air. Today your host is the community. Today your host is the wilderness. Today your host is the scent of roses. Today your hosts are the glimpses of mountain ranges that disappear just as suddenly as they appear. Today your hosts are the people. Today your hosts are the clear sheets of water and the forests and the islets and the rocks and the driftwood and the crevices and the ssures and the deep parts of the river. Today your hosts are the people. Today your hosts are the sounds. Today your hosts are the rocks. Today your hosts are the rocks and logs and mounds of earth. Today your hosts are the people. Today your hosts are the moments. Today your hosts are the adjacent lakes. Today your hosts are the bottom land and little ponds and drifts of sounds. Today your hosts are the people. Today your hosts are the people. Today your hosts are the people. Today your hosts are the people. Today your hosts are the people. Today your hosts are the people.

 
 

Jeneen Frei Njootli

 

This image is part of a larger project, Thunderstruck by Jeneen Frei Njootli, two images of which are featured in TCR 3.32. Get your copy today to see and read more work like this.

A member of the Vuntut Gwitchin Nation in northern Yukon, Jeneen Frei Njootli holds a BFA from Emily Carr University and an MFA from the University of British Columbia. She is a core member of the ReMatriate collective and currently sits on the Board of Directors of grunt gallery in Vancouver. Her work is now in the permanent collection of the Vancouver Art Gallery. She is currently a grateful, uninvited guest on unceded Tsleil-Waututh, Musqueam, Skwxwu7mesh territories. 
From Those Mountains to These, 2013 ‒ present Silkscreen print on chipboard, 44 x 36 inches Photograph courtesy of Fazakas Gallery, Vancouver, BC

From Those Mountains to These, 2013 ‒ present
Silkscreen print on chipboard, 44 x 36 inches
Photograph courtesy of Fazakas Gallery, Vancouver, BC

Rachelle Sawatzky & Tiziana La Melia

Bodies in a Yolk Loop

from "What worries you anytime that you are worried curls time" 

Tiziana La Melia

She said, “the way that worry settles in itself is more sculptural.” I am reminded of the knotted back of the grotesque figures we filmed with our iPhones around the Fountain of Shape. Blobs sprinkled with faces, birthdays, angels, dust, divorce, numbers, prayers, donkeys, curses, loves and waning, toothy moons — sinking flatter, faster, faster. 

Rachelle Sawatsky. Tower of Meaning, 2015 oil on canvas, 18 x 22 inches

Rachelle Sawatsky. Tower of Meaning, 2015
oil on canvas, 18 x 22 inches

from "The view with no railings"

Rachelle Sawatsky

In ten minutes I have ten thoughts. I am small paintings, one with a sun sinking in the ocean as if having a bath. I am relaxing, shuffling feet without rhythm. 

I am imagining soda pop overflowing in a glass so fast it feels as if it is evaporating into the air. I poured it. Now it’s completely out of my control. The other day I was driving in the car and I was in the passenger seat in the front and I said “Look at that it’s Quatro Vientes,” gesturing at the Mexican restaurant we passed on the street and my hand hit the glass, my jade ring making a sound. They both started laughing. You are like a bird flying into the glass. My glasses were dirty I said in my defense. I discovered a term once for the condition of not being able to perceive the edges of your body. I use it to defend my tendency to walk into things. To outmaneuver this, I spend a lot of time reading, as if a book could cure the edges of my body and harden them. On my left hand I have a fantasy of having stronger, protective edges. On my right hand I have a fantasy of dancing and getting hit on. I am at the Plaza on a Friday night with older Latina lesbians or remember going to raves in the 90s. In this fantasy I imagine my soul as an egg yolk that can be poked with a pin without any of the form going to waste, it being a beautiful tone of yellow. It is being without the fear of dissipation. 

I made these drawings and the small paintings to describe the egg yolk experience. I wasn’t thinking about anything to do with art. As a child, I thought that cooking, for instance making peanut butter and banana sandwiches in preschool, was “art” just as much as finger-painting or plasticine.

This collaboration between Tiziana La Melia and Rachelle Sawatsky was commissioned by TCR for the Polymorphous Translation issue (TCR). Get your copy today to read the rest of their conversation.