}
Ten Small Quarrels
Sculptures by Karina Kalvaitis
on show at Rogue Art, Until August 17
fourth floor, The Bay Centre in Victoria
(open Wednesday to Sunday, 12 to 5 p.m. 385-3327).
I was in a particularly receptive mood when I entered Rogue Art (on the fourth floor of the Bay Centre). Seven odd little tables were gathered at the back of the gallery. I pulled up a chair and sat among them. These tables are low to the ground, and hard to take in when you are standing. I wanted to get on eye level with the little platforms, and find out what strange objects they held.
How odd. There was a sense of Alice in Wonderland about these tables and the
tiny things upon them, as if one of them might have a tag that read 'eat me'
or 'drink me.' There was a sense of stillness, like the special surreal
reality of a Magritte painting. Little flags were flying, motionless in an
invisible breeze. I heard a huge 'whooosh' from the Bay Centre's air
conditioning ducts above me, which added white noise to the atmosphere.
(In fact, Rogue Gallery itself seems to exist somewhere beyond reality. I
arrived from by a glass elevator and walked around a vacant mezzanine to
approach this forgotten space, tucked up under the roof. The gallery is
stark, dark, with a haunting emptiness - nothing for sale, bare cement floor
and walls not in the least decorated. A silent attendant sat reading,
studiously ignoring the visitors.)
To return to the tables, sitting alone under spot lights. They are
kidney-shaped plywood, and stand on spindle legs which were made originally
to be bannisters and bedposts. The colours with which they are painted have
a sort of bedroom sweetness - chartreuse, mauve, and pastel yellow. These
tables exist only to hold up the tiny settings.
Settings? What shall I call them? Doll house scenery? Existential dioramas?
They calmly puzzled me. Here were little tents, looking like change rooms
set out on the beach, on the Riviera of your dreams. And tiny posts, and
flags, and pods sewn of some transparent metallic magical fabric. The fabric
is a transparent mesh whose colour changes as you move by. The artist has
decided to name these tabletop assemblages 'quarrels.'
At first the fabric elements - tents, or awnings, or marquees - seem crudely
sewn. But as I inspect them, I see the stitches are carefully worked. It's
the material which is a bit stiff and seems to billow. A banner sewn onto a
flagpole (a flagpole with inexplicable shelves emerging from its shaft)
stands out stiff and straight, blown by an invisible wind.
These sort of stiff flags were planted in the lunar dust by astronauts a
generation ago. Tiny standing stones mark hours which never pass. Time seems
to be standing still.
Intrigued and mystified, I sit back and consider things methodically. The
legs on the tables are from Lumberworld, some as small as drawer pulls,
others with a vestigial Louis XIV kick to them. Tables with three legs, four
legs, five legs.
The quarrels seem, at a distance, to share a sort of circus motif. There is
a little big top, a merry go round (hung with satiny pods), and a cage you
might keep a lion in. But really, 'circus' doesn't quite cover it. These
things might be botany or entomology from an as-yet-undiscovered planet. I
investigate further.
In fact, I get down on my hands and knees and crawl around, peering into the
quarrels. (I notice by now I have begun to refer to them as 'quarrels,'
accepting that a new meaning has been gratuitously attached to an old word,
to provide a name for these strange tableaux.)
Upon inspection, the cage part of the 'lion cage' is found not to be made of
bars but of tiny lead weights suspended on silver ribbon. That cage would
never keep even a tiny lion in; but then, the cage is open on one side. A
short flight of tiny steps leads to the lip of a bird's nest where a
smattering of paint suggests you might climb up and dive in. Mysterious.
My original impression of the pastel colour of the quarrels must be
reconsidered. One table holds two quarrels in haunting white. Others are
gorgeously coloured in fuchsia and violet. Much else gives cause for pause.
After a pleasant half hour musing, I went on my way. There were no
explanatory wall panels, no artist's statement, and the artist was not
eagerly at my elbow, filling me in on everything that wasn't apparent. There
was nothing to buy and no urge to possess. This is art, free and pure and a
gift for the open mind. I enjoyed the experience.
___________________________________________
Copyright © 2003 Robert Amos
Robert Amos is an artist and art writer who lives in Victoria, B.C.. He can be contacted by
e-mail and you can view his paintings at
www.robertamos.com