'Bowl', c. 1999. Dan McIvor.
I spend a lot of time reading design magazines, books, and blogs; graphic design, industrial design, architecture, interaction design – all manner of producing things and places of style, of expression, and for use by people. It’s a very convenient confluence of professional, academic, and personal interest – I’m a very lucky person because I enjoy it a lot.
But as a complaint (what?), it seems that any designers (but not all, and seemingly less all the time) spend a lot of time creating things without any regard for meaning beyond the object’s significance within the particular design field’s traditions. I know, I know. I talk about ‘meaning’ a lot, but it’s what seems to matter to me these days.
For instance, van der Rohe’s Barcelona Chair is judged not by its ‘physical definitions’ – the various dimensions, ornaments, characteristics, and materials that define it as part of a regionally-specific culture, but rather how it fit within/reacted to the traditions of contemporary, urban furniture design. So, yes, dimensions, ornaments (or lack thereof), characteristics and materials all figure very importantly, but not at all as a function of some larger, deeper regional culture. There is no ‘place’ where this chair makes sense or has any real meaning. It is an object, arguably ‘outside’ any context. (I say ‘arguably’ because the chair was indeed conceived as a part of a larger showcase of early 20th century German design and industrial prowess, but yet its neutral form and function has since made it an ‘international’ object. Does that mean it no longer has any meaning?)
Having written that, I’m immediately struck by/reminded of two things: 1. the chair indeed has a meaningful, nameable context – its ’specific culture’ is that very real culture and society of the particular design field, and then; 2. design cultures have no ‘place’ themselves but rather is a transcendent community of shared ideals, characteristics, and traditions. When I say transcendent, I mean the design cultures exist ‘above’ or ‘outside’ the physical boundaries that have typically defined a society or culture. As such, design culture is a glowing example of McLuhan’s concept of ‘global village’, made immaterial and transcendent by its lack of physical place.
I wonder if there is a danger in removing or ignoring the physical definitions from the objects around us. I find that I’m sensitive to how physical connections to people and places add layers of substance to an object or space (read my previous post), and how those layers can alter how we perceive the ’style’, interpret the ‘expression’, and prefer the ‘use’ of a thing or space.
Consider the bowl up there. I can practically ‘list’ the layers on that thing: 1. made by hand; 2. by my wife’s great-uncle, the late Dan McIvor; 3. who is a Member of the Order of Canada and in Canada’s Aviation Hall of Fame for inventing the modern water-bomber by retrofitting retired Martin Mars aircraft (among other things — I consider this to be a separate layer beyond the simple fact of familial relation); 4. made for our wedding, ; 5. made from wood from his backyard (don’t ask me what it is) in Kelowna, British Columbia. Irrespective of these layers and considering it as a ‘transcendent’ object, the bowl is merely okay – it has a sort of pragmatic form to it, which is nice. But considering these layers, the bowl takes on all kinds of depth that attracts me to it and makes it ‘present’ to me – I use it with intention because it was made with intention. I use it knowing where it came from and why. Even if I had a Marc Newson designed bowl, I would still prefer to use McIvor’s bowl.
It seems to me that there is always an opportunity for creating objects that sit somewhere within the threshold between the ‘transcendent’ and the ‘present’, between good style and regional meaning. Not that this doesn’t happen – in fact, it would be accurate to say that most good architecture and some graphic design works within this threshold. But from what I can tell, the same couldn’t be said of industrial design (objects usually designed for univeral function and appeal) and interaction design (interfaces usually designed for universal function and appeal).
I spend my idle moments thinking about this in relation to public objects and spaces here in Thunder Bay. It’s idle thought, so nothing useful has taken root. It usually happens when I’m driving through the intercity area, between Fort William and Port Arthur where the malls and box stores are. These are spaces that are intentionally devoid of any specific character – except as uniform store-fronts, as expendable and forgettable as their contents. I also see the need for this design threshold locally when I look at locally produced graphic design, which defers to some placeless ideal – a set of characteristics developed somewhere else. Technically, the bigger offices do a good job, but that’s where it ends. I think soon I’ll do a post on the City of Thunder Bay’s new online livery, which will nicely illustrate my point. (Don’t get me started on local web design, which doesn’t appeal to or satisfy anything.)
However, the little barrier I constantly bang into when considering this threshold in regional terms is this: how does a regional style emerge? I would like to be able to put it together myself, or at least my ‘interpretation’ of what it should be, but I feel that as soon as I start with such deliberate intention, it is no longer ‘genuine’ or ‘authentic’. That of course reminds me that the idea of ‘genuine’ or ‘authentic’ is something of a lie to begin with, a function of nostalgia and romance. I’m paralyzed, it seems, by this circle of ridiculous analysis.
I guess I’ll just have to design something, sideways.
We live in an old house. It was built in 1928 by my wife’s great-grandfather, a legendary United Church preacher and Member of Parliament who owned most of the block – on most of which he grew apples and roses. He gave the house to his eldest daughter – my wife’s grandmother – a few years later. He then did the same for the rest of his daughters, and all next door to each. And all of them lived in their homes until they died.
An entire family grew in this house. Five kids – two elegant daughters and three rowdy boys – were raised in this house during an era when houses were used – really lived in – and were not sterile display cases for social pretense. Bathtubs overflowed, windows were broken, hundreds of people were entertained… repairs were made, and made poorly. The house bears these scars and other signs of good use.
One one hand, the house is a gem. Its foundation and construction are so solid that only in the past few years has the house begun to shift. The roof contains twice the usual number of beams. All the doors on the second floor close as if they were hung this morning. The basement has never – in 80 years – flooded in a part of town renowned for it. Everything, from the basement concrete and oak flooring to the lathe-and-plaster walls and single-pane windows, is original and, in a blunt and utilitarian way, beautiful.
On the other hand, little concern was given over the years to the aesthetics of the surfaces of the house. A nail served as good a hook as anything else. Strand board was a perfectly reasonable interior finish for the back porch. 3/4″ plywood was a perfectly suitable material for all the cabinetry in the house. Because these were reasonable and suitable options, nothing was ever updated. The concept didn’t enter the mind. Except for maybe the paint, sometimes, but even that was obviously applied with only a mere hint of concern for its appearance (it’s not a family of drinkers, so I’m at a loss).
I’m not sure if I’m complaining or romanticizing. On one hand, I appreciate style (the house has none) and craftsmanship (the paint…and plywood!), but on the other I can appreciate the emphasis on real needs of function over the arguably false needs of aesthetics, particularly in something like a house that was built to raise a family, that was built to be used and not merely maintained for show. Who really ought to care that the hook isn’t wrought iron or brass? Who really should care that the kitchen cupboards aren’t custom cherry? They do what they’re supposed to do, and part of me wants to be content with that. The house serves as an object lesson in practical needs, a lesson that I feel maintains my perspective and keeps me from falling into a mind-set of needless fashion.
But to complicate matters, the marks of use I see everywhere are persistent, almost tyrannical reminders that this is not our house. We legally own it, we live here, but it is not ours. We’re like hermit crabs inhabiting an old shell, a shell that isn’t exactly suited to our needs or wants.
For one thing, there are too many walls; sharply dividing areas of the house 80 years ago was important. Kitchens were small on purpose, and closet space wasn’t a big factor. I guess getting in and out of the basement wasn’t something that needed to be quick and easy. And, of course, energy efficiency wasn’t a consideration of any kind during the age of coal heating when this house was built.
But even beyond these material problems, there is the ever-present fact that the house has had an entire other family live their life here. Part of me likes the idea, especially since it was my wife’s father, aunts and uncles, grandmother and grandfather who all lived here and loved each-other here. But that reality looms. I feel like I am accountable to it, that what ever we do to the house, however we change to make it better suited to our family, it will always have been someone else’s house.
Understandably, I’m on the fence about what to do. I think about the future and where I want to be, what space I want to be in. From this utterly pragmatic perspective, this house doesn’t fit into that future. But the complicated but endearing history of the house carries a weight that holds me here; I think about my children growing and living in the same house that their great-great-grandfather built for his daughter – their great-grandmother – and where she raised her son – their grandfather – and had so many of the same lovely and stupid memories we are having every day.
If one thought could cancel out any of my own selfish needs, that could very well be it.
Excuse me…
It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Life’s been moving quickly these past, ahem, five months.
Let’s see. Well, most of my time has been spent working. Non-stop, it seems, but that’s really not true. Still, my life is dominated by the demands of eleven-seventeen and teaching at Lakehead.
eleven-seventeen is going well. Too well, actually. It seems that we are at that nasty cusp of having too much work for us to do, yet we don’t yet have money to hire someone to lend a hand. Or rent office space in order to house staff, and the various capital requirements that go along with that. The other bad part of being too busy is having client work fall through the spaces between other client work. Not a good situation. I’ve seen a few businesses burn up that way, and it’s never a good thing for your reputation.
Teaching has also been filling up my timetable more than expected. As usual, I overestimated by abilities and memory. The first few months were pretty crappy – poorly prepared, unorganized, unclear, sometimes outright confused… Yet… I managed to maintain more students than the other profs. (Yes, it IS a competition). Anyway, I got my head straightened and followed through. There are four classes left this year, and I’m feeling reasonably settled with how the year has progressed. No teacher-of-the-year, but I’ve still managed to earn the trust of the class, and that’s my biggest concern.
Work, teaching, kids… not much left for anything else. I’m looking forward to the sailing season now winter’s loosening its grip a little, but I’m not really sure how that schedule’s going to play out. It’s a Trans-Superior year, and the captain is keen on the entire Lake Superior Yachting Association offshore calendar. We’ll see. We will see…
There’s a lot more literature around about waste reduction these days. I suppose that’s a good thing. It’s uniformly framed as an environmental ethic, i.e. ‘being good to the earth’. I suppose that has to be made clear as well, that we should treat our surroundings with a little respect. For all of its good sense, it’s not quite hitting the mark, and I’m not sure why.
There’s a poster at Piers’ school that I find to be very funny: it’s a picture of Oscar the Grouch holding a bunch of trash over recycling bins, instructing us to ‘reduce our waste: love the earth.’ I wonder if the designers of this poster took into account that Oscar is a slob. That he loves and hoards garbage. I guess it makes a strong statement when some who is a slob and loves crap is making the effort to reduce how much of that crap ends up in landfills, but how are we to position ourselves in relation to Oscar and his request? Is it a ‘if Oscar can do it, so can you’ thing (likely), or is it a ‘people who recycle are slobs and crap-lovers’ thing (unlikely, but funny to me as an unintended interpretation). I guess I’m being unfair.
I am actually troubled by this poster in one way, and I think it’s an important one. Oscar is asking us to reduce our waste in order to help the earth, suggesting that the source of human-created environmental problems is the volume of our waste.
Now, while waste is certainly a problem in Canada (we’re among those countries that waste the most) and our per capita waste amounts are increasing: residential waste to landfills increased 6% between 2004 and 2006, while ‘diversion’ (composting and recycling) remained the same, waste is only a small part of the problem. It’s the consumption that produces the waste that is the real problem. If you reduce how much you consume – and what you consume – your waste will decrease as a matter of course.
Other things will happen too. You’ll have more disposable income – or, better, you’ll find that you won’t need as much money to ‘live’ so you’ll spend less time working. Suddenly you’ll find that you can spend that extra time relaxing, reading, taking courses, playing with family and friends, napping, meeting your neighbors, making your meals instead of thawing processed ones… really, the life expanding and altering options available when you’re not chasing dollars for false needs are endless.
You’ll be healthier too, since you’ll be eating less processed foods (maybe you’ll have a garden, since you’ll have more time), you’ll be more active (instead of sitting behind a desk or wheel all day long), and you’ll be less stressed (since work and money are the two biggest sources of personal stress and stress in relationships).
Perhaps more to the point, however, is the idea that if we don’t consume as much as we currently do, we’ll go much further in reducing our ‘footprint’ than if we simply reduce our waste. Current statistics indicate that the average American purchases 53 times more than the average Chinese. One American’s consumption of resources is equivalent to about 35 Indians. Or, over a lifetime, an average American will create 13 times as much environmental damage than the average Brazilian. These statistics are targeted at the American audience, but can very easily be transferred to Canadians. And they don’t reference cultures that use even less waste and manage to get by just fine, like many Peruvians, Ecuadorians, and just about all of south-east Asia.
We’re consuming more energy, food, and resources than ever before, and we’re doing and spending more to get that stuff to our appliances, plates, and shelves. We consume many times more water, and we consume many times more space than any other nation or culture. And if we’ve had something for a little while, we get bored and replace it.
This is all old hat, isn’t it? Everyone knows this stuff.
But what I’m suggesting here does not fit well (or, um, at all) with the dominant economic models that require persistent growth. Models of sustainable consumption have been developed, but require substantial modifications to what some researchers call our ‘physical structures’, ‘human structures’, and ‘organizational structures.’ Boy, that’ll have to be another post.
I think the awareness of the need is there. I think people are tired, tired of the ‘thinness’ of what we are doing (like how Bilbo felt “like butter that has been scraped over too much bread”), with all our hurrying and worrying and chasing after shiny, weightless things. Maybe with the current financial ‘uncertainty’, more folks will have the opportunity – the sharp ‘break’ that is required – to assess what’s what, choosing I hope to reduce everything.
Reading that last post in retrospect, it seems pretty damned obvious doesn’t it? Nothing really new down there. However, it should say something about how something so obvious actually isn’t obvious when considered from one’s normal point of view. It’s like combustion engines that run on fossil-fuels; it’s pretty damned obvious that they’re an environmental, political, social, and health hazard… but they’re so convenient and can be a terrific lot of fun.
I kind of chuckle at how silly I must sound, talking like ‘wow, there are real people in those real towns out there… who knew!’. It sound ridiculous, and it is in a way, but it is obviously still something routinely forgotten in socio-cultural centers such as Thunder Bay. So I guess it’s not silly at all… because it shouldn’t be.
At the Hymer’s Fall Fair the other weekend, I got another glimpse into a perphiral culture (actually, an intersection of many, slightly different peripheral cultures) that are withering away, and now are more taken as spectacle rather than something central to a community. Fairs such as this were celebrations of rural culture, culminations of a season’s hard work, expressions of regional cultural dialects in music, food, artifacts, competitions, etc.: all together it was the most important event in the area – a showcase of meaning.
Not really anymore. Some of what I described does remain, but even in the last fifteen years I’ve noticed a shift toward nostalgia and away from substance. Trades and skills that were once critical to the very fabic of rural culture are now quaint, ranking more as a spectacle or novelty. Rural producers are fighting for booth-space against trinket-selling shysters from the city. I suppose (not having the demographic numbers in front of me) that this shift is a result of increasing interest in Hymer’s Fair from urban Thunder Bay residents, and also - perhaps - a result of some urban Thunder Bay-ites’ recognition of their own cultural bankruptcy.
In the last two years, however, another shift has occurred. The fair has attracted a new crowd – the urban, slow-food, local producer crowd – the farmer’s market crowd – and along with it an emphasis on alternative energy supply, local artisans (knife-makers, sculptors, artists), and the like. This shift comes with its own contradictions, but I find it kind of funny; urban types pride themselves on being trend-leaders and progressives, and, yet, here we are at a rural fair – an hour out of town in the heart of our regional farmland - and the rural folks are revealed to be actually leading awareness and change.
And why not? After all, farmers and rural residents tend to have a better grasp on their surroundings – seeing as how they rely on their surroundings and are ‘held accountable’ by it – and subsequently are more attuned to the problems related to consumption and waste. Just one more reason why rural perspectives needs protection in an increasingly urbanized world.
Driving back the four hours back to Thunder Bay from Blue Lake Provincial Park last night, I was slightly taken aback by what, a week ago, would have been utterly normal. It was a news broadcast from CBC’s Thunder Bay station.
That’s all.
But - last night, it seemed so far away. It seemed so completely removed from the reality of the area through which I was driving, and from the reality of the people of the area, with whom I had been hanging out for the past four days – many from Dryden and Red Lake.
I felt a little ashamed; here I am – here we are - in Thunder Bay, feeling so remote and disconnected from the dominating cultural presence of Southern Ontario, perceiving their arrogance and unconcern toward Northern Ontario… and yet the very same could be said about Thunder Bay in relation to the surrounding region of Northwestern Ontario. I had never, ever thought it could be the case. I had always thought that the two of us – Thunder Bay and Northwestern Ontario – were of the same mind, the same angst. It was something of a shock to discover that I should be wrong.
It wasn’t my imagination either, I’m sure of it, or some fantastic identification with the more remote communities of North-western Ontario on account of some mere car-camping among the locals. No, the conversations were laden with indignation toward Thunder Bay and its corporate/service attitudes toward these small towns and, in particular, First Nations communities. It seems residents and businesses of Thunder Bay are as guilty of arrogance and disrespect as any of the worst from Toronto. Go figure.
I had never really considered it before. What Thunder Bay feels when a mill closes or a new box-store opens, these remote communities feel it so much more. Simple reason: they’re smaller. The area-of-effect is so much more condensed. When Abitibi-Bowater closes a kraft machine in Thunder Bay, and 400 jobs are suspended, it hurts a little. But when 400 jobs are suspended in Dryden, it hurts a lot. When 400 jobs are suspended in Ear Falls, well, it kills.
And jobs are being suspended, if not on paper then in looming unpredictability of the resource industry. In Red Lake, for instance, the gold mine has said that there is 5-10 years left in the vein before the mine closes. That’s little comfort for a communitiy – especially when the mine has been saying that for over 30 years.
It would be easy to write it all off as the brutish and short reality of the resource industry. That’s what happens. If only the workers in these industries weren’t people with families, having a desire to set roots down and be happy for a while, comforted by the hope of a secure future.
The one on the water…
That’s what I did this weekend. 320 nautical miles, about 58 total hours of sailing. Leaving Thursday evening, we sailed 12 hours to Grand Marais, Minnesota to clear customs Friday morning, then immediately sailed another 12 hours south to Bayfield, Wisconsin. Then we slept.
On Saturday, we raced for 11 hours clockwise ‘Around the Islands’ (see the loop at the bottom of the picture?).
Then we slept again.
Getting up at 0500 on Sunday, we sailed continuously north-east back up to Thunder Bay, taking about 23 hours.
I am tired. And wind BURNED. I love it.
For the end of June, the lake is still EXCEPTIONALLY cold. We were in full offshore kit (read: layers of winter clothes) and we were still cold. Crazy, but kind of fun. It’s funny how quickly a person can forget how miserable he was, only hours before. Really, the cold part was only from the latitude of Grand Marais and north (on both trips). Anything south of that, we were still in full kit but comfortable. It rained like I had never seen before during our approach to Bayfield, which did not bode well for Saturday’s race and our general comfort, but Saturday was probably the best sailing weather I’ve seen since the Trans Superior last year. There was a little bit of everything, but it was mostly very windy (but not unmanageable, about 15-20 knots), and very sunny and warm. On the leg between Devil’s Island and Outer Island (the west/east line of the island loop), we clocked the second highest speed we’ve seen on Straight Jacket, 9.5 knots (the highest was 10.4 knots during our approach to Duluth in last year’s Trans Superior).
We did very well in the race. No official results that I can find yet, but from talking with other competitors after the event, along with our own shady calculations, I’d be surprised if we didn’t place top five – in a fleet of 19 mostly bigger, faster boats in conditions that do NOT suit Straight Jacket at all (she’s a light air killer, heavy air dragger). For a twenty-five year-old, 33-foot boat sailed by five guys, two of whom are new to sailing this month, in mostly unfavorable conditions… that’s pretty good. Granted, there was a little luck in our corner (the lead boats ran out of wind for 2.5 hours later in the race, allowing us to catch up), we still made some shrewd course decisions and sailed that boat at 100% all the time. We ran out of wind as well, but SJ loves the light stuff (and we know how to help her go fast in those conditions), and we passed five bigger boats during that time while putting extra distance on those behind us.
A good race. A good weekend.
…I’d probably hurt more people than just myself.
I built a picnic table today. That may not sound like much, but for someone who inherited my father’s carpentry skills, this is on par with building of the pyramids of Egypt.
All of them.
In one day.
And, I didn’t hurt myself. I can’t guarantee alignment with the sun during the summer solstice – or a single straight cut – but people can sit on it in relative comfort without out fear of your seat falling out from under you – or your food falling through the table top - which was certainly the case with our old one, ‘Browny’:
It was a good design, though. Really comfortable, with simple, classic lines. So I copied it.
Four 2×4’s, five 2×6’s, two 2×8’s, a handful of nails (should have used decking screws in retrospect, but nails will do the trick), possibly the oldest, rickety-est, but definitely the least safe circular saw in operation (my Dad’s), and a couple of hours on a sunny day gets you this:
… and very little waste. It’s standing up. Considering the ultra-reliable measurement method I used called ‘Close Enough’, I’m pretty darned happy. Well, no, I used a measuring tape, sqaure, and a pencil, but let’s just say it’s a good thing wood is so, ah… reasonable. All the angles and frame measurements are the same as the old table, but it’s two feet longer, owing to the absence of six foot pressure treated lumber at Home Despot.
The old table understood well what was happening and humbly disintegrated. I helped with its suicide, like the honorable samurai I am, with a hammer. Browny’s death was a good one.
Well, I suppose there’s good news all around:
Piers has been alive six years without seriously hurting himself, so we celebrated. Lobster-shaped chocolate cake with us during the week, and then lots of friends and family on the weekend.
I’ve been hired to lecture a full-year section of Introduction to Philosophy at Lakehead University for this coming year. That’s good. I’m much happier with Intro than with what the other most likely option was going to be – Biomedical Ethics (online). I’ve done both before and I much rather prefer Intro – it’s lecturing (not the mediated online format), it’s Intro (I’m a generalist), it’s easy (I’ve taught the class twice before, so most of the footwork has been done), and it’s worth twice as much money (it’s a full-year course, where Bio is only the Winter term).
In related news, the approval for the Advanced Institute for Globalization and Culture (AIG+C, or The Agency) has come, and so is no longer hypothetical. I’m hoping to be a part of this. And I quote:
Globalization and the increased and changing role of culture in economic and social terms means that the fundamental assumptions upon which the regional economy and society are constituted must be reconceived. The Advanced Institute for Globalization and Culture (AIG+C) offers a context for researchers to develop and communicate information, research results, and theoretical reflections on the forces that are shaping the problems and possibilities within the region.
Cool.
Finally, we seem to getting into phase on Straight Jacket. No wins yet – far from it. But we’re not last anymore, and that’s progress. This past weekend was the annual Spring Series – distance race on Saturday, three windward/leeward courses (Wednesday night style, but only 4 legs instead of the usual 5), and we are beginning to see just how fast SJ can be even shorthanded (we only had 5 crew, and SJ needs 8-9 to be fully functional).
SJ is a boat from an old design rule that requires some specific and even unique boathandling. She has a VERY large main, and a VERY small bow, and is VERY wide in the beam. It became so very clear to me this weekend (especially Sunday) just how much SJ sails like a Lightning – to be fast, first remember to ‘keep it flat when it doesn’t want to be flat, and make it heel when it doesn’t want to heel.’ Because of the design, when the wind is up, keeping her flat is very hard to to. With so few crew available to ’sit on the rail’ or ‘hike’ (sit with legs outboard on the windward side of the boat, or ‘high side’) to counteract the heeling of the boat by the wind on the sails, we had to take other measures. We reduced sail. You must understand, this is a very hard thing for a racer to do. It’s like installing a rev limiter in your Porsche – like self-inflicted castration. There’s just something ‘wrong’ about it, making no sense to the deeper parts of your soul. However, with the anenometer showing us only 12-13 knots (just over 20 km/h) true windspeed, we found that we were blazingly fast with a #3 (small headsail) and a reefed main (mainsail area reduced by lowering it to and securing it to predefined tying points). In those conditions with full crew we’d have a full main and the #1 (biggest headsail) because we’d have so many crew out hiking, keeping the boat flatter. But with only five crew, three of whom could hike out (driver and mailsail trimmer can’t hike), the reduced power allowed up to sit upright, showing more effective sail area to the wind with less drag on the sails, helm, hull, and keel. Fast. Fast fast fast.
One last observation – the boat ‘functions’ better upwind with less people. SJ has a lot of ‘controls’ that need tending to each time we change direction through the wind (tack or gybe), and that usually means lots of bodies. This weekend, there were less crew but maneuvers were quick and clean, very much unlike when we have full crew. Huh! Part of that can be attributed to the competency of the crew this weekend (four very experienced crew, one newbie). Even then, the only times, it seems, we actually need so many hands (the 8-9 mentioned above) is for weight on the rail and gybing the spinnaker (many, many more ‘controls’ involved than usual). Something for us to chew on.
I can’t remember who put me on to this, or if I discovered it myself, or if I heard about it on what was then CBCRadio3’s college radio-esque late night programming on Radio1 – whatever it was, I am truly thankful. I’m talkin’ about CBCRadio3 Magazine, quite possibly one of the most beautiful multimedia amalgamations of Canadian emerging and fringe culture ever.
Okay - it’s the only multimedia amalgamation of Canadian emerging and fringe culture (broadly conceived), but man, was it beautiful, and beautifully done every time. I’m going to venture this too - it was probably the best Canadian culture mag I’ve ever come across. It’s the only place I’ve been able to read about beer or hockey without rolling my eyes.
The magazine was an online offering from CBC’s ‘youth’ arm, CBCRadio3. CBCRadio3 had been for years a weekly late-night bleeding-edge Canadian independent music program, but between November 2002 and May 2005 it tackled a much broader role as Canada’s culture lens, using CBC’s massive influence to secure the very best Canadian media auteurs. The magazine in execution struck a mind-blowing balance compelling visuals, copy, and music – yes, a running soundtrack – sometimes matched with the story or event (like a band profile or session), or just in the background with the built-in player running a good representation from New Music Canada (NMC – basically Radio3’s former self) – and get this: they did it brilliantly every week. EVERY WEEK. 105 issues, all different, all great. Everything about the mag resonated without being nostalgiac. I’m going to ramble off a list of adjectives that I think fit: current, strong, smooth, funny, intuitive, familiar, quirky, relevant, serious, revealing…
What’s more, even though it shut down three years ago this month, I still read it and shake my head in admiration. Take the issue above – September 5-11, 2003 (Issue 2.01). I picked it randomly from the archives (which you can peruse by clicking this link or the one above, clicking Table of Contents, and then Archives – all 105 back issues are there). Here’s a breakdown of the contents:
- ‘12 Ounce Cameras: Canada Through a Beer Can’ by Cameron Andrews and Jessica Bushey, a photo essay of a road trip across Canada, but revealed through pin-hole cameras made out of regional beer cans strapped to the top of the car.
- ‘Bert: Nothing Lasts Forever’, a story by Sally McKay, narrated by Nora Young, about the anguish and coping of Sesame Street’s Bert when Ernie suddenly leaves without notice. Photos by Allan Sherwood.
- Profile of Pixies/Throwing Muses spinoffs The Breeders, with four live show tracks. By Trevor Zimmer.
- ‘Calling on the Past: Murmur Keeps City Stories Alive’ by Shahid Quadri (photos by Maris Mezuli), about a phone-based interpretive service for Toronto’s lesser-known landmarks.
- Profile of alt.country The Waco Brothers, ex-first wave British punk band members of The Mekons, with five session tracks. By Scott Lingley.
- ‘Fabric of the Past: Japanese Dresses Recall Darker Days’, by Sarah Efron, a photo/text essay about a collection of handmade dresses worn by women of the Japanese internment camp at Lemon Creek, BC, during World War Two.
- Photo collection ‘Nothing Specific’ by Tim Barber, placed through-out.
Terrific stuff. Pick any issue – you’ll find something new, something cool, something truly strange and happy. You’ll always be impressed.
I don’t know what happened to the magazine. It shut down, and they didn’t say why. It’s too bad. They were just getting started. When I think of the kind of magazine I’d like to publish, this is one I can point to and say, ‘Just like that.’
