MAGA ZINE
Co-Editors-in-Chief
Rédactrices en chef
Laïla Meyer-Korrichi & Dahlia Labatte
Managing Editors
Directrices de la rédaction
Emma Morselli & Morgan Kittson
Creative Director
Directrice artistique
Salma Chouqair
Asst. Creative Director
Asste. de la direction artistique
Jane Eyre Jordans
Marketing Coordinator / Digital Content
Coordinatrice marketing / médias web
Diana Paparelli
Events coordinators
Coordinateur.trice.s d’événements
Grace Lindquist & Brooklyn Carr
Finance coordinator
Coordinatrice de financement
Jussofrey UL
Editors / Contributors
Rédacteur.trice.s / Contributeur.trice.s
Bianca Giglio
Kyra Pedro-Czako
Mia Jodorcovsky
Yolande Hanson
Aélia Delêtre Michaëlle Lahaye
Spencer Allder
Nora Gallant Green
Kat Mulligan
Concordia University is located on land, which is the unceded traditional territory of the Kanien’kehá:ka. This land has also served as a gathering place for Abenaki, Anishinaabe, and other nations. As uninvited guests, it is our responsibility to honour the stewards of this land by educating ourselves on the histories and contemporary realities of First Peoples and by contributing to the important work of reconciliation and decolonization. Furthermore, we respect the continued connections with the past, present, and future in our ongoing relationships with Indigenous and other peoples within the Montreal community.
Nous aimerions commencer par reconnaître que l’Université Concordia est située en territoire autochtone, lequel n’a jamais été cédé. Nous reconnaissons la nation Kanien’kehá:ka comme gardienne des terres et des eaux sur lesquelles nous nous réunissons aujourd’hui. Tiohtià:ke / Montréal est historiquement connu comme un lieu de rassemblement pour de nombreuses Premières Nations, et aujourd’hui, une population autochtone diversifiée, ainsi que d’autres peuples, y résident. C’est dans le respect des liens avec le passé, le présent et l’avenir que nous reconnaissons les relations continues entre les Peuples Autochtones et autres personnes de la communauté montréalaise.
Our mission of intersectional representation in art and art dialogues drives us and continues past Volume 12. We hope that Yiara reflects this pursuit, but we acknowledge that there is much more work to be done.
Notre mission de représentation intersectionnelle dans l’art et les dialogues artistiques nous motive au-delà du Volume 12. Nous espérons que Yiara reflète cet engagement, mais nous reconnaissons qu’il reste encore beaucoup à accomplir pour y parvenir.
LETTER FROM THE EDITORS MOT DE LA REDACTION
Thank you for picking up a copy of Yiara Volume 12. The continued support of the inter-university and greater Montreal art communities is what has allowed this magazine to persist and grow from 2013 to 2024. As much as this is a letter from the editors, this would have been an impossible task without the time and devoted passion of our team. We want to extend our deepest gratitude to our team whose commitment and dedication made Volume 12 possible; this volume belongs to each member of the team and contributor as much as it does the readers. We are also immensely grateful for the Concordia community and their financial support as well as all community initiatives we had the privilege of working with.
Going into Volume 12 our primary goal and focus was to create a space for the team first —a space of dedicated time and passion, where each team member was aware of Yiara’s mission and invested in feminist discourse and artistic expression. Through the team, we were able to extend that space to the broader Montreal art and university communities. Yiara’s project transcends this year. As said by last year’s editors-in-chief Maggie and Julia, “Yiara is a magazine, but more accurately, Yiara is a mission.” Throughout the years, Yiara has aimed to further intersectional feminist interventions in art and art history, primarily through our role in sharing and promoting the work of students. Working on Volume 12, we focused on highlighting different perspectives on feminism and art to further our collective dialogues in art history and our artistic practices now. As students, we are the present and future of academic discourse, artistic expression, and collective organizing. Art cannot be disconnected from our lived context; this print volume highlights lived experiences as well as feminist interpretations and reinterpretations. Ultimately, each year of Yiara is oriented towards its future years and the future of the arts.
Creating a publication is a collective effort, which aims to extend past the individual reader. We hope you enjoy Volume 12 and see yourself in this process.
Yours truly,
Dahlia Labatte and Laïla Meyer-Korrichi
Merci d’avoir saisi une copie du Volume 12 de Yiara. Le soutien continu des communautés interuniversitaires et artistiques de Montréal est ce qui a permis à ce magazine de persister et de prospérer de 2013 à 2024. Bien que ceci soit une lettre des éditeurs, la réalisation de ce magazine aurait été impossible sans le temps et la passion dévouée de notre équipe. Nous tenons à exprimer notre plus profonde gratitude à notre équipe, dont l’engagement et le dévouement ont rendu possible le Volume 12 ; ce volume appartient à chaque membre de l’équipe et à chaque contributeur autant qu’à ces lecteurs. Nous sommes également extrêmement reconnaissants envers la communauté de Concordia et leur soutien financier, ainsi qu’envers toutes les initiatives communautaires avec lesquelles nous avons eu le privilège de travailler.
En abordant le Volume 12, notre objectif principal était de créer un espace pour l’équipe — un espace pour dédier temps et passion, où chaque membre de l’équipe est conscient de la mission de Yiara et investi dans le discours féministe et l’expression artistique. À travers l’équipe, nous avons pu étendre cet espace aux communautés artistiques et universitaires à travers le Grand Montréal. Cette année, le projet de Yiara transcende. Comme l’ont souligné les éditrices en chef de l’année dernière, Maggie et Julia, “Yiara est un magazine, mais plus précisément, Yiara est une mission.” Tout au long des années, Yiara a cherché à approfondir les interventions féministes intersectionnelles dans l’art et l’histoire de l’art, principalement à travers notre rôle dans le partage et la promotion des travaux étudiants. En travaillant sur le Volume 12, nous nous sommes concentrés sur la mise en valeur de différentes perspectives sur le féminisme et l’art afin d’approfondir nos dialogues collectifs en histoire de l’art et nos pratiques artistiques actuelles. En tant qu’étudiants, nous sommes le présent et l’avenir du discours académique, de l’expression artistique et de l’organisation collective. L’art ne peut être dissocié de notre contexte vécu ; ce volume imprimé met en lumière les expériences vécues ainsi que les interprétations et réinterprétations féministes. Ultimement, chaque année de Yiara est orientée vers ses années futures et l’avenir des arts.
La création d’une publication est un effort collectif qui vise à s’étendre au-delà du lecteur individuel. Nous espérons que vous apprécierez le Volume 12 et que vous vous reconnaîtrez dans ce processus.
Sincèrement vôtre,
Dahlia Labatte et Laila Meyer-Korrichi
Kat Mulligan
Kateryna Tyutyunyk
Michaëlle Lahaye
Antonia Brown
Gabrielle Godfrey
Mehrnoosh
Riesbri
Emma Morselli
Kristina Kelly
Nairi Elibekian
Sara Annunziata
Maggie Slater
Caitlin Durbin
Rose Bissonette
Maria Racine
A BAR
S AINT LAURENT ON
Halfway along the shoulder blade of my journey, my ankles inform me I am in drag.
A friend asked me in another era how I resisted days that flake at the edges, and in that era I responded pompously. My lipstick has tumbled out of the notches in my starving contour, a spit stain for the tumbled sidewalk never to clothe the mouth again. Walk on, and good evening, sunshine.
Providence carries out my green birth in a shady place, with no midwife, with no doctor but some Angel sent by the office.
My first steps click and clack upon a floor ripening with sweat.
My shoes cling, the basement signs to adopt me, my first words have not yet breached the firm air, and I remember that in my past life I was a Catholic.
The music breaks in its new boots in time with our heartbeats.
Kat Mulligan
Kat Mulligan is a writer and third-year Concordia student hailing from Richmond, Virginia.
If prophets still walked the earth, we effervescent ones would exhaust our unfamiliarity, yawn out our neuroses.
But some black coat declared once that modernity breeds orphans, so I take my seat, and my seat alone. Nightmare to be looked at, to be seen.
Frayed yarn spun me, wove my consciousness, tethered me to an island with no blood in the net.
This is a shady place indeed, no prior warning shoved between Mother’s mossy lips. This is the kingdom where orgasms are lent without interest, where the youth die youthful choking on tongue.
FEMININE
In this installment of the alphabetical collage series, the focus shifts to the intricate landscape of feminine rage. I have used Photoshop ever since I was very young, and now, it has become a medium through which I am able to process my experiences in the world. The continuously surfacing thought of the struggles lived by the women who have come before me fuels a fury within me. It makes me question what opportunities have been kept from the women around me because we were taught to stay silent. The artwork aims to offer a healing experience for those criticized and stigmatized by society for pushing back. A quote by Soraya1 Chemaly underscores the necessity of anger in progressive movements. The visual narrative portrays a woman becoming gradually pixelated, symbolizing the overwhelming nature of rage, particularly in the digital age where women face heightened objectification. This artwork invites self-reflection on the transformative potential found in embracing feminine rage.
.
Kateryna Tyutyunyk is in the last year of her undergraduate degree in Architecture at McGill. She is a queer Ukrainian immigrant who uses digital collage as a means of expressing the world around her. Her latest project—an alphabetical series of collages— aims to explore the digital age and the feelings that arise around it.
1 Chemaly, Soraya. Rage Becomes Her: The Power of Women’s Anger. Atria Books, 2018.
Kateryna Tyutyunyk
Photo by Simran Sood on Unsplash
Reading First-Wave Feminism in Pamela Colman Smith’s
All are bound to follow the quest for life’s hidden dimension. This quest has punctuated my life since childhood and since the age of sixteen, has materialized itself to me through the shuffling of a tarot deck. In accordance with the superstition that one’s first deck must be obtained indirectly—via gifting or theft—I was given the famous Rider-Waite Tarot on my sixteenth birthday. Although the enigmatic answers it provided to my most existential questions captivated me, it was the deck’s symbolic imagery that first drew me to the study of tarot. As I continued to use the Rider-Waite Tarot within both personal and professional cartomancy practices, I began to wonder about the source of these intriguing illustrations. While the Rider-Waite Tarot has forged an illustrious place in modern occultism, the artist behind the intricately designed cards regrettably remains unknown to most of its users.
Design of the Rider-Waite Tarot
MICHAËLLE LAHAYE
Michaëlle Lahaye is a third-year undergraduate student majoring in Art History with a minor in Religions and Cultures. She currently holds a contributor position at Yiara Magazine. Through her research, Michaëlle wishes to participate in the ongoing recuperation of female artists, while bringing a critical magnifying-glass to the depiction of female subjects in art. She is interested in exploring themes of ornamentation, occultism, death, and mental health, with a special focus on various modern and decorative art movements. After the completion of her BFA, Michaëlle hopes to pursue graduate studies in Art History abroad.
It is within a recuperation framework that I wish to illuminate Pamela Colman Smith’s artistic legacy, which is strongly marked by her design of the Rider-Waite Tarot (1909), today widely recognized. I argue that Smith embedded social demands of first-wave Western feminism into her design of the Rider-Waite Tarot through the depiction of gender-role reversal and the representation of suffragette figures. In my quest to explore these two elements of the tarot deck, I will situate her design of the Rider-Waite Tarot against the backdrop of the occult revival of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, an era characterized by various struggles for liberation then perceived as radical.1 Moreover, I will underline her involvement in the women’s suffrage movement, for it is deeply ingrained in her artistic identity.
By tracing the evolutionary uses of tarot since its invention—from card game to divination tool— tarot’s relation to the occult revival at the turn of the twentieth century becomes clear. Card-related practices predate the creation of the Rider-Waite Tarot by centuries.2 In fourteenth-century Europe, cards were mainly used to gamble and play a variety of regional, trick-taking games, making them a form of popular entertainment. 3 Tarot, which later emerged in Northern Italy in the mid-fifteenth century under the appellation of tarocchi, fulfilled the same purpose.4 Yet, its addition of twenty-two cards—originally called Triumphs and now commonly known as the Major Arcana—to the typical format distinguished tarot from other playing-card sets then circulating in Europe.5 6In his pioneering book titled The Game of Tarot, Sir Michael Dummett notes that Triumphs were initially adorned with images “derived from the Renaissance courts where alchemy and astrology” were en vogue, images which he argues cannot be considered as markers of the occult but as a mnemonic device due to their roots in the “imaginary repertoire” of the time.7 After all, there is no testimony from the epoch of tarot’s emergence describing it as being anything but a playing-card game in which players aimed to follow suit, discarding the common belief of an original divinatory purpose.8
Rather, Dummett argues that the imagery of the Triumphs placed tarot within occultist discourse centuries later. Following the spread of tarot to France and the rise of French occultism starting in the late eighteenth century, tarot finally inherited its contemporary reputation; the treatise Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie, written by famous occultist Éliphas Lévi in 1855, notably crystallized the conception of tarot as a form of divination connected to the occult through the writer’s attempt to relate the imagery of the Major Arcana with Kabbalistic symbolism and ancient Egyptian magical practices.9
Consequently, this conception was popularized in Britain and America through the occult revival, defined as a “vogue for esotericism” marked by an increased Western interest in hermeticism and ritual magic, amongst others forms of occult knowledge.10
The political climate of the nineteenth century was tinged with social demands, such as women’s suffrage and abolitionism. Against the backdrop of challenging the Christian doctrine, then explicitly endorsed by the great majority of Western political institutions, one could also consider the occult revival and its affiliated religious movements as part of this reformative ambiance. Spiritualism, for example, was described as a “rebellion against death and authority” through its divergent conception of the afterlife, by which the spirits of the dead could communicate with the living.11 Considering that the occult revival and its fascination for esotericism was instrumental in the construction of modern tarot, I argue that the creation of the Rider-Waite Tarot is a symptom of a broader desire for reform. Moreover, the occult revival served as a stage where the women’s suffrage movement and other struggles for liberation were broadcasted to a larger public. Interestingly, the spiritualist belief that women were the ideal mediums between the material and metaphysical worlds was instrumental in fostering an environment in which abolitionist-feminist demands were promoted within American and British public spheres. The women who had previously been condemned to the domestic space were then encouraged to “eloquently [address] mixed audiences about religious and political subjects.”12 In other words, the occult revival propped up the women’s suffrage movement through its support of female autonomy and emancipation, as well as the ways its philosophy amplified female voices.
Given that Smith was a fervent actor in the women’s suffrage movement, the embedding of feminist principles within her designs of the Rider-Waite Tarot comes to no surprise. She was mainly involved in the Suffrage Atelier, an artists’ collective for which she created a great number of posters campaigning for women’s suffrage. Her design for various theater productions centered around women’s suffrage also marked her connection to a feminist network within the Edwardian theater scene.13 Moreover, it is known that Smith and her collaborator Arthur Edward Waite, the British poet and author of the tarot deck’s instruction book, were both occultists and members of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.14 Thus, their personal involvement in the women’s suffrage movement and the occult revival further emphasizes the reform politics infused within the Rider-Waite Tarot.
The Minor Arcana of the Rider-Waite Tarot are divided into four different suits, namely those of the Swords, Wands, Cups and Pentacles, which count fifty-six cards in total. The first ten cards of each suit are numbered (similarly to traditional playing cards), and are then followed by Page, Knight, Queen and King figures. Smith’s illustration on the card of the Knight of Swords depicts a human subject riding a white horse in movement, their right hand holding up a sword as they appear to be charging forward (figure 1). They are dressed in silver-toned armor, a red cape and a pair of orange gloves. The visor of their medieval-style helmet is opened, leaving their face in view. Although they appear to be frowning, their facial features remain delicate. The illustration on the card of the Knight of Wands is formally similar, except for the warmer colour palette and the replacement of the sword with a wand (figure 2). The angle from which Smith depicted the subject allows for a better view of their face and hair: their lips are rosy and their mid-length red curls are poking out of the helmet.
At the time of Smith’s production of the illustrations, it is likely that these subjects would have been perceived as male.15 Yet, a closer examination of their physical and facial features reveals more fluid expressions of gender that could be considered androgynous. In Pamela Colman Smith: The Untold Story, Melinda Boyd Parsons argues that the subjects depicted on the two Knight cards can be read as female; their delicate features create a noticeable contrast with the “broader [face] and […] chiseled and cruder features” of the subject depicted on the card of the Emperor, for example (fig. 3).16 Alone, the gendering of these subjects means little, and virtually nothing related to feminism. However, if one considers knights, soldiers and other professions involved in battle to be traditionally male-gendered within the Western consciousness, then one could certainly read Smith’s illustrations on the Knight of Swords and Knight of Wands as representing a gender-role reversal, where the woman is depicted as a male archetype of courage instead of a maternal or caretaking figure. By inserting a female figure in a role typically reserved for men, Smith illustrates the desire for women to integrate social spheres exclusively reserved for men during the suffrage movement, such as the political arena.
Furthermore, Smith’s depiction of female knights taps into the iconography developed by the movement through its allusion to Joan of Arc. The Actresses Franchise League, a militant women’s suffrage organization regrouping different British theatre figures, notably claimed her as their “patron saint” and proudly displayed her image on their banners.17 18Moreover, the militant suffrage motto, “Fight on and God will give the victory,” echoed Joan of Arc’s illustrious saying “In the name of God the soldiers will fight and God will give the victory,” further highlighting the saint’s role as a model of female militancy and an integral part of the movement’s own visual code.19 Thus, Smith’s design of the Rider-Waite Tarot is directly connected to the very mission of first-wave feminism through the iconography developed by the militant women’s suffrage movement.
Fig. 2: Pamela Colman Smith, Knight of Wands (from the Rider-Waite Tarot), 1909, gouache and ink. Rider-Waite images, c. 1971 by U.S. Games Systems, Inc.
Fig. 1: Pamela Colman Smith, Knight of Swords (from the Rider-Waite Tarot), 1909, gouache and ink. Rider-Waite images, c. 1971 by U.S. Games Systems, Inc.
“By inserting a female figure in a role typically reserved for men, Smith illustrates the desire for women to integrate social spheres exclusively reserved for men during the suffrage movement, such as the political arena.”
Although the Nine of Pentacles does not explicitly represent female militancy, Smith’s design reflects suffragette values nonetheless. This card depicts a female subject standing in front of lush vines in a quasi-static fashion, forming a stark contrast with the dynamism found on the Knight cards (figure 4). She is dressed in a patterned dress and a red hat, a single yellow glove adorning her left hand, on top of which a colourful bird is sitting. The subject gazes dreamily at the bird, perhaps in admiration or love. The Magician, one of the twenty-two cards of the Major Arcana dedicated to different archetypes and themes, is illustrated in a similarly static manner, this time set in a more mystical scene (figure 5). A central female subject can be seen standing behind a wooden table, upon which four objects are placed: a sword, a wand, a cup and a large golden pentacle, evoking the four suits of the Minor Arcana. The subject is dressed in a white belted garb, over which she is wearing an ample red robe. She is holding up a double-ended candle with her right hand, while her left hand is stretched down in the opposite direction. Above her head, a symbol of infinity is inked into the card. Although these two figures are not personifications of Joan of Arc like the aforementioned knights, they are deeply involved in the battle for women’s suffrage, for they are suffragettes; they represent Ellen Terry and her daughter, Edith Craig, whom Smith met through the Edwardian theatre scene. Following this idea, I argue that Smith intended to depict the two women in the Rider-Waite Tarot due to her incorporation of specific formal elements in these works.
Although Terry did not “[manage] to transcend Victorian gender limitations in her career,” she nonetheless supported the women’s suffrage movement through her embodiment of the “free woman” in her unconventional personal life.20 Moreover, her daughter, Craig, was greatly involved in the movement as the founder of the Pioneer Players, an infamous theatre society known for its productions about women’s suffrage and feminism.21 It must be noted that Terry and Craig are not explicitly identified in the illustrations for the cards of the Nine of Pentacles and the Magician, or anywhere else in the tarot deck. However, the illustrations for these cards can be compared to other works indisputably depicting Terry and Craig. For example, Smith’s poster A Bird in The Hand (undated), which she produced for the Suffrage Atelier, represents Terry holding a bird in her right hand before throwing it at a duo of mockingbirds, likely standing in for British political men; the subject’s pose and her holding of a bird undeniably recalls the image depicted on the Pentacle card, suggesting a depiction of Terry. 22
Furthermore, the ample robe and the white garment worn by the subject in the illustration of the Magician card recalls the outfit worn by Craig in an untitled caricature created by Smith in 1900, in which the artist represented herself “bowing to Craig’s authority.”23 Parsons notes that Waite’s description of the Magician as a figure embodying the divinity of the androgynous god Apollo would have made the Magician’s role suitable for Craig, given Apollo and Craig’s gender fluidity. In the fulfillment of a feminist agenda, Smith’s representation of suffragette figures in the Rider-Waite Tarot does not invoke feminist militancy like her representation of female knights charging into battle. Rather, it celebrates the contributions of groundworkers in the advancement of the women’s suffrage movement by etching them into the material realm, in the form of a tarot deck. Thus, as the Rider-Waite Tarot grew in popularity, faces of the suffragette community did as well.
In viewing Smith’s design of the Rider-Waite Tarot, one is subtly confronted with a visual code that is profoundly feminist. Whether through the depiction of gender-role reversal or the representation of suffragette figures, the evocative imagery ornamenting the cards translates the social claims embedded in first-wave feminism, such as women’s suffrage. Today, many have chosen to ditch the name of the “Rider-Waite Tarot” for the “Rider-Smith Tarot,” in an effort to honour the artist’s contribution to the creation of the deck and to the world of occultism. Although Smith’s artistic legacy is far from limited to her tarot illustrations, it is crucial to recognize the Rider-Waite Tarot as an oeuvre that brilliantly merges occult and feminist symbolisms, recalling the reformative ambiance of its epoch.
Fig. 3: Pamela Colman Smith, IV: The Emperor (from the Rider-Waite Tarot), 1909, gouache and ink. Rider-Waite images, c. 1971 by U.S. Games Systems, Inc
Fig. 4: Pamela Colman Smith, IX: Nine of Pentacles (from the Rider-Waite Tarot), 1909, gouache and ink. Rider-Waite images, c. 1971 by U.S. Games Systems, Inc.
Fig. 5: Pamela Colman Smith, The Magician (from the Rider-Waite Tarot), 1909, gouache and ink. Rider-Waite images, c. 1971 by U.S. Games Systems, Inc.
was raised in Hamilton, Ontario, and am now living and working in Montreal. Currently, I am in my fourth year of a BFA in studio arts at Concordia University. Though I continue to experiment in many mediums, my work is rooted in oil painting. In my practice, I am inspired by poetry’s ability to conjure specific but nameless feelings through metaphor. fully disrupt reductive traditional binaries to promote more fluid realities.
Through graphic, vibrantly-coloured, collage-style combinations of images, I draw symbolic relationships that reflect my emotions and experiences. The result is simultaneously cryptic and diaristic. Collage allows me to play with the context of images, rearranging the familiar to create surprising new resonances.
My image fragments come from various sources including social media, art history, personal photo archives, newspapers, and magazines. Many of these collages are first composed as digital or paper works and later translated into paintings to bring them to life. By breaking the rules of composition and creating contradiction, I interfere with the viewer’s expectations and reflect their patterns of perceiving the world.
Inspired by non-duality and Jacques Derrida’s deconstructivism, my work seeks to playfully disrupt reductive traditional binaries to promote more fluid realities.
Despite its canonical status, the female nude genre has long been a method to objectify and symbolically enact ownership over the female body. Complete exposure, flattening, and eroticization of the subject often leaves them vulnerable to the viewer’s reductive gaze.
Still, the occasional artist paints their lover with so much tenderness that I cannot help but feel that the form is redeemable. In Study of a Nude, I explore the intimacy of nudity and love in a way that does not require me to give up the subject’s interiority and personhood to the audience
Study of a nude
The swan, a symbol of beauty, mirrors the gentle curve of the ear, making it harder to recognize. This illusion further obstructs access to the subject’s skin, creating a formal and symbolic shield. By implying a nude or vulnerable state rather than directly showing it, secrecy and care are maintained.
The beauty of an intimate love might be precisely what cannot be put on display. Love lives in experience rather than in objects.
Paying close attention to the smaller details has a way of unearthing a deeper love in the seemingly mundane.
GABRIELLE
GODFREY
Gabrielle Godfrey is a writer currently enrolled at McGill University, studying English Literature. Her work centers the fluidity of aging and gratitude to her younger self. Using a combination of her own intersectional experiences and those of her loved ones, Gabrielle creates odes to life’s brief snapshots, which fundamentally shape us.
The minutes in our lives, which create our fluid sense of self are foundational to Gabrielle’s practice as she pursues a timelessness in her work.
I asked my mother recently if she regrets it. I’ve known this whole time that I do—at least, I do for her. I have asked myself if she regrets it because I am a living breathing vessel of consequence. She willed my heart to beat at a staccato rhythm uselessly skipping. I mean, I get it. That ardent desire to be loved and touched and cherished. I get it because I feel it now like a blister on my finger following my foray with a hot pan—I was making my third plate of eggs in two days because I can’t be bothered to cook anything else when I’m like this. I think I might always be like this.
I know I would change it. I know, as in, I feel, as in, I think in retrospective 20/20 vision. I too would be a fool in love. As I am, I know I would be an idiot not to regret it, but would she? She felt the love and the mirth; she was a catalyst who endured her own choices. My previously infallible mother held the monster’s hand. She soothed the ridges of its gnarled skin. I squeezed my leaking eyes shut, held my fellow heartbeat, and choked on the cinder and ash of their flame.
Now snuffed, the embers provide no warmth to black-riddled lungs—still twitching. Does she regret it? Or can it fade into the past until she hears wheezing breaths? Even then, was that lover’s tumult worth a singed throat and battered lungs?
I asked my mother recently if she regrets it, and she said no.
I think I’ll go for a walk.
Vicarious Regret
THE SUBVERSION OF CONVENTIONS
Mehrnoosh
Mehrnoosh (she/her) is an Iranian-Canadian healthcare provider, researcher, and a student of Art History at Concordia University. She is also an emerging writer and an editor at the university’s student journal. Her interests include radical and protest art, insurgent spaces, subcultures, and anything from the seventies.
The modern and contemporary art of Iran is characterised by an extraordinary mixture of tradition and modernity. Iranian artists draw heavily from age-old aspects of the country’s visual and literary heritage to reflect and comment on their present dilemmas and conditions while challenging traditions and conventions.1
The U.S.-based Iranian artist, Arghavan Khosravi, reinterprets the conventional aesthetic language of the Persian miniature paintings with modern techniques to explore the contrast between tradition and modernity in Iran. Her work focuses mainly on the lived experience of Iranian women and their constant resistance against the socioeconomic, legal, and political obstacles and discriminations imposed by the traditional and religious patriarchal structures of the country.2 Khosravi’s artwork, The Witness (2022), is an eloquent example of how the artist expertly weaves in modern aesthetics into the conventional and highly codified landscape of Persian miniatures as a symbolic intervention challenging the social conventions constraining Iranian women. By introducing feminine figures of resistance that replace the marginal and sedentary figures of the miniature painting, Khosravi contests the stereotypes portraying Iranian women as oppressed victims, unveiling them as symbols of liberation and hope instead.
“[...] Khosravi contests the stereotypes portraying Iranian women as oppressed victims, unveiling them as symbols of liberation and hope instead.”
To understand The Witness, we must delve into the highly codified visual language of the Persian miniature paintings. The influence of these traditional paintings on Khosravi’s artistic practice is evident even to the untrained eye—from the intricate details and symbolism to the rich colour palette. In fact, The Witness is heavily inspired by a well-known fifteenth-century illustration, Behzad’s Bahram Gur Observing Frolicking Women (1494) (Figure 1). The story of Bahram Gur’s mystical journey and encounter with the seven princesses of Haft Paykar (seven portraits) is taken from Nizami’s poems, which were one of the most commonly illustrated texts, second only to the Book of Kings. 3 Mysticism was a recurring theme in Persian miniature paintings during this period, inspired by Persian lyric and romantic poetry focusing on an eternal mystical quest for intellectual and spiritual wisdom.4 This particular illustration is attributed to Behzad, the most renowned Persian miniature painter in history. Behzad worked at the court of Sultan Husayn Mirza in Herat in the fifteenth century and was especially known for his distinct style; his carefully modulated colours and compositions invited the learned courtiers to mystical contemplation.5 It is Khosravi’s familiarity with the old masters and her proficiency in the pictorial language of this inherited imagery that allows her to skillfully break away from its conventions.The pictorial conventions of traditional Persian miniature paintings are governed by several constraints that result in a standardised representation of figures, objects, and landscapes.6 Some of these conventions are dictated by traditional and religious restrictions; for example, the Islamic aniconism and its aversion to the use and veneration of imagery and idolatry, limited the ways human figures were be represented by miniature artists. The constraints associated with social and cultural orders, and the taboos and preferences of the Islamic Iranian society meant that images of religious subjects were infrequent and showed little variation.
The prophet, when shown, is generally represented dressed in green, his face veiled in white, and his head surrounded by an aureole of fire.7 Human figures are rendered into standardised types rather than individualised; their poses remain identical, with oval heads slightly tilted atop their slender bodies, their faces bearing minimal identifiable facial features. To distinguish men and women figures, artists relied on the differing details in attire and headgear. Similarly, the depiction of architectural and natural elements generally adhere to a consistent style and typology despite some variations. Buildings consist of a tripartite façade featuring a large eywan and two wings adorned with intricately decorated walls and artificial gardens. This setting typically appears two-dimensional despite occasionally showing a hint of perspective. Landscapes often feature fields of flowers and trees intersected by mosaic-bordered streams, incorporating hidden iconographic symbols that evoke contemplation within the viewer. One of the most influential scholars of Islamic Art, Oleg Grabar, describes the Persian miniature as a theatrical spectacle. Due to traditional and religious constraints concerning visual representation, miniatures were primarily confined to courtly settings. The erudite aristocrats, who comprised the main private audience of manuscript paintings, favoured subjects of courtly extravaganza. The architecture and landscape provide the backdrop for the scene: the lavishly decorated eywan—the ceremonial and most grandiose part of a palace—alongside its wings, resembles a theatre stage behind drawn curtains. The figures act as tenors and divas performing on stage. Their emotions and characters are seldom immediately visible, unless they are carefully deciphered. Everything is encoded, like a game of clues, and without an accompanying text, the paintings remain ambiguous. In this theatrical and artificial spectacle, removed from reality, the artist sometimes introduces a set of figures as “witness”.
The witness is often depicted as a figure situated on the periphery of the main action, observing the events unfolding within the scene. Their presence adds depth and complexity to the composition, as the viewer is invited to consider the perspective of this observer and reflect on their own role within the depicted narrative.
Khosravi skillfully incorporates these traditional formal and symbolic elements in The Witness, only to boldly distort and reject them with ingenuity and flair. She sets a framework using a tripartite architectural composition centred around a big eywan. The buildings, undeniably similar to those of Behzad’s illustration, are flattened and decorated with traditional motifs and jewel-like brilliant colours. With the exception of a couple of modern quirks, like a small chimney on the balcony, architectural elements are aligned with the representational canons. However, the complex composition is divided into multiple sections, each painted on a separate panel that is arranged on a different plane in relation to the other ones; the three-dimensionality of the artwork is its most striking and innovative feature.
Without abiding by the Western one-point perspective, Khosravi introduces three-dimensionality to disrupt the conventional flatness of the picture plane. By subverting the principles of miniature paintings that condemn images to lie flat against a two-dimensional canvas, Khsoravi reflects her breakaway from the constraints imposed by traditional and religious principles.
The sole male figure occupies centre stage, sheltered within a pavilion and depicted in the flattest and most recessed panel. He adheres to traditional representational strategies employed to depict prophets, with his green attire, veiled face, and an aura of flames adorning his head. He embodies religion, tradition, and patriarchy, symbolising the regressive societal restrictions these forces impose on women and society. The woman beside him, though depicted in the traditional slanted posture and attire, still derails from canonical representations of female beauty with her darker complexion and individualised facial features. Her stealthy, mischievous smile gives away her hidden rebellious disposition, highlighting her potential to pose a threat to societal norms and expectations of female submission personified by the holy patriarch at her side.
A SECOND WOMAN, depicted with modern aesthetics and in contemporary clothing, takes the place of Bahram Gur from Behzad’s illustration as the voyeur peeking from behind the curtains. Instead of beautiful women frolicking in water, she is discreetly stealing a glimpse of the lush gardens with their tiled pool and streams. The pool, now black rather than blue, is connected to a large reservoir below through a vertical creek. Its cloud shape, at first resembling the traditional cartouche motifs seen in manuscripts and carpets, evokes an oil fountain gushing from the ground when juxtaposed with the larger pool, symbolising the most significant national economic resource. The stairway protruding outside the frame suggests that she could step out of the framework, transcending the role of an observer furtively glancing at the nation’s wealth from behind curtains and veils. The story of Bahram Gur and his mystical quest for self-discovery and wisdom is re-enacted here by a modern female character on a quest for liberation and empowerment.
THE THIRD FEMALE FIGURE portrayed on the most raised panel to the right, stands outside the literal and metaphorical frameworks, becoming the embodiment and realisation of emancipatory aspirations. Completely liberated from the traditional pictorial canons, she is painted in a contemporary style and attire. The white scarf draped around her neck symbolises the Iranian women’s overt and covert resistance against the legal enforcement of the compulsory hijab, many of whom carry their scarves on their shoulders, refusing to let it cover their hair. The eyes of the woman are obscured from view, rendering her face unidentifiable, much like the typified female figures of the traditional miniatures. However, this denial of individuality is intentionally done to allow any Iranian woman to see and recognize herself in this figure. She is The Witness, the namesake of the painting, positioned on its edge, beckoning us to adopt her perspective and urging us to contemplate our own role within the narrative. She carefully, and somewhat timidly, holds a light in her hands; the beams transpierce the middle panel, weaving the narratives together with enlightenment and optimism. The rays ascend towards an unseen sun, directing our gaze towards the traditional landscape illustrated in the middle register, with its harmonious colours, elegant cypresses, and blossoming trees.
In keeping with the legacy of traditional miniature paintings, these landscapes conceal iconographic symbols: two white doves flying in the sunshine, symbolising freedom and hope.
Just as Persian miniature paintings are imbued in mystical undertones, The Witness is equally symbolic and enigmatic. Khosravi's adoption of the codified pictorial language from traditional paintings reflects the intricacies of the Iranian socio-political context, where censorship and oppression compel individuals to modify their behaviour in public, prompting the development of hidden systems of codes and symbolisms to circumvent and overcome the sociopolitical authorities and constraints. In The Witness, Khosravi sheds light on the interiority and subjectivity of Iranian women and paints them a path forward. In her artwork, tradition meets innovation: by adopting the artistic strategy of détournement, she embraces conventional elements only to masterfully subvert them. Her innovative approach to Persian miniatures defies restriction and reflects a powerful narrative of resistance and empowerment.
Figure 1. Attributed to Behzad, Bahram Gur Observing Frolicking Women from a Khamse by Nizami, 1494. British Library, London [fol. 190; Or. 6810].
RED EARTH BLOOMS
RIESBRI
a sculpture major at Concordia University, is an artist whose diverse background, hailing from Paraguay, raised in Brazil, and now residing in Montreal, deeply influences their artistic practice. Blending woodworking, casting, metalworking, ceramics, painting, and design, Riesbri crafts unique dialogues between abstract and formal elements.nts.
They have exhibited at the Quebec Museum of Masters and Artisans, Capital Culture House, Atelier Galerie 2112, Jano Lapin Gallery and ADA X as part of the Art Matters festival. Their work can be found in private collections in Brazil, Paraguay, Canada, USA, France and Switzerland.
While sculpture takes center stage, their painting work is intricately interwoven with their three-dimensional explorations, embracing a child-like-cartoonish aesthetic reminiscent of “Adventure Time” and the Kiki and Bouba effect. Their colour palette becomes a technological tool, not just visually engaging but instrumental in conveying emotion and storytelling. Rooted in personal experiences and a mixed indigenous background, their work is profoundly biographical, with each piece reflecting a narrative of their journey, identity, and the delicate dance between utility and rebellion.
In Red Earth Blooms, this trio of ceramic tiles ventures into the alchemy of iron-infused glazes, yielding a captivating speckling effect.
Inspired by my Paraguayan and Indigenous heritage, where iron-laden soil earns locals the endearing term “Red Feet,” this artwork is intricately tied to my cultural resonance.
The infusion of iron becomes a symbolic thread linking my work to ancestral landscapes and to the red colored feet of people that walk that land.
The tiles showcase vessels adorned with flourishing flowers, merging ceramics in tile form with ceramic vessel’s history. These dual-purpose artworks pay homage to the historical partnership of functionality and aesthetic expression inherent in ceramics.
The intentional incorporation of blooming flora introduces layers of symbolism, alluding to the cyclical nature of artistic creation and cultural endurance.
Red Earth Blooms becomes more than just materiality as it fuses cultural narrative, artistic creativity, and a profound connection to the earth. This series allows me to weave an accessible artistic language while celebrating the distinctive Paraguayan and Indigenous cultural heritage that grounds my creative spirit.
10 x 8 in each, glazed ceramics
DERRIÈRE LE RIDEAU:
le travail des femmes en coups de pinceau
À la fin du XIXe siècle, la France fut marquée par une ère de transformations sociétales majeures, durant laquelle le rôle des femmes vis-à-vis du travail est devenu un point d’examen pour de nombreux intellectuels et artistes. À cette époque, la perception sociale du travail des femmes était principalement basée sur des notions de moralité, de hiérarchie sociale et de conception de la féminité.1 En explorant l’intersection entre l’art et cette perception sociale, cet essai soutiendra que l’art impressionniste agit comme lentille capturant les opinions populaires qui entouraient le travail des femmes à cette époque. Par conséquent, en se concentrant sur l’œuvre d’Edgar Degas intitulée La répétition du ballet sur scène (1874), cet essai argumentera que l’œuvre saisit la complexité des dynamiques de genre inégales et des attitudes sociales bourgeoises envers le travail des femmes en se basant sur la représentation du travail physique, l’objectification des ballerines par les hommes bourgeois, et le statut social.
À première vue, la scène peinte de La répétition du ballet sur scène est quelque peu chaotique (figure 1). Quatorze ballerines sont dispersées sur la scène : certaines dansent en plein centre, d’autres s’étirent ou attendent patiemment au côté gauche de la scène, et l’une d’entre elles noue les rubans de son chausson. Parmi ces ballerines aux costumes éclatants, un homme en costume noir sort du lot de danseuses. Avec les bras en l’air, il fait comprendre aux spectateurs qu’il dirige la danse. Se démarquant également du reste de la composition, deux hommes bien habillés sont assis en bord de scène et observent les ballerines.
Bien que les danseuses soient entourées d’un décor vaporeux et indéfini, l’exigence physique de leur répétition est clairement illustrée. Les torsions, rotations et étirements de leurs corps en équilibre illuminent un important travail, donnant aux ballerines une fonction comparable à celle de travailleuses.2
[...] les sujets féminins sans nom de La répétition du ballet sur scène deviennent le reflet des fardeaux, mais aussi des opportunités qu’apporte la vie moderne aux femmes de la classe ouvrière.
“
Fig. 1 Edgar Degas, La Répétition du ballet sur scène 1874, peinture à l’huile, térébenthine, aquarelle, pastel et encre sur papier vélin et cartoWn Bristol marouflé sur toile, 54.3 x 73 cm.
New York, The Metropolitan
En tant qu’étudiante en histoire de l’art en troisième année à l’université McGill, Emma Morselli est non seulement fascinée par la beauté que possède l’art, mais aussi par la manière dont l’art crée des relations entre les artistes, les spectateurs et les environnements. L’exploration des nuances de l’art est une poursuite importante pour elle qui est autant académique que personnelle, car cet intérêt était présent bien avant le début de son baccalauréat. Le rôle d’Emma chez Yiara en tant que responsable éditorial a enrichi son parcours académique tout en la préparant à poursuivre une maîtrise en ce domaine.
À travers la représentation d’une répétition de ballet, la peinture évoque également une certaine routine de travail, alors que les mouvements répétitifs pratiqués par les ballerines font écho aux gestes routiniers du travail à la chaîne.3 Cependant, bien que toutes les travailleuses participent à la répétition du ballet, certaines ballerines sont quelque peu isolées, tandis que d’autres sont organisées en groupes de deux, trois ou quatre. De plus, elles sont occupées à différentes tâches. Ainsi, la peinture rend visible la diversité des labeurs au cœur du monde de la danse, tout en soulignant les dynamiques de compagnie et d’isolement au sein de cet espace de travail partagé qu’est la scène.4
Emma Morselli
Museum of Art, collection Havemeyer.
En percevant le ballet comme un travail et les ballerines comme des travailleuses, les sujets féminins sans nom de La répétition du ballet sur scène deviennent le reflet des fardeaux, mais aussi des opportunités qu’apporte la vie moderne aux femmes de la classe ouvrière.5 La routine de travail des femmes représentées dans cette œuvre démontre les conséquences d’une grande exigence physique à travers la grimace d’effort faite par l’une des danseuses lorsqu’elle s’étire, ainsi que la force et l’équilibre nécessaires pour danser sur la pointe des pieds. La rudesse du ballet est également reflétée par la ballerine qui noue les rubans de l’un de ses chaussons, des chaussons réputés pour leur profond inconfort. Cependant, malgré un travail pénible, les débouchées que le ballet offre aux femmes de la classe ouvrière représentent une source de revenu.
Néanmoins, Paul Valéry, un poète et philosophe français du XIXe siècle, soutient que les gains financiers des ballerines ne les compensent pas pour la rigueur de leur travail, alors qu’il les décrit comme des « esclaves de la danse. »6 Après tout, elles livrent leurs corps aux exigences sévères du ballet, les laissant avec des séquelles physiques et psychologiques. Par exemple, les ballerines souffrent de blessures chroniques dues à l’usage intensif de leurs corps durant de longues périodes, ainsi que de troubles d’estime de soi, d’anxiété et de dépression suivant les pressions constantes qu’elles subissent.7
La répétition du ballet sur scène de Degas capture non seulement le dur travail qu’est le ballet, mais saisit également les dynamiques de genre inégales qui affectent ces travailleuses. Les deux hommes en costume, isolés en bord de scène, évoquent notamment la double fonction du travail des ballerines, qui est à la fois physique et sexuel. Le regard voyeur que ces hommes posent sur les danseuses révèle que les jeunes filles, majoritairement adolescentes, ne dansent pas exclusivement pour les gains financiers que le ballet leur apporte, mais aussi pour le plaisir sexuel des hommes de la classe supérieure. Donc, en étant exposées aux regards des hommes, les ballerines sont sexualisées.8 Les hommes en costume et haut-de-forme représentés dans la peinture de Degas peuvent porter allusion aux membres du Jockey Club, un groupe d’hommes bourgeois ayant le privilège d’accéder aux répétitions et aux coulisses des opéras et des ballets, leur permettant ainsi d’observer et d’interagir personnellement avec les ballerines.9
En interagissant avec les jeunes danseuses, ces hommes bourgeois établissent des relations exclusives avec elles. Cependant, il est important de reconnaître qu’au sein de ces relations, qu’elles soient purement visuelles ou physiques, les danseuses servent d’objets de consommation sexuelle pour ces hommes, telles des marchandises.10 Par conséquent, le revenu des ballerines n’est pas seulement bâti sur leur dédication à la scène artistique, mais également sur leur volonté et leur quasi-condamnation à s’offrir aux hommes bourgeois.
Pourtant, les deux hommes ne sont pas les seuls à s’infiltrer dans la répétition des danseuses. L’angle de la composition suggère que les spectateurs de l’œuvre ainsi que Degas, en tant que peintre de l’image, sont positionnés du côté gauche de la scène et, par conséquent, observent aussi la répétition.11 Alors que la peinture capture la façon dont les hommes de la classe supérieure sexualisent et objectivent les ballerines et leur travail, elle invite également ses spectateurs à participer à ce spectacle. Donc, nous sommes témoins des différentes perspectives auxquelles les jeunes danseuses sont soumises, alors que nous-même jouons un rôle dans leur marchandisation à travers notre regard qui, lui aussi, est voyeur. Néanmoins, même si elles ne sont que les sujets d’une objectification, ce sont tout de même les danseuses qui portent le poids de l’immoralité, et non les hommes bourgeois qui les objectivent.12
Au XIXe siècle, au-delà d’être perçues par la classe supérieure comme immorales, les ballerines étaient non seulement sexualisées car elles étaient des danseuses, mais aussi car elles étaient des femmes provenant de la classe ouvrière. Les normes socioculturelles de la bourgeoisie concernant le genre et le comportement sexuel définissaient la réputation et, par conséquent, la féminité d’une femme.13 Les femmes bourgeoises devaient incarner la vertu et la chasteté, avoir une éducation même si limitée, et se conformer aux normes de beauté rigides de l’époque. Ces normes de beauté exigeaient notamment une silhouette mince et lisse, des vêtements élégants mais modestes, et une apparence soignée et raffinée.14 Donc, les femmes qui s’éloignaient de la normativité bourgeoise de la féminité étaient caractérisées comme « dégénérées » et, par conséquent, immorales.15 Les corps continuellement changeants et les muscles définis des ballerines de Degas, ainsi que les grimaces qu’elles font en s’étirant sont des déviations du corps féminin « classique, » les catégorisant comme « grotesques » et non-féminines aux yeux de la bourgeoisie.16 Alors que la physiognomonie devenait un outil de classification sociale au cours du XIXe siècle, la classe sociale « inférieure » dont provenaient les ballerines était affichée à travers le corps que leur travail leur procurait.17 En d’autres mots, l’immoralité des danseuses était associée à leurs comportements grotesques et à leur physique de travailleuse. Ainsi, les ballerines étaient doublement stigmatisées, soit sexuellement et socialement, tandis que les hommes bourgeois n’étaient pas soumis à cette stigmatisation.
Enfin, La répétition du ballet sur scène capture également les dynamiques classistes de l’époque, et particulièrement celles qui régnaient entre les hommes de la classe supérieure et les femmes de la classe ouvrière. Les ballets et les opéras français étaient des espaces modernes connus pour les échanges sexuels entre différentes classes sociales qu’ils abritaient.18 Ils étaient également des milieux où les hommes bourgeois étaient libres d’exhiber leurs prouesses sexuelles. Assis et presque grossièrement allongés sur leurs chaises, les deux hommes peints en bord de scène observent aisément les travailleuses. Vêtus de leur costume luxueux et haut-de-forme, ils incarnent le désir masculin et bourgeois de s’accaparer sexuellement de travailleuses objectivées. En ayant des relations sexuelles avec des ballerines, dont l’identité sociale était moins condamnable que celle des travailleuses du sexe, ces hommes bourgeois préservaient ainsi leur réputation au sein de la société.19 Après tout, considérant les normes de la féminité bourgeoise précédemment abordées, c’était la réputation des ballerines qui était véritablement à risque. La peinture de Degas expose donc l’interaction entre les normes sociales, la physiognomonie, et les dynamiques classistes de l’époque.
En conclusion, La répétition du ballet sur scène de Degas offre un regard approfondi sur le travail des femmes en France à la fin du XIXe siècle. L'œuvre peint le ballet comme étant physiquement exigeant, ainsi qu’une source de débouchées pour les femmes de la classe ouvrière. De plus, la peinture met en évidence le regard voyeur des hommes de la classe supérieure sur les femmes de la classe ouvrière, révélant leur sexualisation et leur marchandisation. Entrelacées avec les normes socioculturelles de la bourgeoisie, des dynamiquesde genre inégales compliquent davantage la perception sociale du travail et de la moralité des danseuses. Enfin, l'œuvre de Degas capture à la fois les défis liés au travail des femmes et les relations complexes entre les différentes classes sociales. Incitant donc ses spectateurs à examiner ces dynamiques de manière raffinée, La répétition du ballet sur scène nous encourage à mettre en question les normes et les comportements patriarcaux et dégradants qui persistent au sein de la société contemporaine.
T HE
EMBRACE
KRISTINA KELLY
Kristina Kelly is a Montreal-based artist pursuing a degree in Painting and Drawing at Concordia University. Kelly draws inspiration from the human experience, finding beauty in the ordinary intimacies of everyday life and unveiling the extraordinary relatability within it. The nuances of human connections as well as shared rituals and practices all serve as sources of inspiration within her practice. Through her chosen medium, she strives to capture fleeting moments, freeze emotions, and ignite contemplation.
Kelly’s art serves as a visual diary, inviting viewers to embark on a journey of introspection, sparking dialogue and fostering connection. Ultimately, her goal is to transcend the confines of the canvas and offer glimpses into the intangibility of human intimacy, creating a space where art becomes a conduit for personal connection.
The Embrace is a testament to the profound beauty found within the simplicity of human connection. In this painting, I seek to encapsulate the raw authenticity and vulnerability of a heartfelt embrace shared between me and my close friend.
The Embrace is a celebration of the unspoken, universal language shared between female friends. The composition invites viewers to witness the power of human connection, challenging stereotypical notions of the competitive nature between women. Through the expressive brushstrokes, this project seeks to convey the tangible essence of support and the enduring nature of friendships. Ultimately, this painting fosters a sense of unity, empathy, and strength, inviting viewers to recognize and celebrate the beauty and longevity of connections amongst women.
The Embrace Kristina Kelly Oil on paper 60 x 84cm 2023
Nairi Elibekian
THE DEVOURING WOMAN:
Nairi Elibekian is a Montreal-based writer and a graduating student in Concordia University’s Creative Writing Program. Currently minoring in Art History, Nairi engages critically with canonical artworks, drawing on both feminist and post-colonial theories to question and critique the Western canon, which has traditionally excluded women artists and artists of color.
“ “
The grotesque […] is only recognizable in relation to a norm and […] exceeding the norm involves serious risk.
(Mary Russo, The Female Grotesque: Risk, Excess and Modernity , 1994) 1
The act of representation is itself an act of regulation. “ “
(Lynda Nead, The Female Nude: Art, Obscenity and Sexuality , 1992) 2
Food in Contemporary Feminist Art
Placed side by side, these two statements speak to the idea of the body as the principal site for the exercise and regulation of power in modern society, as contended by Michel Foucault.3 This idea of the body as a political object has been useful in exploring representations of the female body in Western art.
Indeed, art has historically been – and still is – a means through which the social control of women through their bodies can be deployed. Griselda Pollock and Roszika Parker’s theory of ideology serves as a foundation to this argument by insisting that art not only reflects but actively reproduces patriarchal ideas. 4
This can be observed most clearly in the paradigm of the female nude, through which the female body has been transformed into a symbol of containment, its inner horrors hidden under a fetishized, self-contained surface.5 On the other hand, images of the grotesque body, in their rejection of the classical ideals of unity and integrity of form, are abjected, that is to say, are cast out from the bodily canons of classical aesthetics. The grotesque body thus emerges as a deviation from the norm and is marked as an exception that proves the rule.6 Framed by Mary Russo as an excess of the norm, the figure of the female grotesque threatens the social order through abject consumption,7 similar to Barbara Creed’s concept of the monstrous-feminine, a historically contingent cultural construct relating to a specifically female threat that challenges the structures of authority by deviating from the established norms of heteropatriarchal society.8 The woman who consumes “excessively” (or consumes, period) thus falls under the category of the grotesque due to her ostensibly threatening nature. Given the intimate connection between femininity and the consumption of food, fatness in women is taken to signify not only a loss of control but a “failure of feminine identity.”9
It is within this discourse that Cindy Sherman’s Untitled #175 (1987), Helen Chadwick’s Loop my Loop (1991), Louise Bourgeois’ The Destruction of the Father (1974), and Orly Cogan’s Bittersweet Obsession (2008) intervene to negotiate the ambivalent fascinations with and fears of the consuming woman. In response to the still-circulating discourses that revolve around the body of the consuming woman, Sherman, Chadwick, Bourgeois and Cogan intervene in a visual (and lived) culture which has represented and imagined the consuming and pleasure-seeking woman as grotesque. These works challenge the masculine symbolic order by proposing a feminist intervention through abjection, what Julia Kristeva calls a “semiotic rupture,” a weird “ick” or threatening feeling provoked by the transgression between inside and outside, and between self and other.10 In doing so, they subvert or reclaim a range of ideologies and stereotypes related to women’s relationship with food and the image of the consuming woman as the monstrous-feminine.
Explored as an aesthetic strategy, the abject allows these artists to critique the misogyny of Western culture. Kristeva identifies three main categories of the abject as: food, corporeal alteration, and death and the female body, all of which are incorporated or suggested in Cindy Sherman’s Untitled #175 (fig. 1).11 In this large colour photograph, Sherman fragments her own body in a waste of bodily fluids and decaying food, materials that are rendered abject in their transgression of the body’s external boundaries.12 Sherman’s face, which is reflected in a pair of sunglasses, wears a horrified expression as she bears witness to the disintegration of her body and experiences herself as waste or excess. As Laura Mulvey suggests, “the smooth glossy body, polished by photography, is a defence against an anxiety-provoking, uneasy and uncanny body.” In Untitled #175, Sherman bursts open the cosmetic surface of the female body to reveal the horrifying marginal matter concealed in its interior, thus exposing the profoundly fetishistic structure of the objectifying gaze.14 Within this landscape of decay, Sherman juxtaposes partially consumed cupcakes and discarded Pop tarts with vomit, alluding to the bingeing and purging of bulimia, a dual process which allows the bulimic to indulge in the oral pleasures of eating all while keeping the burden of the flesh at bay.15 As Russo points out, by literalizing the metaphoric relationship between the female and bodily abjection, Sherman makes explicit the “the uncanny, nonidentical resemblance between female and grotesque.”16
Food is a primary source of abjection precisely because it is an oral object that crosses the body’s boundary. As recognized by Mary Douglas, the power and danger invested in bodily margins extends to the margins of social structures, which are embedded with the power to reward conformity and ward off rebellion.17 Douglas goes on to argue that anxiety about the body’s orifices mirrors anxiety about the threatened boundaries of a body politic. It is for that reason that taboos on “unclean” food are operated in many cultures and religions. This “uncleanness,” defined by Douglas as “matter out of place,”18 is literalized in Helen Chadwick’s Loop my Loop (1991) (fig. 2), where a pig’s intestine is intertwined with golden Barbie doll hair. In this braided embrace, “the fetishized sign of femininity is inseparable from a visceral and forbidden interior.”19
[Fig.2]
As a result, the subject of the artwork is not properly unified, but rather evokes a duality in which self and other cannot be fully separated, in which erotic attraction and repulsion are indivisible. The pig’s intestine, which is particularly noteworthy given the prohibition on pork in Mosaic law, is here inseparable from the golden hair, which functions as a fetish object. In the deliberate perversion of this work, the viewer may experience the “semiotic rupture” defined by Kristeva – a gut feeling that what is happening shouldn’t be happening that way. The true transgression of Loop my Loop thus lies in its subversion of food as a symbolic category through which systems of purity are traditionally maintained.
Not only is the consuming woman regarded as threatening in a range of contexts, but she is also pathologized and reimagined as a monstrous, devouring femme fatale. 20 The murderous pathology associated with eating and the horror provoked by the female sexual body are made explicit in Louise Bourgeois’ Destruction of the Father, an installation that not only speaks of the artist’s personal fantasy of revenge, but also reflects the broader female fantasy of overturning the masculine social order. While the ambiguity of the installation gives way to multiple readings, its ever-shifting nature stays constant, continuously serving as a reminder of the potential danger of the indeterminate. The fiery red light bathing the scene and the boney animal parts splayed on the central flat surface give the impression that the viewer is peering into an oven which prepares, cooks, and burns the familial dinner.
Cindy Sherman, Untitled #175 1987. Chromogenic print, 6 7/8 × 71 1/2in. (119.1 × 181.6 cm). Whitney Museum of American Art, New York; gift of The Foundation To-Life, Inc. in memory of Eugene M. Schwartz. ©️ Cindy Sherman, courtesy the artist and Metro Pictures, New York. [Fig.1]
Helen Chadwick, Loop My Loop, 1991. Cibachrome transparency, glass, steel, electrical apparatus, 50 x w10.2 x 6.7 in. (127 x 26 x 17 cm). ©️
Estate of Helen Chadwick. Courtesy Richard Saltoun Gallery London, Rome & New York.
This structure, overflowing with food and surrounded by twelve rounded shapes resembling ottoman chairs, can also be read as a dining table. In this case, the space becomes the familial dining room in which the father is feasted on, as implied by the title of the work. Furthermore, the abstracted forms recall teeth indented in the upper and lower jaws, the blood red glow paired with the softness of the textiles suggest a bodily interiority, and the central surface resembles the tongue which is only a movement away from swallowing the father. This threatening mouth, by engulfing the head of the patriarchal family, genders the perceived threat as feminine.21 In this way, Bourgeois reclaims the figure of the monster to formulate a resistance in the same metaphorical language as the attack.
Orly Cogan’s Bittersweet Obsession (fig. 4) subverts this idea of the consuming woman as monstrous. Since textiles and embroidery have “traditionally been denigrated as mere craft rather than art,” Cogan’s choice to work with materials historically associated with domesticity and femininity marks in itself a resistance against the hierarchy that continually places “women’s work” at the very bottom.22 In Bittersweet Obsession, Cogan represents women consuming baked goods and illicit substances in retro pastel textiles. Two young women in the foreground – both naked except for socks – eat cupcakes. The woman in the center cuts into a two-tiered strawberry cake as she returns the viewer’s gaze, while in the upper register, two women snort cocaine. In this celebration of indulgence, Cogan proposes a new way of representing and imagining women who seek out pleasure by refusing to portray her female subjects as monstrous, grotesque, criminal, or decaying. Rather, in their youth, slenderness and cleanliness, Cogan’s subjects subvert the Western belief that drug use and “excessive” consumption can be read from the body.23 However, the pleasures of eating are complicated by the title Bittersweet Obsession, which points to the ambivalence characterizing women’s relationship with food. By representing eating as a solitary activity done in the privacy of the home, Cogan points to the gendering of baked goods as a source of feminine shame: she separates her subjects by white space and portrays them as semi-nude and unsmiling, indicating the discourse of shame circulating around the female binge-eater.
When examined in relation to Russo’s “female grotesque” and Barbara Creed’s “monstrous-feminine,” these four works reveal what the fetishized surface in classical representations of the female body has long worked to contain and conceal: women’s changing, consuming corporeal beings which are possessed of appetites and desires. In twenty-first century culture, this reclamation of the materiality of the body by contemporary feminist artists is more important than ever, as the dominating ideal of a slender body reflects a desire to contain the body’s margins. Imagined as monstrous and grotesque, the consuming woman is pathologized and the desire to contain her through her body is thus encoded both morally and socially. Indeed, as noted by Betterton, “food and diet have become the central arenas for the expression of contradictions between conflicting needs in consumer capitalism.”24 Both are marketed to a female audience and result in an inevitable failure of feminine identity. As a response to the female body’s inscription with the tension between repression and release through eating, these four works represent a rejection of perfection. They employ food as a means of exploring the ambivalent pleasures and dangers of the female body as well as the often-unresolved feelings relating to a broader feminine identity, unstitching and questioning years of discourse which has framed the consuming woman as deviant and excessive.
[Fig.4]
Bourgeois, The Destruction of the Father
[Fig.3]
Orly Cogan, Bittersweet Obsession, 2008. Vintage fabric, stitching, appliqué, paint, 48 x 48 in (121.9 x 121.9 cm). Permission to reproduce courtesy of the artist.
THE ETHEREAL silhouette
SARA ANNUNZIATA
The Ethereal Silhouette showcases two self-portraits in black and white, where I’m depicted draped in different veils. These veils obscure my face and body, creating an enigmatic, yet evocative imagery. In both photos, my gaze is directed upwards, fixated on the single source of light within the frame. This upward gaze reflects a certain yearning for liberation and a desire to reach the light, which symbolizes hope and personal growth. The use of black and white tones intensifies the shadows and stresses a scarcity of light. My figure appears to be swallowed by darkness, creating a sense of introspection and struggle. A black background was employed to capture my figure’s emergence from darkness and to emphasize the whiteness of the veil, which acts as a reflective surface for the light. I depict myself in the photos because I aim to convey my personal experience and my own perception of my surroundings.
My feminist critique of gender-based oppression is infused in The Ethereal Silhouette through the symbolic nature of the veil. The object is light to the touch, but heavy in its meaning. It mirrors the perspective of women as fragile and delicate beings, who ought to be guarded and protected like precious objects. In this regard, the object embodies the limitations imposed upon women by society, which confine them to a role of delicacy and submission, and force them to conform to stereotypes and restrictive expectations. The woman’s desire is therefore to escape from the oppressive representation imposed upon her figure, as expressed through my reaching towards the light.
Sara Annunziata is an undergraduate student at Concordia University, majoring in Photography and minoring in Film Studies. Originally from Naples, Italy, she has a deep passion for art, dance, music, and acting. Sara’s artistic journey began at the IS Caravaggio art school in Italy, where she developed a strong foundation in art history, photography, and cinema. Her photography explores the movement of the human body, drawing inspiration from various art forms. She aims to bridge tradition and modernity through her timeless aesthetic, and seeks to continue her artistic exploration in the future.
S EX IN S IN CITY
MAGGIE SLATER
Originally from Ngunbay/Kuranda in Queensland, Australia, writer and musician Maggie Slater has recently completed a yearlong exchange at McGill University. They are currently in their final semester of a BA in Politics and Creative Writing at the Universityof Melbourne whilst working on their debut novel through the Kill Your Darlings mentorship program.
She has worked as both a staff writer and editor for UniMelb’s Farrago and currently writes for emerging publication soulsighs. Slater’s writing is driven by a desire to explore and articulate our vivid inner and social lives, with particular interests in power, identity, memory, connection, and our relationships with time and place.
For the erotic is not a question only of what we do; it is a question of how acutely and fully we can feel in the doing.
– Audre Lorde,
The Erotic as Power
4 S EASONS IN M ONTREAL
We stand outside in the deserted backstreet, trying to empty Chiara’s bottle of Moscato in as few glugs as possible. It is Halloween weekend and groups of people strut and stumble down Rue de Bleury in various states of dressup. The only other people on the street are two hospo workers who look like they’re on a smoke break. I wonder if they know where we’re headed and if they can tell how little I am wearing under my coat. I shiver from the cold and anticipation. Chiara finishes the bottle, reluctantly leaving it against a wall as I open the email containing the code to the door. I feel like I’m in a spy movie with my fur lined coat and black stiletto boots, checking to see if anyone is watching before punching it in and slipping inside.
We turn the corner down a short hallway where we’re greeted by the Dungeon Mistress. She is a larger woman with a kind energy, dressed in dark drapey fabrics – the love child of Professor Sprout and Stevie Nicks. Behind her, a person wearing a leather dog mask and a yellow mankini stands obediently. Dim light gleams off plastic, leather, and velvet surfaces in a way that is heavy and sedated, as if time moves differently here. We sit at the back and I should be listening more closely but there are too many things pulling my attention: a person in a cage on a platform behind us, somebody dressed as the devil beside us, a huge pentagram at the front of the room which you can be bound to. Yet the thing that holds my attention the most is Chiara’s long silver chain, the way the coin at the end bounces against her sternum every time she moves. I cross my legs and focus on the holes in my fishnets and realise I’m turned on.
When I arrived in Montreal in December of last year, everything from the emptiness of my social calendar to the ice on the sidewalk told me to slow down, stop trying so hard, and stop thinking so much.
So, I listened. I spent the winter trying to get in touch with my intuition, getting to know my lower, more immediate, impulsive, irrational self, rather than trying to drown it out with the voice of my long-term thinking, incessant doer of The Right Thing, higher self. An active commitment to hedonism rather than a ‘giving in’; to take pleasure with joy rather than with shame. I took long showers and far too long to cook dinner because I was watching Sex and the City while doing it. I stopped setting alarms, woke up at 12pm and stared out the window while drinking my coffee. I’d read half an article and then press a hyper-link within it which took me to another article which I would then start and not finish and do the same thing over again until hours had passed and I hadn’t actually read a single article in full. I spent entire days inside and watched video essays in the bath and the steam that would whirl around underneath the ceiling. I started smoking again and took the time to learn how to roll. I listened to music I knew wasn’t very good and tried to work out why for some reason I still liked it anyway. I ate whatever I wanted, which included a lot of sugary American cereal, bagels with cream cheese, and yoghurt cups.
Mostly, I just tried to stop second guessing everything I did, to make choices and stick to them. I think of Audre Lorde: “As women, we have come to distrust that [erotic] power which rises from our deepest and nonrational knowledge”, we have been socialised not to trust ourselves. I believe this distrust can be interpreted as a disconnect between who we are and what we want, the gap between ideology and desire; a tug of war between the two selves, muddying any real sense of intuition and, ultimately, preventing true autonomy.
In an attempt to get in touch with my intuition I have been making lists of things I know to be true:
1- I struggle to find the line between sensation-seeking and self-sabotage, and impulse and intuition.
2- I feel the most present when I am a. submerged in a body of water, b. caffeinated and having an interesting conversation, c. smoking a cigarette in the cold and listening to a good song and d. having the kind of sex that is so good you can’t think about anything else, the kind that makes you forget what you look like and that there is a world outside of the room.
3- I am not sure if by ‘most present’ I mean the most myself or the most in my body.
4- I am worried that the only reason I like being submissive during sex is because of patriarchy and I am unsure if, when it comes down to it, the reason why matters. If the most empowering sex you can have is sex that you enjoy, does this make acceptance of my own desire to submit the ultimate reclamation of power or the ultimate internalisation of patriarchy? Is it more empowering to be selfish or free?
Inspired by the fleeting nature of my life in this city, I make a conscious effort to be more observant, particularly on my early morning bike rides home from work when the streets are empty, and I am alone with the city. In these observations, I have decided that Montreal is a very sexual city - at least compared to anywhere else I’ve lived. My initial explanation was that maybe I’ve just been fetishizing the French language, turned on by the pervasive presence of a language I have been trying for nearly half a decade to master, teasing me; unavoidable and always slightly out of reach. However, although Montreal’s French influence may give it an innate sensuousness, in reality, I think its rebelliousness, grit, and blasé attitude are what make it so sexy. Montreal is a city that pulls all-nighters and sleeps till noon; Saint-Laurent bustling until the early morning, Little Portugal lethargically filling for hungover Sunday brunch. It’s self-assured and chic, its women beautiful, its teens unjustly cool and remarkably well-dressed. It’s dirty and proud. It’s the girl across the club you keep trying to make eyes at but who is too busy dancing with her friends to notice you. It’s aloof and restless; weather and seasons changing just as you settle into them, only to go back the other way the week after you pack away your winter coat. Montreal does what it wants, and it doesn’t care what you think, making it all the more enticing.
As it turns out, my intuition about this was right. Quebec is the kinkiest Canadian province.2 In fact, during prohibition in the US, Montreal became known as ‘Sin City’3 and until the 1970s, Sainte-Catherine Street was aglow with neon signs4. Café Cleopatra and Cinema L’Amour have fought tooth and nail to stay afloat and remain iconic venues in the city5. Both PornHub and Fetlife were founded here6. For the last 20 years, Montreal has played host to one of the world’s largest fetish events, Montreal Fetish Weekend7, and was the backdrop to two recent Supreme Court cases ruling in favour of the existence of swingers’ clubs8.
When I think of my first relationship, when I first started having sex, I remember the longing. The desperation to be immersed in another person, of how badly I wanted to know what they thought about everything. To stop time and lay in the dark and talk to each other forever, to transcend our bodies and have our voices and ideas and fears and secrets stack on top of each other in an imperfect cadence. But there were always parents coming home soon, the sun would always come up, and his arms were already too full to let me give myself away to him. He was always dropping pieces of me, often without even noticing. I’d run behind him trying to pick them up and pile them back into his arms.
Although this relationship was also my first introduction to sexual acts involving pain, restraint, and humiliation, I think the power dynamic was what really spiked my interest in BDSM. He didn’t need to inflict pain upon me to make me submit, I would have done it willingly. I would have done anything he wanted if he asked me. My self-worth hinged on the fact that he wanted me, though rarely would he say this explicitly. So, sex was one of the few places I was certain I existed: an entire world created by just the two of us in which I was, however temporarily, perfect. I had no interest in looking outside, or existing in relation to anyone but him. I was mesmerized by us, like two mirrors facing each other, going infinitely inward until there was no light left to see.
“I just feel like he doesn’t want me here,” the words move sluggishly from her mouth into the phone.
Her friend is either unable to or doesn’t bother trying to mask the disappointment in their voice, “Then leave”.
She doesn’t do this.
He tells her she can come back to his with the others after the show if she wants. He doesn’t offer her another drink or sit near her. She is starving. Every time she speaks, she immediately regrets it. Exhausted, she slips into his room at the back of the house, unable to muster the energy or self-respect to say goodbye to people she will likely never see again. They both know she is staying here, though it has never been discussed. Finally, when they are alone, he touches her. It feels as if she has stepped outside, barefoot in the snow, her skin burning. He doesn’t say a word as they fuck; she has never felt so comfortable in a silence or so beautiful in the dark. They are just bodies moving together. She grips his hair, pulling his face closer to her own so his cheeks press hard against hers. Without warning, he spits in her mouth and she cums almost immediately.
Afterwards, they smoke outside in near silence. The clouds of their breath occupy the space between them and all she wants is for him to close it, to kiss her. He doesn’t. She barely sleeps, too aware of how his body is so close to hers and yet so out of reach.
In the morning she doesn’t have the right change for the bus, so he gives her some. Standing at the bus stop she feels hollow, as if the sunlight is passing right through her. He texts her to see if she got home okay and then never again. She gets inside and slides down the wall in the hallway, registering a muffled, far-away suggestion of food and a shower from her roommate. She hears herself reply and then the door slam shut. She is alone. She waits for an impulse to do something and does not move for a very long time.
“Do you think BDSM can be a form of self-harm?”
We are sitting in the garden after dark with our new downstairs neighbour Tiffany, bugs picking over the remains of our quiche and salad. The summer air is heavy with moisture and pollen and smog, hanging right above our heads below the drooping fairy lights. Tiff is a professor, currently working on the syllabus for her course on BDSM legal theory. Eventually I’m enough G&Ts deep to not care if the others overhear and confess the thing that has been tucked up inside my brain for so long: I feel like the times I’ve engaged in the roughest, most degrading sex in my life have also been the times when I’ve hated myself the most. Is kink just a fucked-up way to deal with trauma?
To my surprise she doesn’t disagree, rather poses another question:
“What makes BDSM any different from all the other things people do to hurt themselves?”
She gives the example of people who go to the gym to “work on themselves” but are motivated by an aesthetic rather than a holistic goal. Why do we see one vice as commendable and the other as deviant? I think back to high school, when I used to push myself so hard while training for cross-country that I would vomit. I think of drinking and socialising and working to run from feelings; they are all acts of avoidance. She continues that there’s something to be said for the self-awareness of the desire for pain or domination or whatever it is somebody is looking for in BDSM. There is no room for denial, everything is communicated and out in the open; intimate, curious exploration in a safe space. There is nowhere to be but yourself. I find this incredibly brave.
We get in the line for impact play first. When I got us the tickets, I had to assign ourselves D/S roles and in the pursuit of trying new things I had made myself dom. However, in the line as we watch one of the men from the intro walk somebody through how to use his various flagellation toys, Chiara either realises or confesses that she doesn’t want to be hit. Conveniently, I had spent the last few minutes thinking about how badly I wanted to be.
It is reductive to describe the appeal of physical pain and bodily harm purely as a tangible manifestation of all the mental turmoil. When you spend so much time in your head, there is something so freeing about the bodily awareness pain brings. It’s like taking a break from yourself, from the world. This kind of pain is ‘transformed’ and is not real pain, because it is experienced as pleasure10. For once, I have control over my suffering, becoming present and comfortable in it makes me feel strong. My inner life is primarily characterised by broad and volatile swings in emotion. I think this is why I find closing the gap between pain and pleasure to be such a welcome change. In this space, I get to decide when I’ve had enough.
As the days grow longer and warmer and people begin looking up at each other as they walk down the street, the magic of Montreal summer starts to soak through the city. It unfurls with its tulips, swaying in the late golden light, day-drunk and awash in euphoria. It’s as though a spell has been cast over the city, everyone meandering about in a sort of lovesick haze with seemingly nothing to do but drink orange wine on terraces and sunbake in the park. It smells of overripe strawberries and rain-watered basil, cotton drying undercover during a storm, hot bedroom brick, the sweat of accidental afternoon naps, and sunset lit joints on the grass in Parc La Fontaine. I did not know it was possible for a place to change so much in such a short time.
I start reading the books Tiff has leant me and gain a new appreciation of Lorde’s argument for the power of the erotic, that maybe sex is the key to getting in touch with my intuition and to merge my two selves. I come to understand sex as a means to align the bodymind and train my intuition through connection to sexual desire— there are few feelings less visceral and easily identifiable than being turned on. Theory argues that one of the key pillars of BDSM is ‘self-mastery’–the ability to control one’s own desires and impulses. As a result, BDSM creates a space where a person can play with and explore their identity11. It’s not actually about control–capturing or taming something–but rather about gaining a more intimate understanding of oneself.
One’s journey with BDSM, while extremely personal, is also innately relational, influenced by and interconnected with those that they play with12. This makes for an intricate balance between personal growth and relationality, in which one might experience a fluidity or a transformation in their understanding of themselves and their desires. Approaching sex from this more open and shifting space destabilizes a sense of fixed identity as the foundation for one’s experiences. Thus, moving away from rigid self-perception or definition by encouraging us to see ourselves through the eyes of others, from new angles, in an oscillating light. Iridescent and evanescent, we allow ourselves to exist in an imperfect state of becoming.
There is a woman on a mat on the floor, I think hog-tied, with a look of pure joy radiating across her face. I wonder if I look this outwardly enthused.
After a brief interlude of wax play, we make our way over to the stage set up for bondage. When it’s my turn, after very little convincing from the man running the demo, I take off my dress and lean back into his chest. I close my eyes and appreciate the skill with which he pulls the cotton tight across my skin. It’s relaxing, as though somebody were washing my hair or giving me a massage. He finishes the knots expertly fast, and I’m cognizant of that fact that it would be genuinely impossible for me to get free even if I wanted to. Adrenaline and alcohol pulse through my veins as he pulls the ends of the rope through the metal rings dangling from the ceiling. I open my eyes for a moment as I break contact with the floor, suddenly suspended parallel to it. I notice how many older men are staring out at me, the fat of my breasts and hips squishing out of the gaps in the rope, but I don’t care. I’m in my own little cocoon, calmed by the compression; my body is weightless and humming with endorphins. Together, Chiara and the man run different objects along my exposed skin; I do not try to guess what they are. I think of nothing in this moment, only feel; a hazy pleasurable sensation crooning, you are here, you are here, you are here.
Chiara and I get A&W on the way home and fall asleep on top of the covers still in our makeup and layers of mesh. We sleep late and have to rush to our last soccer game of the season. I’m wearing her gym shorts and an old jersey with my fur coat over the top. We weave through traffic on bixis, my overflowing tote bag constantly slipping off my shoulder. Finally at uni, we ditch the bikes and bee-line it to Rutherford field. Out of breath before we even start playing, I’m freezing cold and dreadfully hungover, my muscles tense and heavy with exhaustion and dehydration, but I feel so undeniably alive.
We win the game. The kid that scores the winning goal throws himself to the ground afterwards, as if he’s just won the World Cup. I find it funny and endearing. On my way home, I don’t feel the cold but my skin stings. I suddenly become aware that I’m not holding my breath anymore. It had happened so gradually I hadn’t even noticed. I walk without listening to anything or calling anyone. My rings press more lightly against my fingers and I realise that we have passed through the fortnight-long doorway of slightly cooler nights and drier skin. All at once, the air tastes sweeter; the trees so ablaze in autumn I can’t help but stop in Jeanne-Mance for a while. I lay on my back in the grass to watch the leaves sink to the ground in slow motion.
RAIN ON ME
CAITLIN DURBIN
Caitlin Durbin is a multidisciplinary artist currently based in Tiohtià:ke/Montréal studying Fibre and Material Practices at Concordia University. Durbin often works with vibrant oil pastels, fabric dyeing/printing, and sewing.
Common themes held within their work are queer and sapphic existence, magical realism, uncanny human form, and documenting the things that keep them up at night. Playing with textures and gestural mark making is an important part of creating their work, where the process is equally important as the final creation
The structure of the work is a plastic umbrella, with the typical covering replaced with intricate wire lace work. The denser areas of wire are textured and hard to the touch. Holding the umbrella close to light makes the wire lace sparkle and glisten. It takes up space unapologetically, the golden brass color shining against the matte black frame. Holding the handle of the umbrella in my hands, I can feel the heaviness of the materials. It takes focused strength to keep the umbrella upright and balanced. This is a direct reflection of carrying the weight of transness; the balance between the beauty of existence and the weight of social otherness.
Every other panel decorating the umbrella’s frame contains wire lace spelling “TRANS JOY LIVES ON”. This phrase serves as a reminder that no matter the experience of otherness, trans people are allowed to exist joyfully. The panels in between the words bear no text and resemble a wire fence. These wire facades allude to a protective structure, keeping out those who do not support trans joy and resilience.
Historically, umbrellas have been used as a tool in protest. Holding it up for yourself and others can serve as both a physical barrier against projectiles, while also protecting anonymity to prevent potential doxing from anti-2SLGBTQ+ groups. It unabashedly takes up space, putting a separation between the user and others. This umbrella is atypical in its practicality as the negative spaces do not provide protection in a literal way. Instead, its words and lace details symbolize defense against prejudice and malice.
The wire of the umbrella feels stiff and cold, reminiscent of items that are traditionally found in masculine spaces, like a hardware store. Despite this structural quality, the wire’s appearance can be associated with traditionally feminine lace work. Tiny delicate loops of gold intertwine around the hard, imposing structure. Combining these elements juxtaposes our expectations of masculine and feminine, defying typical gender associations and pushing beyond the space of binary definitions.
The umbrella’s form and function straddles between protection and decoration, harsh and delicate, masculine and feminine. Simultaneously, the transparent gold details oblige the user to reveal themselves, encouraging them to embrace their identity.
In this sense, it is an armor that loudly celebrates trans identity, glimmering in a protective beauty that refuses to be enclosed by binary classifications.
ROSE BISSONNETTE
L’IDENTITÉ FÉMININE
dans l’oeuvre de Suzy Lake et Raymonde April
Rose (elle) est une étudiante de 24 ans en troisième année au baccalauréat en Histoire de l’art et études cinématographiques à l’Université Concordia.
Ses champs d’intérêt hétéroclites varient entre l’art baroque, l’histoire musicale rock et les œuvres de science-fiction et de fantaisie. Sur le plan théorique, elle s’intéresse de plus en plus aux études artistiques qui favorisent une approche critique féministe. Rose vise une carrière en recherche ou en critique artistique qui pourra rassembler plusieurs de ses centres d’intérêt.
Pendant les années soixante et soixante-dix, le changement politique, idéologique ou social, était mis de l’avant dans l’art québécois. Alors que le Québec était en pleine Révolution tranquille, les artistes de la province subissaient aussi cette métamorphose. Que ce soit à travers la documentation ou l’exploration de nouvelles avenues artistiques, les photographes québécois faisaient partie de ce changement. Alors que certains continuent de profiter de la forme documentaire répandue et renommée au Québec, plusieurs artistes veulent s’en détacher assez radicalement.1 C’est dans ce climat que l’art postmoderne fait son apparition. Le postmodernisme est une réponse à la modernité, qui avait pris d’assaut toutes les sphères de la société à la fin du XXe siècle. Dans le monde artistique, le postmodernisme se caractérise par un désir de se détacher de la forme, motivé par un scepticisme face aux vérités universelles, et se concentre plus sur le contenu, le sujet et le message.2
Fig 1. Suzy Lake, On Stage/Miss Montreal (1972).
La photographie, dans sa forme documentaire, est grandement utilisée comme outil pour propager ces vérités grâce à sa prétendue capacité de représenter le réel. Dans cette optique, la photographie postmoderne tire avantage de cette qualité attribuée au médium dans le but de l’utiliser de manière subversive. C’est ce que Marthe Bujold aborde dans sa thèse Problematizing Identity: The Shift in Quebecois Photography: « postmodern artists often use photography as their preferred medium of expression because of its privileged relation to the real, its potential for manipulation.3 » C’est dans cette optique que l’art postmoderne rejoint un autre courant artistique, l’art conceptuel, populaire au Québec pendant les mêmes deux décennies, et qui partage des objectifs similaires. L’art conceptuel tente de se détacher encore plus drastiquement de sa forme et se définit par le concept derrière l’élaboration d’un projet, soit l’idée derrière celui-ci.4 En combinant changements sociaux et changements artistiques, plusieurs artistes photographes produisent des œuvres engagées. Suzy Lake et Raymonde April sont deux d’entre eux qui, de près ou de loin, rejoignent ces courants en abordant plusieurs problématiques sociétales, et plus particulièrement des questions féministes. Cet essai soutiendra que Suzy Lake et Raymonde April abordent des questions féministes à travers la thématique de l’identité et de la représentation de soi. Les œuvres Miss Montreal (1972) et Imitations of Myself #1 (1973) de Suzy Lake, et Autoportraits avec textes (1979) de Raymonde April seront étudiées dans ce sens.
Suzy Lake s’inscrit dans le postmodernisme et dans la vague féministe des années soixante et soixante-dix à travers une grande majorité de son travail, bien qu’elle ne considère pas son œuvre féministe en tant que telle. Cela dit, Lake reconnaît que ses œuvres sont engagées, mais elle affirme être plus inspirée par les droits civils et les droits de la personne que par des questions féministes. Cependant, avec le recul prodigué par les années, il serait aujourd’hui insensé de le décrire autrement.5 C’est avec des œuvres comme Miss Montreal (1972) (voir Figure 1) faisant partie de son installation On Stage (1972-74) et Imitations of Myself #1 (1973) (voir Figure 2) de sa série White Face (1973-74) que Lake met de l’avant des problématiques féministes qui rejoignent des idées postmodernes.
Miss Montreal est une photo en noir et blanc qui présente quatre femmes habillées de robes de soirée extravagantes devant un décor luxueux, composé de draperies sur les murs et de ce qui pourrait être un piano ornementé. Les quatre femmes se partagent l’espace de façon relativement égale. Deux d’entre elles, celles aux deux extrémités, semblent se regarder l’une et l’autre, alors que la deuxième en partant de la droite regarde hors champ, légèrement vers la gauche; sa tête entourée d’un cercle qui a été ajouté en post-exposition. La dernière, au milieu gauche, semble regarder l’objectif, son regard est donc orienté directement vers le spectateur. L’élément le plus marquant de Miss Montreal est la combinaison de la photographie à une légende frappante qui se retrouve sous celle-ci. On peut y lire tout en gras et en lettres majuscules noires sur un fond blanc :
L’adoption successive de divers rôles chez une même personne est un fait journalier qui se manifeste subtilement que l’on s’habille d’une façon spéciale pour une certaine occasion, que ce soit par diplomatie, ou que l’on adapte inconsciemment les manières de quelqu’un d’autre.
L’ajout d’une description sous la photo vient changer le sens de cette dernière. La forme imposante du texte prend presque autant d’espace que le cliché lui-même, ce qui attire rapidement l’attention du spectateur. Celui-ci n’a donc aucun autre choix que de s’attarder à la légende, qui vient préciser le sens que l’artiste peut vouloir donner à la photo. Plusieurs auteurs se sont attardés à la signification et à l’importance de la légende des images en lien avec l’art photographique. En effet, le titre ou la description d’une image peut légitimer l’authenticité d’un événement capturé par une photographie en prodiguant des informations supplémentaires au spectateur.6 En contexte postmoderne, la description d’une image peut venir tromper ce dernier ou le diriger vers une direction complètement différente de celle qu’il aurait prise autrement. Cette utilisation des légendes agit donc dans l’intérêt de l’art postmoderne qui essaie de déconstruire le fameux statu quo. De ce fait, l’expérience du spectateur est modifiée systématiquement et Lake établit que son œuvre, Miss Montreal, mais aussi la photographie de façon générale, doit être remise en question et ne doit pas être considérée comme cette vérité absolue qu’elle est devenue.8
Dans cette œuvre photographique, Lake joue avec la question de la recherche identitaire, un élément qui revient souvent dans l’étude du mouvement féministe des années soixante et soixante-dix.9 Dans le cas de Miss Montreal, le texte en dessous de la photo vient permettre une lecture féministe à l’œuvre en abordant ce thème de l’identité. En effet, Sorel Cohen, une autre artiste de la même époque, mentionne dans sa thèse Feminist Art in the ‘70s que l’art féministe rejoint le postmodernisme et l’art conceptuel sur le thème de l’identité : « it is not unusual that the shift to personal information as opposed to formal information, the move from formalism to content results in women using their own lives as content in their art. 10 » Avec sa description de l’image, Lake vient expliquer que son œuvre est en fait un exemple de la façon dont la femme se transforme et s’adapte à son environnement en se « costumant », c’est-à-dire en adoptant une identité autre que la sienne. Il est possible d’interpréter l’œuvre comme une critique de l’identité de la femme moderne qui doit modifier son apparence pour être valorisée ou même simplement considérée.11
Imitations of Myself #1 est une série d’autoportraits photographiques qui suit Lake dans une de ses populaires transformations. Quarante-huit photos sont disposées en forme de grille de huit par six et montrent les étapes que Lake exécute en se maquillant. Les premiers clichés la montrent sans maquillage, puis s’appliquant une sorte de fond de teint complètement blanc, pour ensuite ajouter des éléments plus ordinaires de maquillage de tous les jours, comme du fard à paupières et du rouge à lèvres. La dernière photo montre Lake qui semble avoir terminé sa transformation avec le visage orienté plus directement vers le spectateur. La répétition dans Imitations of Myself #1, qui rappelle une certaine qualité de pop art, est évidemment très claire avec les multiples clichés qui se ressemblent grandement. Cette répétition donne de l’importance aux actions de Lake qui pourraient être considérées comme futiles hors contexte. Le spectateur, qui doit porter attention au maquillage et à la transformation, est donc poussé à s’interroger sur la signification de ces actions. L’œuvre propose aussi des couleurs assez distinctes, mais douces comme le bleu, le rose et le jaune pâles qui viennent se marier avec le bleu pâle que Lake applique sur ses paupières. La pureté initiale du blanc qu’elle met sur sa peau crée un contraste entre son visage et tous les autres éléments de la série de photos, ce qui, encore une fois, attire l’attention.
Dans cette série de photos, Lake aborde de nouveau le thème de la recherche identitaire qui relie son œuvre à la problématique féministe, mais cette fois-ci de façon plus personnelle. En effet, puisqu’elle est le sujet de cette œuvre, il est possible d’affirmer qu’à travers la transformation qu’elle se fait subir, elle remet en question à la fois l’identité féminine, comme avec Miss Montreal, mais aussi sa propre identité. La présence de maquillage, un outil de transformation, vient faire allusion aux thèmes et critiques féministes mentionnés plus haut.12 Le devoir de la femme de se métamorphoser pour plaire au point de ne plus être soimême est évident dans Imitations of Myself #1 avec l’apparence clownesque que Lake prend tranquillement à travers les clichés. Elle n’est presque plus reconnaissable sur les dernières photos. Le ton féministe dans l’œuvre de Suzy Lake est donc indéniable et l’inscrit comme artiste féministe malgré son désaccord sur la question.
À ses côtés sur la scène québécoise se trouve Raymonde April qui aborde aussi le sujet de l’identité, mais plus précisément à travers l’intimité. Comme Lake, April se photographie elle-même dans son œuvre Autoportraits avec textes (1979) (voir Figure 3) où elle fournit elle aussi une légende à son image. La photographie en noir et blanc montre April, couchée dans un lit, prenant le cliché face à un miroir. À première vue, il est un peu difficile de discerner ce qu’il se passe dans l’image à cause de l’obscurité de celle-ci. Il est tout de même possible de voir la caméra dans les mains d’April, placée devant son visage, environ au milieu du cliché. Elle semble être dans une chambre, possiblement la sienne, puisqu’elle porte ce qui semble être une robe de chambre. Sous la photo le spectateur peut lire en police sobre noire sur fond blanc : « Je m’effondrai en larmes sur le lit. » À l’exception de cette légende, aucun autre indice ne vient insinuer qu’April pleure ou que le spectateur assiste à une scène triste ou troublante. De ce fait, comme Lake l’a fait avec Miss Montreal, April dirige l’esprit et la réflexion de l’observateur dans une direction autre que celle attendue, ce qui la situe elle aussi dans le courant postmoderne.13
L’obscurité et le contexte de la photographie d’April donnent au spectateur l’impression d’avoir accès à son intimité. En effet, la seule source de lumière, qui semble provenir de la lampe à gauche de l’image, produit un effet chaleureux malgré l’absence de couleur. De plus, sa position décontractée et ses vêtements semblent montrer April dans un moment de vulnérabilité, ce qui est confirmé par la légende qui sous-entend qu’elle serait en train de pleurer. Cet accès à une partie intime de son identité, qu’elle offre au spectateur avec cette œuvre, n’est pas inconnu au mouvement féministe des années soixante et soixante-dix. Alors que Lake dénonce et critique, April offre une facette, jusqu’à maintenant cachée de la femme moderne, de façon plus douce et poétique. Dans son mémoire de maîtrise intitulé Raymonde April, Voyages dans l’archive et autres histoires, Anne-Marie Proulx mentionne : « April a tourné la caméra directement vers elle, et a documenté son propre univers. Suivant cette génération d’artistes qui esquissait un “nous” québécois, elle a produit une photographie encore plus près du soi, dans une quête identitaire plus circonscrite.14 » Cette analyse vient directement faire référence à la tendance autobiographique des artistes féministes dans la quête du soi.15
Qu’elles soient d’accord ou non avec ce fait, il est évident que Suzy Lake et Raymonde April sont des artistes postmodernes et féministes. Bujold décrit cette réalité dans son texte en faisant directement référence à Lake : « In photography, some of the most subversive and exploratory practices of the 1970s were by such women artists like Suzy Lake and Sorel Cohen, both of whom explored female imagery and questions of identity […] in their work. »16 L’utilisation de la photographie par Lake et April rejoint donc celle d’une grande majorité de photographes québécoises des années soixante et soixante-dix. Cette utilisation est subversive et de ce fait s’inscrit très aisément dans la démystification des vérités absolues à travers la forme et le contenu de leurs œuvres. Toutes deux abordent et s’insèrent dans la bataille féministe, non seulement par leur propre mise en scène dans leur travail, mais aussi parce qu’elles mettent en lumière l’expérience féminine dans cette société moderne.
Fig 2. Suzy Lake, Imitations of Myself #1 (1973).
Fig 3. Raymonde April, Autoportraits avec textes (1979).
B
PAR MARIA RACINE
Maria Racine (elle) est une jeune femme de 21 ans qui étudie les Sciences environnementales à l’Université McGill. Son intérêt dans le féminisme se concentre sur le rôle du patriarcat et ses ramifications dans la vie de tous.tes, que ce soit au niveau intime ou professionnel. Un livre qu’elle recommande à ceux et celles qui s’y intéressent s’appelle « Nos désirs font désordre » d’Adélaïde Barat-Magan.
Le parcours de B est celui d’une personne qui essaie de vivre selon ses idéaux dans une société qui encourage l’ignorance et la rigidité. B est une personne non binaire et neurodivergente qui habite dans la région du Saguenay-Lac-Saint-Jean. Rencontrer B, c’est rencontrer un vent defraîcheur qui peut parfois être compliqué à saisir. Ces photographies documentent sa volonté de s’afficher pour se révéler tel que l’elle est dans son milieu de vie. Les six photographies ont été prises durant une séance photo planifiée qui avait pour thème « La liberté d’un été qui rencontre l’esthétique “dirt bag” ». Elles le montrent à travers l’amalgame du style rock and roll de B et du simple décor d’un quartier résidentiel. Mon but était également d’expérimenter la photographie de film en moyen format. Ainsi, la première photographie est prise de façon à imiter un regard qui se concentre au niveau de la taille. Durant la séance, nous avons appris à nous connaître. B est devenu de plus en plus à l’aise et a laissé apparaître sa brillante personnalité pour le plus grand plaisir de tous. Comme médium, j’ai utilisé une caméra Fujifilm digitale avec une lentille 35 mm F2 afin de produire des photographies qui sont fidèles au regard humain. J’ai également adopté différents points de vue tels qu’une vue frontale et en plongée. alle,
La neurodivergence se manifeste chez B comme une difficulté à assimiler les codes sociaux : allant des capacités à naviguer à travers une conversation, aux normes de genres, en passant par des troubles de l’intégration sensorielle. Par exemple, dans l'analogie où une discussion est un match de tennis, la plupart des gens renvoient automatiquement la balle à l’adversaire après un certain délai. Pour B tant et aussi longtemps que la personne en face ne réclame pas la balle, elle ne voit pas le besoin de la lui donner. Bien que ça puisse être mignon, ces manifestations la rendent vulnérable aux jugements hâtifs et rendent les tâches de la vie quotidienne, telles qu’entretenir des relations interpersonnelles, plus difficiles. Somme toute, B est une personne fière et attachante qui croit que s’entourer de personnes qui la respectent et l’acceptent est la clé de son épanouissement social. À travers ces photographies, j’ai créé un espace isolé, voire hostile, qui représente le cadre social rigide auquel se heurtent ceux qui osent sortir du moule. De plus, j’ai préservé le caractère et la personnalité de B en mettant l’accent sur son sourire, sa personnalité et son style afin de créer une rupture avec ces normes. Ces œuvres nous rappellent que, lorsque l’on vit dans un tel environnement, il est bénéfique et urgent de s'entourer de personnes douces.
Reading First-Wave Feminism in Pamela Colman Smith’s Design of the Rider-Waite Tarot:
[1] Matthew Beaumont, “Socialism and Occultism at the ‘Fin-de-siècle’: Elective Affinities”, Victorian Review 36, no. 1 (2010), 218.
[2] Mike Sosteric, “The Sociology of Tarot,” The Canadian Journal of Sociology 39, no. 3 (2014), 360. / Marjorie G. Wynne and Hyatt A. Mayor, “The Art of the Playing Card,” The Yale University Library Gazette 47, no. 3 (1973), 143-144.
[3] Carlo Penco, “Dummett and the Game of Tarot,” Teorema: Revista Internacional de Filosofia 32, no. 1 (2013), 149.
[4] Ibid., 143.
[5] French occultist Jean Baptiste Pitois invented the term “Major Arcana” in the mid-nineteenth century (Carlo Penco, “Dummett and the Game of Tarot,” 146.).
[6] Carlo Penco, “Dummett and the Game of Tarot,” 149.
[7] Ibid., 150.
[8] Ibid., 144.
[9] Ibid.
[10] Mark S. Morrisson, “The Periodical Culture of the Occult Revival: Esoteric Wisdom, Modernity and Counter-Public Spheres,” Journal of Modern Literature 31, no. 2 (2008): 2.
[11] Kathy Peiss, “Going Public: Women in Nineteenth-Century Cultural History,” American Literary History 3, no. 4 (1991): 821.
[12] Ibid.
[13] Ann Saddlemyer, “Designing Ladies: Women Artists and the Early Abbey Stage,” The Princeton University Library Chronicle 68, no. 1-2 (2007), 181-184.
[14] Joan Coldwell, “Pamela Colman Smith and the Yeats Family,” The Canadian Journal of Irish Studies 3, no. 2 (1977),32.
[15] Melinda Boyd Parsons, “Influences & Expression in the Ride-Waite Tarot Deck,” in Pamela Colman Smith: The Untold Story, edited by Stuart. R. Kaplan (Stamford: U.S. Games Systems, 2018), 361.
[16] Ibid., 363.
[17] Carolyn P. Collette, “Hidden in Plain Sight: Religion and Medievalism in the British Women’s Suffrage Movement,” Religion and Literature 44, no. 3 (2012), 171.
[18] Rosemary Betterton, “‘A Perfect Woman’: The Political Body of Suffrage,” in An Intimate Distance: Women, Artists and the Body (Oxford: Routledge, 1996), 56-57.
[19] Carolyn P. Collette, “Hidden in Plain Sight: Religion and Medievalism in the British Women’s Suffrage Movement,” 171.
[20] Melinda Boyd Parsons, “Influences & Expression in the Ride-Waite Tarot Deck,” 365.
[21] Ann Saddlemyer, “Designing Ladies: Women Artists and the Early Abbey Stage,” 184.
[22] Melinda Boyd Parsons, “Influences & Expression in the Ride-Waite Tarot Deck,” 365.
[23] Ibid., 366
The Subversion of Conventions: The Witness by Arghavan Khosravi:
[1] Saeb Eigner, Art of the Middle East: Modern and Contemporary Art of the Arab World and Iran (London: Merrell, 2010), 138.
[2] Noor Brara, “‘I felt in between places’,” Artnet, July 7, 2021. https://news.artnet.com/art-world/arghavan-khosravi-interview-1986271?artnet-logout-redirect=1
[3] Oleg Grabar, Mostly Miniatures: An Introduction to Persian Painting (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), 105107.
[4] Jonathan Bloom, and Sheila Blair, Islamic Arts (London: Phaidon Press, 1997), 218.
[5] Jonathan Bloom, and Sheila Blair, Islamic Arts (London: Phaidon Press, 1997), 216.
[6] The following two paragraphs are summarised from Grabar, Mostly Miniatures, 130-136.
[7] Bloom and Blair, Islamic Arts, 342.
Derrière le rideau : Le travail des femmes en coups de pinceau:
[1] Anthea Callen, “Physiognomy and Difference,” dans The Spectacular Body: Science, Method and Meaning in the Work of Degas (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 21.
[2] Susan Tenneriello, “Behind the Scenes: Art Work and the Laboring Body in the Dance Images of Degas,” Dance Chronicle 38, no. 1 (2015): 40, http://www.jstor.org/stable/24813861.
[3] Ibid., 33.
[4] Ibid., 49.
[5] Ibid., 44.
[6] Charles Bernheimer, “Degas’s Brothels: Voyeurism and Ideology,” Representations, no. 20 (1987): 159, https://doi. org/10.2307/2928506.
[7] Jill DeVonyar et al., Degas and the Dance (New York: Harry N. Abrams, en association avec l’American Federation of Arts, 2002), 124.
[8] Eunice Lipton, “Chapter II: At the Ballet: The Disintegration of Glamor,” dans Looking into Degas: Uneasy Images of Women and Modern Life (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986), 91
[9] Bernheimer, “Degas’s Brothels: Voyeurism and Ideology,” 159.
[10] Ibid., 159.
[11] Jill DeVonyar et al., Degas and the Dance, 58.
[12] Lipton, “Chapter II: At the Ballet: The Disintegration of Glamor,” 113.
[13] Callen, “Physiognomy and Difference,” 21.
[14] Callen, “Physiognomy and Difference,” 7.
[15] Ibid., 20.
[16] Mary J. Russo, The Female Grotesque : Risk, Excess, and Modernity (New York: Routledge, 1995), 63.
[17] Carol Armstrong, “Duranty on Degas: A Theory of Modern Painting,” dans Critical Readings in Impressionism and Post-Impressionism: An Anthology, édité par Mary Tomkins Lewis (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 165-166.
[18] Ilyana Karthas, “The Politics of Gender and the Revival of Ballet in Early Twentieth Century France,” Journal of Social History 45, no. 4 (2012): 961, http://www.jstor.org/stable/41678946.
[19] Bernheimer, “Degas’s Brothels: Voyeurism and Ideology,” 160.
[19] Bernheimer, “Degas’s Brothels: Voyeurism and Ideology,” 160.
Sex in Sin City: 4 Seasons in Montreal:
[1] Lorde, A. (1984). The Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power, Chapter in Sister Outsider. The Crossing Press.
[2] Hoareau, C. (2023). Quebec Was Named The Kinkiest Province In Canada & Montreal Was Named Top 'Stroking City'. MTL Blog. Retrieved from: https://www.mtlblog.com/montreal/quebec-wasnamed-the-kinkiest-province-in-canadmontreal-was-named-topstroking-city
[3] O’Neill, A. (2023) Whatever happened to Sin City? The dimming of Montreal's neon signs. CBC. Retrieved from: https:// www.cbc.ca/news/canada/montreal/arizona-o-neill-montreal-neon-signs-1.6749714
[4] Ibid.
[5] Lowrie, M. (2017). Montreal red light district tour highlights city's notorious past. CBC. Retrieved from: https://www.cbc.ca/ news/canada/montreal/montreal-red-light-district-tour-1.4157387
[6] Leatherpedia. (2017). FetLife. Retrieved from: http://www. leatherpedia.org/fetlife/ Dunlevy, T. (2023). Netflix's Money Shot: The Pornhub Story puts Montreal's MindGeek on the spot. Montreal Gazette. Retrieved from: https://montrealgazette.com/entertainment/movies/netflixspornhub-doc-follows-ups-and-downs-of-montreals-mindgeek
[7] Tourisme Montréal. (2023) Montreal Fetish Weekend. Retrieved from: https://www.mtl.org/en/what-to-do/festivals-and-events/ montreal-fetish-weekend#:~:text=Aug%2031%20to%20Sep%20 4,%2C%20Thu%2C%20Fri%2C%20Sat.&text=Several%20locations.&text=Unlike%20anything%20else%20in%20the,the%20largest%20international%20fetish%20gatherings
[8] Blackwell, R. (2005). Supreme Court opens door for 'swingers' clubs. The Global and Mail. Retrieved from: https://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/supreme-court-opens-door-for-swingers-clubs/article20431331/
[9] Reddit (2016, now archived). r/OkCupid. retrieved from: https://www.reddit.com/r/OkCupid/comments/44cwmq/why_is_ everyone_in_montreal_polyamorous/?rdt=40031
[10] Sheppard, E. (2023). Chronic Pain, BDSM and Crip Time..
[11] Weiss, M. (2011). Techniques of Pleasure: BDSM and the Circuits of Sexuality.
[12] Ibid.
L’identité féminine dans l’œuvre de Suzy Lake et de Raymonde April
[1] Marthe Bujold, « Problematizing Identity: The Shift in Quebecois Photography », (Mémoire de maîtrise, Université Carleton à Ottawa, 2004), 122.
[2] Bujold, 122.
[3] Ibid, 121.
[4] Johanne Sloan, « Bill Vazan’s Urban Coordinates », dans Bill Vazan: Walk into the Vanishing Point (Montréal: VOX Gallery, 2008), 87.
[5] Erin Silver, Suzy Lake: Life and Work (Toronto : Institut de l’art canadien), 2021, https://www.aci-iac.ca/art-books/suzy-lake/biography/.
[6] Johanne Sloan, « Relations, 1988: Photographic, Postmodern, Feminist », Annales d’histoire de l’art canadien, no. 1 (2015): 189.
[7] Silver, 2021, https://www.aci-iac.ca/art-books/suzy-lake/biography/.
[8] Ibid.
[9] Sorel Cohen, « Feminist Art in the ‘70s », (Mémoire de maîtrise, Université Concordia à Montréal, 1979), 46.
[10] Ibid, 41
[11] Silver, 2021, https://www.aci-iac.ca/art-books/suzy-lake/biography/.
[12] Cohen, 44.
[13] Ibid, 41.
[14] Anne-Marie Proulx, « Raymonde April. Voyages dans l’archive et autres histoires », (Mémoire de maîtrise, Université Concordia à Montréal, 2013), 27.
[15] Cohen, 46.
[16] Bujold, 35.