Local Art Scene

Fostering arts a little creativity can provide a lot of personality to our neighbourhoods

By Avi Friedman

I was foreign to the far north when I accepted an invitation to visit Iqaluit, Nunavut’s capital, in the Canadian arctic. My familiarity with the cultural and physical landscapes of the place was rudimentary.

It was a sunny and chilly summer evening when I stepped out of my hotel for a stroll in the town of 6,000. Looking around, it seemed as if some giant hand had randomly strewn a bunch of rocks and pebbles across the ground. Oddly shaped buildings, set at various distances, dotted unpaved roads.

Walking into the Unknown Tupiq, Norton Community Park in Burlington, ON

I turned to Queen Elizabeth, the town’s main drag. Three- and fourstorey buildings with stores and offices on lower floors and apartments above marked Iqaluit’s hub. The street was deserted at this hour. Right behind, there were brown-painted homes with exposed crawlspaces. A skidoo and a sled were parked side by side. A boat engine and fishing net were laid next to one another, probably belonging to a fisherman whose boat was docked nearby. Caribou hides were nailed to a board leaning against a wall for drying.

I walked towards a long, narrow single-storey grey and blue building, where I saw several large, beautiful soapstone sculptures placed in no particular order to form a display. An eagle diving down to snap a fish from the sea was carved in one. A polar bear cub resting on a rock with eyes closed lay nearby. A short distance away was a full-size figure of an Inuit couple— the man with his left arm around the woman’s shoulder as if to console her. A caribou looking like a mythical creature on the run was etched on another stone. Next, there was a giant abstract face of a person smoking a traditional pipe, and another looking into the sun.

The place and the art were authentic, drawing their roots from the cultural traditions and the nature that surrounded Iqaluit. Untainted by commercialism, it was, I surmise, what every folk art display should be: organic, embedded in its place of creation.

I wondered what had happened to folk art. Why is it no longer part of our residential vocabulary, much like benches or light poles, or swings in play areas? The answer is rooted, among other reasons, in our changing attitude towards art, the transitory nature of our residency and the way we choose to spend our free time. Recent years have seen a significant decline in the amount of time devoted to art education in schools. In some cases, it has vanished from the curriculum completely. School visits to museums have also declined, while galleries are no longer a popular destination for family outings.

Time pressures and lifestyle choices have also taken their toll on our artistic endeavours. Canadians over the age of 12 spend some 21 hours a week watching TV. Crafting a piece in the garage and displaying it on the front lawn is no longer a favourite pastime.

The creation and display of public or folk art in new developments—something that used to be budgeted for in communities—needs to be fostered again. Drawings by schoolchildren can be glazed on tiles and placed on walls in public places. Art exhibitions to the amateurs among us can be organized by a municipality in public parks. Large pieces should not only be installed in major downtown squares, or near office towers, but in neighbourhoods. City officials can, from time to time, turn a blind eye to a house painted differently and make room for the nonconformists among us.

Public or folk art can help distinguish one place from another. It can provide an identity to a street or community that might otherwise be banal. Looking at or even touching a piece of local art can help soften a community’s rough edges.