SNAP at 40, Part VIII: Even if lasting wasn’t really the point
oral history of the Society of Northern Alberta Print-artists (SNAP), compiled from artist statements, reviews, articles from SNAP's newsletter, and interviews with members of the Edmonton printmaking community
copies of the publication are available here; the text on these pages contains additional photos and text cut from the print publication due to space and budget constraints
Introduction • Part I • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8
oral history of the Society of Northern Alberta Print-artists (SNAP), compiled from artist statements, reviews, articles from SNAP's newsletter, and interviews with members of the Edmonton printmaking community
copies of the publication are available here; the text on these pages contains additional photos and text cut from the print publication due to space and budget constraints
Introduction • Part I • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8
Above: Mark Dutton, Le Fe, screenprint, 2015
Megan Stein: A common reaction to watching a print being made is that of awe—wonderment of the medium and technique, respect for the ability of the printer and fascination with the final realization of ink on paper. [1]
Dominik Royko: That’s the beauty of taking a course at SNAP. You have equipment to work with that knowledgeable people can troubleshoot, the latitude to experiment, and classes that allow you to learn from what your neighbours are doing, while being small enough that the instructors can keep an eye out to make sure you don’t get lost. I go home with my mind buzzing with project ideas. [2]
Sara Norquay: SNAP did a community project with SKILLS, a group that advocates for people with disabilities. The word went out that they needed collaborative helpers for this project; I have a background in special education, so it sounded right up my alley. So I signed up. I had four university students and four people from SKILLS. The whole workshop was themed around citizenship: Who gets to be a citizen? What does that mean? And I said I wanted to explore this topic of play with my group, because to me real play is completely equal, everybody is participating in whatever way they want to or can, and it’s also creative and inventive—it becomes what it is, it doesn’t have boundaries, it’s not predetermined. I had all these shina plywood blocks, so my group drew on them and then I cut them, and then we all helped print them. And then we made a book—it was all done collaboratively. Part way through, maybe the second week of four, I thought I would really like to do portraits of this group, because it was a really interesting group. So I got permission, and I took photos from the front and the side of everybody. And I brought a box of wigs and noses and things, for people who didn’t want to show themselves—I said you could present yourself however you like. So I did my group first, but then I did everybody in all three groups, and donated a copy to SKILLS. I just loved it, it was so much fun, and so interesting, this way of thinking about people. I realized I could do a big project—like hundreds of people—so I asked permission and asked if I could include the first 25 and it evolved from there. It took me five years, but eventually I had 300 portraits.
Megan Stein: A common reaction to watching a print being made is that of awe—wonderment of the medium and technique, respect for the ability of the printer and fascination with the final realization of ink on paper. [1]
Dominik Royko: That’s the beauty of taking a course at SNAP. You have equipment to work with that knowledgeable people can troubleshoot, the latitude to experiment, and classes that allow you to learn from what your neighbours are doing, while being small enough that the instructors can keep an eye out to make sure you don’t get lost. I go home with my mind buzzing with project ideas. [2]
Sara Norquay: SNAP did a community project with SKILLS, a group that advocates for people with disabilities. The word went out that they needed collaborative helpers for this project; I have a background in special education, so it sounded right up my alley. So I signed up. I had four university students and four people from SKILLS. The whole workshop was themed around citizenship: Who gets to be a citizen? What does that mean? And I said I wanted to explore this topic of play with my group, because to me real play is completely equal, everybody is participating in whatever way they want to or can, and it’s also creative and inventive—it becomes what it is, it doesn’t have boundaries, it’s not predetermined. I had all these shina plywood blocks, so my group drew on them and then I cut them, and then we all helped print them. And then we made a book—it was all done collaboratively. Part way through, maybe the second week of four, I thought I would really like to do portraits of this group, because it was a really interesting group. So I got permission, and I took photos from the front and the side of everybody. And I brought a box of wigs and noses and things, for people who didn’t want to show themselves—I said you could present yourself however you like. So I did my group first, but then I did everybody in all three groups, and donated a copy to SKILLS. I just loved it, it was so much fun, and so interesting, this way of thinking about people. I realized I could do a big project—like hundreds of people—so I asked permission and asked if I could include the first 25 and it evolved from there. It took me five years, but eventually I had 300 portraits.
Above: Sara Norquay, installation view of Citizen of the World, linocuts, 2014-2019, on view in the SNAP Jasper Avenue window
Maren Kathleen Elliott: Some of these subjects were from Norquay’s innermost circles, while others (like myself) had just met her in the context of this project, for a brief conversation and snapping of photos. The images were playful yet crisp and aesthetically coherent, and the title “citizen of the world” felt fitting for the interplay I observed between the diversity of each subject but unified effect of the masses of faces that formed the whole. There was a togetherness there. When Norquay spoke about her work at the exhibition opening, I was struck by how much she just seemed to let the work just be what it was. She seemed open and curious and instead of the project being explained and justified, she just spoke about how it had grown sort of organically based on her interest in connecting with people, and how she just followed the process as the project developed and expanded. It was an experiment, maybe. A side-effect of her just being the artist she was, her relationships, and following her own creative process. [3]
Megan Stein: I think what I enjoy most about making work, is the actual making of it. Cutting a linoleum plate, and translating the initial drawing into the language of print is really exciting, and always feels like an accomplishment when the blankets are lifted and the impression is better than you expected. I think that playing with materials like tinsel and foils is pretty awesome, and I feel really lucky right now that I am able to do these things, and that some people actually care about why. […] The grotesque qualities in my drawings and prints are juxtaposed against the imagery of inherently ‘cute’ animals such as cats or foxes—playfully calling into question our fascination with these animals within contemporary social constructs. Considering the connotations of the use of these animals within popular culture, such as kitsch, I emphasize the absurdity of these connotations through the application of motifs such as bling, stars and tinsel. The reflective distinctiveness of the tinsel implies notions of celebration, while at the same time having satirical and dystopian undertones, similar to my representations of the animals. [4]
Maren Kathleen Elliott: Some of these subjects were from Norquay’s innermost circles, while others (like myself) had just met her in the context of this project, for a brief conversation and snapping of photos. The images were playful yet crisp and aesthetically coherent, and the title “citizen of the world” felt fitting for the interplay I observed between the diversity of each subject but unified effect of the masses of faces that formed the whole. There was a togetherness there. When Norquay spoke about her work at the exhibition opening, I was struck by how much she just seemed to let the work just be what it was. She seemed open and curious and instead of the project being explained and justified, she just spoke about how it had grown sort of organically based on her interest in connecting with people, and how she just followed the process as the project developed and expanded. It was an experiment, maybe. A side-effect of her just being the artist she was, her relationships, and following her own creative process. [3]
Megan Stein: I think what I enjoy most about making work, is the actual making of it. Cutting a linoleum plate, and translating the initial drawing into the language of print is really exciting, and always feels like an accomplishment when the blankets are lifted and the impression is better than you expected. I think that playing with materials like tinsel and foils is pretty awesome, and I feel really lucky right now that I am able to do these things, and that some people actually care about why. […] The grotesque qualities in my drawings and prints are juxtaposed against the imagery of inherently ‘cute’ animals such as cats or foxes—playfully calling into question our fascination with these animals within contemporary social constructs. Considering the connotations of the use of these animals within popular culture, such as kitsch, I emphasize the absurdity of these connotations through the application of motifs such as bling, stars and tinsel. The reflective distinctiveness of the tinsel implies notions of celebration, while at the same time having satirical and dystopian undertones, similar to my representations of the animals. [4]
Above: Megan Stein, detail from The Faces We Know and Love, linocut, 2013
Sara Norquay: Megan was very active in the other print shop. We had a catastrophe in her studio at the Jasper Avenue location. I walked into the studio over the Christmas holidays so there was nobody there. I went to help Mark Henderson print an exchange print on the letterpress, and it was like 13 degrees, it was freezing! I looked at the thermometer and it was set, so I wondered what was going on? And then I was walking around the studio and I hear drip… drip… drip… so I open the door to Megan’s studio and oh my god, flood all over the floor, and dripping directly onto her flatfiles—it was just awful. Mark and I literally took everything out, hung it up to dry. That was like the last winter before we got booted out—and you’ll notice it still hasn’t been rented out!
Luke Johnson: I love that our sign is still there…
Sara Norquay: I loved that space; it was funky, there were all sorts of issues, but it was really hopping. By the time the landlord said they were going to double the rent or something like that and we knew we had to move, it was a very lively place—fun to be there, a lot going on. I’d love to see that come again.
Sara Norquay: Megan was very active in the other print shop. We had a catastrophe in her studio at the Jasper Avenue location. I walked into the studio over the Christmas holidays so there was nobody there. I went to help Mark Henderson print an exchange print on the letterpress, and it was like 13 degrees, it was freezing! I looked at the thermometer and it was set, so I wondered what was going on? And then I was walking around the studio and I hear drip… drip… drip… so I open the door to Megan’s studio and oh my god, flood all over the floor, and dripping directly onto her flatfiles—it was just awful. Mark and I literally took everything out, hung it up to dry. That was like the last winter before we got booted out—and you’ll notice it still hasn’t been rented out!
Luke Johnson: I love that our sign is still there…
Sara Norquay: I loved that space; it was funky, there were all sorts of issues, but it was really hopping. By the time the landlord said they were going to double the rent or something like that and we knew we had to move, it was a very lively place—fun to be there, a lot going on. I’d love to see that come again.
Above: Scenes from events held at the Jasper Avenue SNAP printshop: 1. Emilienne Gervais and Amanda McKenzie at Print Affair; 2. April Dean and Luke Johnson lower cloth over a woodcut about to be printed via steamroller, driven by Nick Dobson; 3. Amy Leigh cutting portions of a collaborative woodblock; 4. Mitch Chalifoux, as Belle of the Blue Balls, joined by Phoebe Todd-Parrish and Angela Snieder in a photoshoot; 5. Chelsey Campbell behind the bar at Print Affair; 6. Brianna Tosswill and Jessica Nobert at the Challenge letterpress during the “SNAPtacular Carnivale”
April Dean: I was actively trying to not have to move. I’m also that kind of person who thrives when challenged, so when it was clear it was the only option and happening, there was also a supportive group of people around me like Megan Bertagnolli, Andrew Benson, Janice Galloway, Morgan Wedderspoon—kind of eternal energetic optimists—who were like oh no, we can do things. We have skills and abilities! We can make things happen. No one wanted to deal with it, but they were like we can do this, so we did.
Caroline Barlott: SNAP had been hesitant to move, considering the expense and time involved. But developer Gather Co. offered a high level of support and really understood SNAP’s value in the community, which made moving seem much easier. Dean, along with several others at SNAP, worked with general contractor Markus Fluker to design the space based on what they knew members would need. When SNAP secured its new location on 115th Street and 106th Avenue, it was an entirely empty light industrial warehouse with two, 3,000 square foot commercial bays (which SNAP opened up to the full 6,000 square feet) with concrete floors, exposed cinderblock walls and high ceilings. It was a blank canvas ready for transformation. [5]
April Dean: I was actively trying to not have to move. I’m also that kind of person who thrives when challenged, so when it was clear it was the only option and happening, there was also a supportive group of people around me like Megan Bertagnolli, Andrew Benson, Janice Galloway, Morgan Wedderspoon—kind of eternal energetic optimists—who were like oh no, we can do things. We have skills and abilities! We can make things happen. No one wanted to deal with it, but they were like we can do this, so we did.
Caroline Barlott: SNAP had been hesitant to move, considering the expense and time involved. But developer Gather Co. offered a high level of support and really understood SNAP’s value in the community, which made moving seem much easier. Dean, along with several others at SNAP, worked with general contractor Markus Fluker to design the space based on what they knew members would need. When SNAP secured its new location on 115th Street and 106th Avenue, it was an entirely empty light industrial warehouse with two, 3,000 square foot commercial bays (which SNAP opened up to the full 6,000 square feet) with concrete floors, exposed cinderblock walls and high ceilings. It was a blank canvas ready for transformation. [5]
|
|
Above: interior of the Queen Mary Park SNAP location under renovation
Sydney Lancaster: Just as SNAP entered a vital chapter of its existence, COVID-19 forced closures and cancellations and isolation right across the sector. The reception for the first two solo exhibitions in the new galleries--Residual Assets (skipped steps) by Andrea Pinheiro, and Horizon Line/Base Line by James Boychuk-Hunter—was limited to 50 people, and contact information was requested of those attending, in case anyone became ill. A strange time for crossing the threshold to… what next? [6]
Pat Prodaniuk: There’s some nasty stuff out there. I don’t know, these viruses and bugs are going to be the end of humanity as we understand it.
Megan Bertagnolli: SNAP hosted a soft-opening for members in March to celebrate our first two exhibitions in the new space. Artists Andrea Pinheiro and James Boychuk-Hunter are both printmakers with connections to Edmonton and SNAP. While neither artist lives here anymore, it felt like a reunion. We also had rave reviews for the new galleries, learning spaces, and expanded printshop. [7]
Andrew Benson: While it was hard to see that shiny new space sit quiet and our tools gather dust, there was a hum of activity in the background preparing for the return of artists and our community. [8]
Sydney Lancaster: Just as SNAP entered a vital chapter of its existence, COVID-19 forced closures and cancellations and isolation right across the sector. The reception for the first two solo exhibitions in the new galleries--Residual Assets (skipped steps) by Andrea Pinheiro, and Horizon Line/Base Line by James Boychuk-Hunter—was limited to 50 people, and contact information was requested of those attending, in case anyone became ill. A strange time for crossing the threshold to… what next? [6]
Pat Prodaniuk: There’s some nasty stuff out there. I don’t know, these viruses and bugs are going to be the end of humanity as we understand it.
Megan Bertagnolli: SNAP hosted a soft-opening for members in March to celebrate our first two exhibitions in the new space. Artists Andrea Pinheiro and James Boychuk-Hunter are both printmakers with connections to Edmonton and SNAP. While neither artist lives here anymore, it felt like a reunion. We also had rave reviews for the new galleries, learning spaces, and expanded printshop. [7]
Andrew Benson: While it was hard to see that shiny new space sit quiet and our tools gather dust, there was a hum of activity in the background preparing for the return of artists and our community. [8]
|
|
Above: Installation view of Andrea Pinheiro’s exhibit Residual Assets (skipped steps), and James Boychuk-Hunter’s exhibit Horizon Line/Base Line, the first two shows in SNAP’s Queen Mary Park location, March 2020; photos by Blaine Campbell
Riaz Mehmood: During the initial days of the Covid pandemic, I remember the prevailing sense of hope and the feeling of having a real chance to make a clear break away from the modes of living that are toxic and dangerous to not only humans, but other species that share this world with us. People were sharing images and videos of ‘nature healing itself’, numerous data-sets pointing to a reduction in environmental pollution and animals and birds increasing in numbers as well as the solidarity expressed that permeated across borders, in the case of global outrage against the unjust killing of George Floyd. This hope, though very inspiring, faded away quickly, leaving us with an awful hangover and reminder that we continue to live in a world with a lopsided division of resources while uber-rich escape their existential crisis by going to outer space. [9]
April Dean: In 2018 I had taken a short leave to focus on my practice, and so I was reinvested in my art practice, making a new body of work, applying for exhibitions, connecting with curators, writing grant applications, really trying to move my art practice forward at the same time. And so then all of that hard work came to fruition in early 2020, or across 2020 and 2021—which was a horrible time! At a time when I should have been attempting to slow down my efforts at SNAP to focus on other things, I was just totally unable to do that. Yeah, completely and totally burnt out before the pandemic even hit, and then that just took every last ounce of joy I ever held in my body away from me.
Riaz Mehmood: During the initial days of the Covid pandemic, I remember the prevailing sense of hope and the feeling of having a real chance to make a clear break away from the modes of living that are toxic and dangerous to not only humans, but other species that share this world with us. People were sharing images and videos of ‘nature healing itself’, numerous data-sets pointing to a reduction in environmental pollution and animals and birds increasing in numbers as well as the solidarity expressed that permeated across borders, in the case of global outrage against the unjust killing of George Floyd. This hope, though very inspiring, faded away quickly, leaving us with an awful hangover and reminder that we continue to live in a world with a lopsided division of resources while uber-rich escape their existential crisis by going to outer space. [9]
April Dean: In 2018 I had taken a short leave to focus on my practice, and so I was reinvested in my art practice, making a new body of work, applying for exhibitions, connecting with curators, writing grant applications, really trying to move my art practice forward at the same time. And so then all of that hard work came to fruition in early 2020, or across 2020 and 2021—which was a horrible time! At a time when I should have been attempting to slow down my efforts at SNAP to focus on other things, I was just totally unable to do that. Yeah, completely and totally burnt out before the pandemic even hit, and then that just took every last ounce of joy I ever held in my body away from me.
|
|
Above, left: Justine Jenkins, Lost Understory, intaglio, 2022; above, right: Riaz Mehmood, Burāq and Fairy, screenprint, watercolour, 2021
Justine Jenkins: I think that a lot of people are doing things deliberately in response to the situation and saying, I don’t want to do this anymore. I had all of this taken away from me and I don’t want to do it anymore. It’s permission to say, great don’t do it anymore. Don’t live that way anymore, don’t answer the questions in the same way. Don’t do it that way because everyone else thinks you should do it that way. I think of recovery as a more mindful process. I think slowness creates a situation where we can slow down a little bit and think about what’s going to happen here instead of having to respond the way we’ve always responded. [9]
Sara Norquay: When the Covid-19 pandemic closed down most of our normal activities, my mind immediately wanted to make something familiar and enjoyable to calm my anxieties around what terrible events might happen. It is said that facing your fears will help you disarm them so I found photos of the virus and made a greatly enlarged version of it as a relief print. To put it in perspective, I printed it with positive examples of nature such as leaves, flowers, and birds. The virus is part of nature, our source of life and, in this case, also death. [10]
Justine Jenkins: I think that a lot of people are doing things deliberately in response to the situation and saying, I don’t want to do this anymore. I had all of this taken away from me and I don’t want to do it anymore. It’s permission to say, great don’t do it anymore. Don’t live that way anymore, don’t answer the questions in the same way. Don’t do it that way because everyone else thinks you should do it that way. I think of recovery as a more mindful process. I think slowness creates a situation where we can slow down a little bit and think about what’s going to happen here instead of having to respond the way we’ve always responded. [9]
Sara Norquay: When the Covid-19 pandemic closed down most of our normal activities, my mind immediately wanted to make something familiar and enjoyable to calm my anxieties around what terrible events might happen. It is said that facing your fears will help you disarm them so I found photos of the virus and made a greatly enlarged version of it as a relief print. To put it in perspective, I printed it with positive examples of nature such as leaves, flowers, and birds. The virus is part of nature, our source of life and, in this case, also death. [10]
Riaz Mehmood: During the first year of the pandemic, I struggled with the idea of making and thinking about art. It seemed to be a pointless exercise in the face of a genuine chance of the world coming to its logical end. And, of course, the doubts about art as a tool for any immediate practical social changes would bubble up and make me doubtful about the art-making and art-world. The chance to participate in a residency at SNAP came at the right time. I won’t be that far off the mark to claim that the time at SNAP helped me rediscover the joy of losing one’s sense of time during the creative process. Just before the pandemic, I was in Pakistan fully surrounded by family and friends. Back in Edmonton, it was isolation and social distancing. I tried to keep my sense of community by attending countless virtual art talks and seminars, but that lost its sheen after a while, accompanied by the usual digital fatigue. Seeing other artists working in SNAP’s space during my residency and the various conversations we had together helped me get the feeling of belonging to a community back. [11]
Andrew Benson: Through the tireless work of SNAP’s wonderful staff (working remotely, no less), our studio and gallery were able to re-open to our community under robust health and safety protocols a few months later. I really think it’s important to recognize what a feat this was and I hope all our members appreciate how hard April, Amanda, Ashna, Morgan and Kiona worked to make this happen. [12]
|
|
Above, left: Morgan Wedderspoon, Community Garden: Carrot, linocut, 2022; Above, right: Andrew Benson, Can’t we just doomsday later?, screenprint, 2022; Above, lower: Amanda McKenzie, Selective Splendens: Elephant Ear Betta, screenprint with watercolour shimmering and collaged details, 2022
Kelsey Stephenson: SNAP has been an incredible incubator for my own work and practice, as well as many many other people who work and engage with the printshop's community, and I've watched them grow and expand from 2011 to now to reach out to an even larger group of artists and community members, both in Edmonton and globally. [13]
James Gaa: SNAP is a terrific organization. I have many years of experience in photography, but no other arts background. SNAP is the only path I could take when I decided to try printmaking as an adjunct to photography. Since I’m past the conventional age of students, SNAP’s equipment and courses are the only way I could have gotten access to the equipment, and to the knowledge and skill of others. But SNAP is more than just a shop to work. At least as important, I have joined a community—including both SNAP members and the dedicated and talented staff—of friendly and helpful people who are committed to the art of printmaking. [14]
Justine Jenkins: When I work on my art in the studio people are kind to me and accepting. Printmaking is fascinating. A person could pursue it as a form of expression for their entire lifetime and not exhaust the possibilities afforded by it. My heart is filled with gratitude. A tremendous community lives at SNAP and it is my privilege to be graced by such inspiring people. [15]
Sara Norquay: Lots of things have happened. People come and go; a lot of the people who were here in 2009 when I got here are gone.
Kelsey Stephenson: SNAP has been an incredible incubator for my own work and practice, as well as many many other people who work and engage with the printshop's community, and I've watched them grow and expand from 2011 to now to reach out to an even larger group of artists and community members, both in Edmonton and globally. [13]
James Gaa: SNAP is a terrific organization. I have many years of experience in photography, but no other arts background. SNAP is the only path I could take when I decided to try printmaking as an adjunct to photography. Since I’m past the conventional age of students, SNAP’s equipment and courses are the only way I could have gotten access to the equipment, and to the knowledge and skill of others. But SNAP is more than just a shop to work. At least as important, I have joined a community—including both SNAP members and the dedicated and talented staff—of friendly and helpful people who are committed to the art of printmaking. [14]
Justine Jenkins: When I work on my art in the studio people are kind to me and accepting. Printmaking is fascinating. A person could pursue it as a form of expression for their entire lifetime and not exhaust the possibilities afforded by it. My heart is filled with gratitude. A tremendous community lives at SNAP and it is my privilege to be graced by such inspiring people. [15]
Sara Norquay: Lots of things have happened. People come and go; a lot of the people who were here in 2009 when I got here are gone.
Above: 1. Dara Humniski, I need you, I don’t need you, inkjet, 2013; 2. Alex Linfield, the only job that starts at the top Is digging a hole, silkscreen on plexiglass with slip-cast ceramic sculptures, 2019; 3. Morgan Melenka, Built with History, ink on vinyl, steel 2022; 4. Max Keene, Cerne Abbas Giant, inkjet, 2019
Kelsey Stephenson: I think what I miss about the shop right now is that sense of vibrancy, like there were always people here. We’re starting to get there, but we’re not there yet. There are always people coming and going, but hopefully we can get more who will stay.
Dawn Woolsey: I have to tell you though, one of the things I like most about SNAP is the constant influx of new members, and particularly young artists. I get so inspired, so many ideas from them—not just for prints, but for everything I do.
Andrew Thorne: I moved to Edmonton at the end of January [2021], and in that time, I have been carving and printing large scale woodcuts, in hopes of mimicking or mocking the omnipresent voice of our media here in Canada. What symbols and images are conjured and for what intention? While flipping through the Edmonton Sun, I began to answer some of these questions. What stands out to me even more than the rhetoric is what’s not being said. Public opinion is founded on the information that is received, not what is omitted. I began my own process of blocking and omitting information, by printing on the newspapers and other materials like curtains that I could use to “cover” and “reveal” information. [16]
Richard Borowski: I'm interested in urban landscapes and the interaction between buildings, people and man-made objects. The places and people I depict are usually ones that I know and have recorded. They may be found in my neighbourhood or in some foreign city or simply imaginary.
Nico Humby: En Route is an expansion of my Illustrated Life Snaps series, the continuation of documenting snippets of cinematic scenes I have the privilege of witnessing while going about my daily life. This series marks the beginning of my exploration of print making, more specifically screen printing.
Kelsey Stephenson: I think what I miss about the shop right now is that sense of vibrancy, like there were always people here. We’re starting to get there, but we’re not there yet. There are always people coming and going, but hopefully we can get more who will stay.
Dawn Woolsey: I have to tell you though, one of the things I like most about SNAP is the constant influx of new members, and particularly young artists. I get so inspired, so many ideas from them—not just for prints, but for everything I do.
Andrew Thorne: I moved to Edmonton at the end of January [2021], and in that time, I have been carving and printing large scale woodcuts, in hopes of mimicking or mocking the omnipresent voice of our media here in Canada. What symbols and images are conjured and for what intention? While flipping through the Edmonton Sun, I began to answer some of these questions. What stands out to me even more than the rhetoric is what’s not being said. Public opinion is founded on the information that is received, not what is omitted. I began my own process of blocking and omitting information, by printing on the newspapers and other materials like curtains that I could use to “cover” and “reveal” information. [16]
Richard Borowski: I'm interested in urban landscapes and the interaction between buildings, people and man-made objects. The places and people I depict are usually ones that I know and have recorded. They may be found in my neighbourhood or in some foreign city or simply imaginary.
Nico Humby: En Route is an expansion of my Illustrated Life Snaps series, the continuation of documenting snippets of cinematic scenes I have the privilege of witnessing while going about my daily life. This series marks the beginning of my exploration of print making, more specifically screen printing.
Above: 1. Andrew Thorne installation view of Carving Room, installation with woodcuts and screenprints, wood panels, curtain hardware, television, 2021; 2. Agata Garbowska, It is so natural to me, screenprint on acrylic, inkjet on vinyl, shelving, 2021; 3. Richard Borowski, Hidden Doorway #2, linocut, 2021; 4. Nico Humby, En Route #4, screenprint, 2022; 5. Alex R.M. Thompson, works in progress in the SNAP printshop, 2022
Laurel Westlund: I am drawn to the simplicity of line & graphic style of single-leaf woodcut images, especially the almost cartoonish 16th c. emblematic imagery. Silk-screening with hand-cut stencils is my ‘techy’ way to achieve the look of a woodcut image carved by hand; I’m able to experiment with colour layers faster than if I was using woodblock or lino as a medium. I also enjoy the physicality of screen-printing in itself—it’s where I get to spring to my feet, turn the music up, and have some fun with ink! […] I started using Rubylith mostly out of necessity years ago when I didn’t have easy access to a computer to make transparencies. I truly enjoy the tactile and meditative nature of cutting stencils out by hand—the hours fly by. I’m allowed the time and space to be fully engaged with an image and think through my approach/colour palette. [17]
Morgan Pinnock: Connecting my rural upbringing with the history of genre painting, my prints depict scenes of everyday life, often portraying people or makers in the home consumed by domestic work. Using romanticized and autobiographical subject matter, I build up and carve away layers to reveal vivid colours, decorative patterns, and a longing for the ordinary, tedious moments of daily life. [18]
Sergio Serrano: A few years ago, while describing what I do for a living, I gave my usual answer, “I’m a graphic designer and an artist… on the side.” When asked to elaborate on what kind of art, I could tell they were expecting an answer that describes an art medium. I mumbled some words like mixed media, or paper-based, or bookworks, or multiples… looking for some kind of knowing look that wasn’t coming. After a pause, I said, “lately they’ve all been slightly different things… but they’re usually small objects… that you can hold in your hands.” And I cupped my hands in front of me, like I was holding a small bird. Part of me was trying to be charming and funny since I was on a date, but another part felt like this was a good description at that time for the work I was doing, or at least trying to do, even if it wasn’t 100% technically accurate. And while I love and appreciate art and creative work in all forms, it is the smallish, hand-holdable kind that tends to resonate more with me. [19]
Amanda McKenzie: I’m primarily a printmaker but I also work with collage, paper manipulation and photography as well. […] I’ve always been drawn to fish and I have a connection from my father—we would always go fishing when I was younger—and my partner and I now have fish in an aquarium, and that’s quite a big hobby for us. […] I’m really interested [in] ecology and fish keeping and both the ethics and morals of ‘is it okay to keep fish?’ It’s something I question every day I walk past our fish tank. But it’s also a way to connect with these creatures, because they are so beautiful and elusive too. […] I’m not really ever tired of the work, I think because there are so many options and explorations to do with colour, and the repetitiveness of the printing. Even with our own fish they're constantly changing once they breed and have different fry. […] I’m just hoping people will maybe stop and pause and look at that and just appreciate the beauty of these really small creatures, and [be] able to see them in another way—and maybe in a way that we don’t have to have them in small little bowls or left on pet store shelves. [20]
Brianna Tosswill: I'm working on a series of modular prints that fit together into a larger composition, but that also work as standalone artworks. Think like a series by a romance novelist, each book is its own, but the characters all know each other, however tenuously. In the room I designed for my dad, I was thinking about how much he loves boats. This is a man who used to sit in a canoe on the grass in our yard, reading sailing magazines, a man who named one of his sailboats “Fourth Child,” a man who, in designing his own boat hulls, made quarter scale models and tested them in our pool with jugs of water to represent his weight, and my mom’s. But especially small, wooden, sailboats have captured his heart. [21]
Erica Vaskevicius: Many of us feel that yesterday’s charted course has been displaced by today’s turbulent seas, leaving our skies darkened and the journey ahead difficult to navigate. As this darkness threatens to consume us, we frantically search above the waves, through the darkness, for something to silence the storm. Then suddenly, a glimpse of hope—silent and bright, constant and true, patiently waiting to guide us. We look up, we look ahead and we press on through the storm, confident in the beacon—our North Star. [22]
Laurel Westlund: I am drawn to the simplicity of line & graphic style of single-leaf woodcut images, especially the almost cartoonish 16th c. emblematic imagery. Silk-screening with hand-cut stencils is my ‘techy’ way to achieve the look of a woodcut image carved by hand; I’m able to experiment with colour layers faster than if I was using woodblock or lino as a medium. I also enjoy the physicality of screen-printing in itself—it’s where I get to spring to my feet, turn the music up, and have some fun with ink! […] I started using Rubylith mostly out of necessity years ago when I didn’t have easy access to a computer to make transparencies. I truly enjoy the tactile and meditative nature of cutting stencils out by hand—the hours fly by. I’m allowed the time and space to be fully engaged with an image and think through my approach/colour palette. [17]
Morgan Pinnock: Connecting my rural upbringing with the history of genre painting, my prints depict scenes of everyday life, often portraying people or makers in the home consumed by domestic work. Using romanticized and autobiographical subject matter, I build up and carve away layers to reveal vivid colours, decorative patterns, and a longing for the ordinary, tedious moments of daily life. [18]
Sergio Serrano: A few years ago, while describing what I do for a living, I gave my usual answer, “I’m a graphic designer and an artist… on the side.” When asked to elaborate on what kind of art, I could tell they were expecting an answer that describes an art medium. I mumbled some words like mixed media, or paper-based, or bookworks, or multiples… looking for some kind of knowing look that wasn’t coming. After a pause, I said, “lately they’ve all been slightly different things… but they’re usually small objects… that you can hold in your hands.” And I cupped my hands in front of me, like I was holding a small bird. Part of me was trying to be charming and funny since I was on a date, but another part felt like this was a good description at that time for the work I was doing, or at least trying to do, even if it wasn’t 100% technically accurate. And while I love and appreciate art and creative work in all forms, it is the smallish, hand-holdable kind that tends to resonate more with me. [19]
Amanda McKenzie: I’m primarily a printmaker but I also work with collage, paper manipulation and photography as well. […] I’ve always been drawn to fish and I have a connection from my father—we would always go fishing when I was younger—and my partner and I now have fish in an aquarium, and that’s quite a big hobby for us. […] I’m really interested [in] ecology and fish keeping and both the ethics and morals of ‘is it okay to keep fish?’ It’s something I question every day I walk past our fish tank. But it’s also a way to connect with these creatures, because they are so beautiful and elusive too. […] I’m not really ever tired of the work, I think because there are so many options and explorations to do with colour, and the repetitiveness of the printing. Even with our own fish they're constantly changing once they breed and have different fry. […] I’m just hoping people will maybe stop and pause and look at that and just appreciate the beauty of these really small creatures, and [be] able to see them in another way—and maybe in a way that we don’t have to have them in small little bowls or left on pet store shelves. [20]
Brianna Tosswill: I'm working on a series of modular prints that fit together into a larger composition, but that also work as standalone artworks. Think like a series by a romance novelist, each book is its own, but the characters all know each other, however tenuously. In the room I designed for my dad, I was thinking about how much he loves boats. This is a man who used to sit in a canoe on the grass in our yard, reading sailing magazines, a man who named one of his sailboats “Fourth Child,” a man who, in designing his own boat hulls, made quarter scale models and tested them in our pool with jugs of water to represent his weight, and my mom’s. But especially small, wooden, sailboats have captured his heart. [21]
Erica Vaskevicius: Many of us feel that yesterday’s charted course has been displaced by today’s turbulent seas, leaving our skies darkened and the journey ahead difficult to navigate. As this darkness threatens to consume us, we frantically search above the waves, through the darkness, for something to silence the storm. Then suddenly, a glimpse of hope—silent and bright, constant and true, patiently waiting to guide us. We look up, we look ahead and we press on through the storm, confident in the beacon—our North Star. [22]
Above: 1. Morgan Pinnock, In the morning of our lives, letterpress-printed linocut, 2022; 2. Brianna Tosswill, “The wind will take me where I need to go.”, letterpress-printed linocut and lead type, 2022; 3. Erica Vaskevicius, NorthSTAR – sf., cyanotype and screenprint, 2020; 4. Sergio Serrano, Leviathan 4, intaglio chine-collé, 2010
Andrew Benson: I hope to create art that sparks joy and nostalgia in the viewer, especially in a time where it's difficult to find enjoyment in simple experiences. [23]
Liam MacGregor: I think using old records as backing for my prints was the appropriate move. Basically I don't have to buy any unnecessary plastic/packaging and you get a dope little package. […] I’ve had a few people message me saying that I accidentally gave them a vinyl with their print. Well no actually, I was quite willing to give up my copy of Billy Vaughn Christmas Songs or Ferrante & Teicher's Love Is a Soft Touch for the sake of the aesthetic. [24]
Amy Leigh: Much of my recent work is about the awkwardness and uncertainty of navigating the world in and outside of one's mind-body. Lately, I have been exploring themes of memory, place and speculative past lives based on found photographs of both my own and other people's ancestors. I've also been researching papermaking and dying techniques using foraged ‘weeds’ and found plant materials.
Jonathan Luckhurst: Broadly speaking, I'm interested in how we perceive objects and the environments around us—and in how this perception can shift and the consequences that arise from this process. Typically I work with found objects and alter their appearance through various photographic techniques. My most recent work merges elements of art, design, science and sustainability into installations that reflect my interest in the future of our lived-in spaces.
Agata Garbowska: I am interested in the unexpected and eerie moments where the impact of unsustainable resource extraction is echoed in our infrastructure and its maintenance. Images of public infrastructure—systems that suggest reliance on resource extraction—are fragmented and reassembled into print installations to express a growing concern for the consequences of unfettered consumption. These pieces present printed imitations of select spaces and objects: temporary signage, construction pylons, a nearby vacant lot—the combination of which into collaged installations suggests general unease while acknowledging the clarity found in these mundane, often unnoticed moments. [25]
Andrew Benson: I hope to create art that sparks joy and nostalgia in the viewer, especially in a time where it's difficult to find enjoyment in simple experiences. [23]
Liam MacGregor: I think using old records as backing for my prints was the appropriate move. Basically I don't have to buy any unnecessary plastic/packaging and you get a dope little package. […] I’ve had a few people message me saying that I accidentally gave them a vinyl with their print. Well no actually, I was quite willing to give up my copy of Billy Vaughn Christmas Songs or Ferrante & Teicher's Love Is a Soft Touch for the sake of the aesthetic. [24]
Amy Leigh: Much of my recent work is about the awkwardness and uncertainty of navigating the world in and outside of one's mind-body. Lately, I have been exploring themes of memory, place and speculative past lives based on found photographs of both my own and other people's ancestors. I've also been researching papermaking and dying techniques using foraged ‘weeds’ and found plant materials.
Jonathan Luckhurst: Broadly speaking, I'm interested in how we perceive objects and the environments around us—and in how this perception can shift and the consequences that arise from this process. Typically I work with found objects and alter their appearance through various photographic techniques. My most recent work merges elements of art, design, science and sustainability into installations that reflect my interest in the future of our lived-in spaces.
Agata Garbowska: I am interested in the unexpected and eerie moments where the impact of unsustainable resource extraction is echoed in our infrastructure and its maintenance. Images of public infrastructure—systems that suggest reliance on resource extraction—are fragmented and reassembled into print installations to express a growing concern for the consequences of unfettered consumption. These pieces present printed imitations of select spaces and objects: temporary signage, construction pylons, a nearby vacant lot—the combination of which into collaged installations suggests general unease while acknowledging the clarity found in these mundane, often unnoticed moments. [25]
Above: Kelsey Stephenson, detail from Currents, cyanotype and inkjet, 2022
Kelsey Stephenson: Currents focuses specifically on the link between the metro area of the city of Edmonton, and the glacial headwaters of the North Saskatchewan, contrasting urban river spaces, industry, and policy making spaces. In both cyanotype installations, imagery is clearly composed of fragments, individual moments, taken from disparate times and places which have been brought together. […] Originally many of the source images would have been used to shape national and settler identity around the ‘wilderness’ of the then-new Parks system in the 1900–40’s, and many were circulated as postcards. Other images were part of the Dominion Land Survey effort, and used to create maps and land ownership lines. These images helped begin to shape a colonial narrative of the National Parks. The more recent images I have taken in response in this series play on that aspect of settling through surveying, tourism, and land use, but also question how much ‘preservation’ of wilderness is possible when policies allow oil and gas emissions, or coal exploration in the eastern slopes of the Rockies.
Myken McDowell: The conflation of personal documents—especially photo and video documents—and personal identity is a significant part of what I do. I used to think of memory as a fixed thing. Then I realized I have no real memories from my childhood. I have lots of photos of me and stories that my parents and caretakers like to tell from that time, but no actual recollection of the day those photos were taken. I don’t trust my memory at all, but our bodies, surroundings, relationships, everything changes with time. In this way, our memories are the only thing that makes us who we are. […] Throughout my work runs the subject of loss. Whether it relates to memory and identity formation or associated with the passing of individual and cultural histories—loss is always there. […] I am interested in exploring how nostalgia and careful observation of whatever’s left in front of us can be a tool to take on new challenges and opportunities—which is a form of regeneration. [26]
Luke Johnson: My recent prints have generally responded to specific archives, especially those held by various arts organizations I work with. In getting to know the people who maintain these collections, and the physical materials therein, I’ve grown ever more troubled by the absurd yet commonly accepted notion that the vast majority of the world’s knowledge has been preserved and made accessible in the digital world. I highlight failed attempts at seeking out information online, where the satisfaction of physical, material culture is usurped by the slippery untruths of the virtual. In turn, I find myself succumbing to the results of my search, finding in their pathetic failure some kind of poetry worth considering alongside my unease. Holding these contradictory feelings in tandem, and refusing certainty, is where I find my work at this time.
Meghan Horosko: My photogravure printing is influenced by years of darkroom work in silver gelatin (black and white film photography) as well as my encaustic painting style, which is typically monochrome and abstract with embedded photographic elements. I have been experimenting in the darkroom for many years, merging fluid shapes and textures into chemical photographic prints. That exploration eventually led me to photo encaustic techniques and photogravure printmaking in recent years, both which allow me to better reach results I've been envisioning. The vision I have for my work is more abstract than most photography applications, yet more concrete than abstract painting. I want to push boundaries between physical reality and the imagined. Photogravure is a wonderful medium to explore this approach. It has a beautiful, velvet finish and you can sense the hand of the artist in the inking and wiping of each print.
James Gaa: In making their photographs, photographers typically see a situation worth photographing, carefully select a vantage point and compose the image that expresses what they visualize. What if I don’t try to see a composition or an expression when a picture is taken? What if the moment that the picture is taken is accidental? What if I don’t even take the picture? In capturing accidental moments, the interaction between me and the camera begins when I set it up in advance and carry it on the street, holding it at the end of my arm. At predetermined intervals, the camera takes a picture of whatever it is pointed at. Because the camera is at arm’s length and outside of my visual field, my control over the picture is limited to the direction I happen to point the camera, whether I hold it horizontally or vertically, and how fast I walk. I don’t know when the accidental moment happens or precisely what the camera is pointed at when the accident occurs. Later, I act as the editor of my camera’s pictures, selecting those few pictures with visual interest and meaning, and make minor edits to clarify the moment. Accidental moments capture street life in a new way because their unconventional low point of view, often unsettling composition and the “Dutch angle” express accidents of street life. The result is nevertheless, as the street photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson put it, “an expression that life itself offers.”
Kelsey Stephenson: Currents focuses specifically on the link between the metro area of the city of Edmonton, and the glacial headwaters of the North Saskatchewan, contrasting urban river spaces, industry, and policy making spaces. In both cyanotype installations, imagery is clearly composed of fragments, individual moments, taken from disparate times and places which have been brought together. […] Originally many of the source images would have been used to shape national and settler identity around the ‘wilderness’ of the then-new Parks system in the 1900–40’s, and many were circulated as postcards. Other images were part of the Dominion Land Survey effort, and used to create maps and land ownership lines. These images helped begin to shape a colonial narrative of the National Parks. The more recent images I have taken in response in this series play on that aspect of settling through surveying, tourism, and land use, but also question how much ‘preservation’ of wilderness is possible when policies allow oil and gas emissions, or coal exploration in the eastern slopes of the Rockies.
Myken McDowell: The conflation of personal documents—especially photo and video documents—and personal identity is a significant part of what I do. I used to think of memory as a fixed thing. Then I realized I have no real memories from my childhood. I have lots of photos of me and stories that my parents and caretakers like to tell from that time, but no actual recollection of the day those photos were taken. I don’t trust my memory at all, but our bodies, surroundings, relationships, everything changes with time. In this way, our memories are the only thing that makes us who we are. […] Throughout my work runs the subject of loss. Whether it relates to memory and identity formation or associated with the passing of individual and cultural histories—loss is always there. […] I am interested in exploring how nostalgia and careful observation of whatever’s left in front of us can be a tool to take on new challenges and opportunities—which is a form of regeneration. [26]
Luke Johnson: My recent prints have generally responded to specific archives, especially those held by various arts organizations I work with. In getting to know the people who maintain these collections, and the physical materials therein, I’ve grown ever more troubled by the absurd yet commonly accepted notion that the vast majority of the world’s knowledge has been preserved and made accessible in the digital world. I highlight failed attempts at seeking out information online, where the satisfaction of physical, material culture is usurped by the slippery untruths of the virtual. In turn, I find myself succumbing to the results of my search, finding in their pathetic failure some kind of poetry worth considering alongside my unease. Holding these contradictory feelings in tandem, and refusing certainty, is where I find my work at this time.
Meghan Horosko: My photogravure printing is influenced by years of darkroom work in silver gelatin (black and white film photography) as well as my encaustic painting style, which is typically monochrome and abstract with embedded photographic elements. I have been experimenting in the darkroom for many years, merging fluid shapes and textures into chemical photographic prints. That exploration eventually led me to photo encaustic techniques and photogravure printmaking in recent years, both which allow me to better reach results I've been envisioning. The vision I have for my work is more abstract than most photography applications, yet more concrete than abstract painting. I want to push boundaries between physical reality and the imagined. Photogravure is a wonderful medium to explore this approach. It has a beautiful, velvet finish and you can sense the hand of the artist in the inking and wiping of each print.
James Gaa: In making their photographs, photographers typically see a situation worth photographing, carefully select a vantage point and compose the image that expresses what they visualize. What if I don’t try to see a composition or an expression when a picture is taken? What if the moment that the picture is taken is accidental? What if I don’t even take the picture? In capturing accidental moments, the interaction between me and the camera begins when I set it up in advance and carry it on the street, holding it at the end of my arm. At predetermined intervals, the camera takes a picture of whatever it is pointed at. Because the camera is at arm’s length and outside of my visual field, my control over the picture is limited to the direction I happen to point the camera, whether I hold it horizontally or vertically, and how fast I walk. I don’t know when the accidental moment happens or precisely what the camera is pointed at when the accident occurs. Later, I act as the editor of my camera’s pictures, selecting those few pictures with visual interest and meaning, and make minor edits to clarify the moment. Accidental moments capture street life in a new way because their unconventional low point of view, often unsettling composition and the “Dutch angle” express accidents of street life. The result is nevertheless, as the street photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson put it, “an expression that life itself offers.”
Above: 1. Meghan Horosko, Study of Oblique, photopolymer intaglio, 2022; 2. James Gaa, Self Portrait #1, photopolymer intaglio, 2022; 3. Amy Leigh, WWAVD (What Would Agnes Varda Do?); screenprint, 2021; 4. Gordon Dinwoodie, Sokusyu-in Temple Garden, photopolymer intaglio, 2016; 5. Jonathan Luckhurst, Shifting Baseline from the series Shifting Baseline, inkjet, chine-collé, 2022
Gordon Dinwoodie: I’m still on the learning curve with photopolymer gravure, so there isn’t any particular theme to the images. So far I’ve been experimenting with different images to see what looks good in gravure as well as sorting out the many moving parts of the process. I particularly like the rhythm of printing in the workshop.
Alex R.M. Thompson: As a new renter fresh from my MFA at the University of Alberta, SNAP has been an excellent place to land. The studios are well-equipped, the staff welcoming, and the community energetic. I'm experimenting right now with more sparse, experimental etching compositions——my work tends to be based in dense and precarious cityscapes. SNAP has proven to be an excellent place to continue pursuing this work!
Shelley Wilson: SNAP and all such societies are very much the sum of their members. Their founding members create these societies to fulfil a vision they have not for themselves but for their community. SNAP’s founders gave it the mandate to promote, facilitate, and communicate printmaking as an art form. SNAP has been working to fulfill its mandate since 1982 […]. It is important that SNAP’s members continue to honour its founding vision now and into the future, through active support. […] Without members’ involvement any society can seem useless but with members working together SNAP can and will be a great place to work, to show, and to learn about the fine art of printmaking. [27]
Walter Jule: Everyone comes to this work with motives and expectations. But, if you want art to make you happy for instance, then anything troubling or stressful will be seen as a problem. If you want to be famous then ask what that might mean for you: sales, critical acceptance, controversy? If you drag yourself to art school in the depths of an existential conundrum, then the inherent difficulty of the creative process will appear magnified by a ‘lens of doom.’ This might seem obvious, but life does not care about conditions and situations. While the condition of our lives determines our attitude, our ‘inner poise’ as we enter, it does not matter. What matters is being aware of our conditioning while we continue to work long enough to wear it out and drop it. At that point, we can actually begin. To paraphrase my teachers,‘work until working is like a heart beat.’ [28]
Lyndal Osborne: There’s only one thing you need to do, and that is keep doing it. Stick with it. If you believe in it, stick with it. It doesn’t mean you have to have a studio, or you have to have a grant, or anything like that. You just have to work at it consistently. Daily. Maybe an hour. And you just keep doing it and you get better. You just simply grow and you start to make connections with other artists and then galleries come along and they’re interested in your work. It takes years though. And I want to say though, those ten years in the wilderness after you leave school is not easy. I was lucky, I got a job, but I saw many students leave school and have really nothing to fall back on, and some of them got sucked into the work world and abandoned their art. But many of them went on just doing it a little bit at a time, every day, and they’re still still doing it today. [29]
Liz Ingram: [In] moments of doubt about, say, covid, moments of doubt about aging, or illness, or fear? There’s nothing more healing, I think, than our studio process. The act of making, and the act of creating is absolutely healing and powerful, and has helped both [Bernd and I] through some difficult times. [30]
Cherie Moses: Just develop your ideas—learn to understand art you don’t like, because you’re a professional; learn to talk about art you don’t like, because you’re a professional. Do the work you like, but learn these things. There’s so little art I like, that I’d hang in my house, that I really, really like, but it doesn’t matter. I wanted to understand it all.
Gordon Dinwoodie: I’m still on the learning curve with photopolymer gravure, so there isn’t any particular theme to the images. So far I’ve been experimenting with different images to see what looks good in gravure as well as sorting out the many moving parts of the process. I particularly like the rhythm of printing in the workshop.
Alex R.M. Thompson: As a new renter fresh from my MFA at the University of Alberta, SNAP has been an excellent place to land. The studios are well-equipped, the staff welcoming, and the community energetic. I'm experimenting right now with more sparse, experimental etching compositions——my work tends to be based in dense and precarious cityscapes. SNAP has proven to be an excellent place to continue pursuing this work!
Shelley Wilson: SNAP and all such societies are very much the sum of their members. Their founding members create these societies to fulfil a vision they have not for themselves but for their community. SNAP’s founders gave it the mandate to promote, facilitate, and communicate printmaking as an art form. SNAP has been working to fulfill its mandate since 1982 […]. It is important that SNAP’s members continue to honour its founding vision now and into the future, through active support. […] Without members’ involvement any society can seem useless but with members working together SNAP can and will be a great place to work, to show, and to learn about the fine art of printmaking. [27]
Walter Jule: Everyone comes to this work with motives and expectations. But, if you want art to make you happy for instance, then anything troubling or stressful will be seen as a problem. If you want to be famous then ask what that might mean for you: sales, critical acceptance, controversy? If you drag yourself to art school in the depths of an existential conundrum, then the inherent difficulty of the creative process will appear magnified by a ‘lens of doom.’ This might seem obvious, but life does not care about conditions and situations. While the condition of our lives determines our attitude, our ‘inner poise’ as we enter, it does not matter. What matters is being aware of our conditioning while we continue to work long enough to wear it out and drop it. At that point, we can actually begin. To paraphrase my teachers,‘work until working is like a heart beat.’ [28]
Lyndal Osborne: There’s only one thing you need to do, and that is keep doing it. Stick with it. If you believe in it, stick with it. It doesn’t mean you have to have a studio, or you have to have a grant, or anything like that. You just have to work at it consistently. Daily. Maybe an hour. And you just keep doing it and you get better. You just simply grow and you start to make connections with other artists and then galleries come along and they’re interested in your work. It takes years though. And I want to say though, those ten years in the wilderness after you leave school is not easy. I was lucky, I got a job, but I saw many students leave school and have really nothing to fall back on, and some of them got sucked into the work world and abandoned their art. But many of them went on just doing it a little bit at a time, every day, and they’re still still doing it today. [29]
Liz Ingram: [In] moments of doubt about, say, covid, moments of doubt about aging, or illness, or fear? There’s nothing more healing, I think, than our studio process. The act of making, and the act of creating is absolutely healing and powerful, and has helped both [Bernd and I] through some difficult times. [30]
Cherie Moses: Just develop your ideas—learn to understand art you don’t like, because you’re a professional; learn to talk about art you don’t like, because you’re a professional. Do the work you like, but learn these things. There’s so little art I like, that I’d hang in my house, that I really, really like, but it doesn’t matter. I wanted to understand it all.
Above: 1. Myken McDowell, Echoes of a Room, Different from the One You are In, photopolymer intaglio, chine-collé, 2022; 2. James Boychuck-Hunter, Double Greetings, relief, photolitho, intaglio, chine-collé, 2017; 3. Luke Johnson, As weak as the monument, as strong as the echo, inkjet, relief, hand-colouring, 2022; 4. Alex Keays, Take it to go, coloured pencil rubbing, 2020
Darci Mallon: People favour painting and drawing, where it seems so immediate—and not just in gratification by any means, but because you see exactly what you’re going to get as you’re doing it. Printmaking requires an intellectual kind of restraint—kind of putting things on different levels and holding them in place for awhile. And that restraint allowed me to go into different mediums and be able to think through them in a more staged way, instead of ‘everything I do has to be immediate.’
Mary Joyce: The work I’m doing now, that I started in 2012, it’s really interesting: I found a way of altering the oil paint with cold wax medium; makes it thick, makes it more like printing ink. So when I apply it, usually I feel the need to apply it to a rigid surface, not a flexible canvas. So if I’m using a canvas, I pretty much have to get it against the wall—I staple it up against the wall so there’s no flex. And then I can use the surface the same way I use a printing plate. There are certain motions I love, like the motion of wiping a plate with the side of your hand, or using a brayer. There’s lots of ways in this method to use the brayer to kind of make a printed layer into the painting. I like painting, I think it’s great. The colour is much more immediate. But it’s a body thing. The thing about the body—what your body wants to be doing when you’re making art, what your body is used to, or gets pleasure from, or expresses itself best—you do that before you even know you’re doing it. It’s not consciously planned. You’ve got a ‘plan’ based on what you’re trying to say, but then your body takes over. Which way are you leaning? how do you walk? Where’s the weakness in the body? It always shows in the drawing. Bodies are really important. And what the body knows comes out in the work.
Karen Curry: I think very much as a printmaker, as a layer-er, a remover, and in sequence. Thinking about series. But with litho, I just remember feeling like sometimes you feel like you’ve made a decision in a week by the time you’ve drawn it, etched it, proofed it, decided what you’re doing next. And I had a need to make decisions more quickly even if I always wanted to do printmaking as part of the practice, painting has definitely taken over.
Agnieszka Matejko: Students, friends and even my children often ask me a seemingly simple question. “What is good art?” they inquire glibly—assuming that as an arts writer and teacher, I should have the answer up my sleeve. “Well…” I stammer with embarrassment, while they begin to wonder if I failed art history 101. I do have an answer—only it is one so hard to put into words. Good art, I believe, has resonance. It comes back into your mind as you are falling asleep. Such art has an aura of mystery as if the painting or sculpture had something important to say—you only need to be quiet enough to hear. [31]
Darci Mallon: People favour painting and drawing, where it seems so immediate—and not just in gratification by any means, but because you see exactly what you’re going to get as you’re doing it. Printmaking requires an intellectual kind of restraint—kind of putting things on different levels and holding them in place for awhile. And that restraint allowed me to go into different mediums and be able to think through them in a more staged way, instead of ‘everything I do has to be immediate.’
Mary Joyce: The work I’m doing now, that I started in 2012, it’s really interesting: I found a way of altering the oil paint with cold wax medium; makes it thick, makes it more like printing ink. So when I apply it, usually I feel the need to apply it to a rigid surface, not a flexible canvas. So if I’m using a canvas, I pretty much have to get it against the wall—I staple it up against the wall so there’s no flex. And then I can use the surface the same way I use a printing plate. There are certain motions I love, like the motion of wiping a plate with the side of your hand, or using a brayer. There’s lots of ways in this method to use the brayer to kind of make a printed layer into the painting. I like painting, I think it’s great. The colour is much more immediate. But it’s a body thing. The thing about the body—what your body wants to be doing when you’re making art, what your body is used to, or gets pleasure from, or expresses itself best—you do that before you even know you’re doing it. It’s not consciously planned. You’ve got a ‘plan’ based on what you’re trying to say, but then your body takes over. Which way are you leaning? how do you walk? Where’s the weakness in the body? It always shows in the drawing. Bodies are really important. And what the body knows comes out in the work.
Karen Curry: I think very much as a printmaker, as a layer-er, a remover, and in sequence. Thinking about series. But with litho, I just remember feeling like sometimes you feel like you’ve made a decision in a week by the time you’ve drawn it, etched it, proofed it, decided what you’re doing next. And I had a need to make decisions more quickly even if I always wanted to do printmaking as part of the practice, painting has definitely taken over.
Agnieszka Matejko: Students, friends and even my children often ask me a seemingly simple question. “What is good art?” they inquire glibly—assuming that as an arts writer and teacher, I should have the answer up my sleeve. “Well…” I stammer with embarrassment, while they begin to wonder if I failed art history 101. I do have an answer—only it is one so hard to put into words. Good art, I believe, has resonance. It comes back into your mind as you are falling asleep. Such art has an aura of mystery as if the painting or sculpture had something important to say—you only need to be quiet enough to hear. [31]
Above: Braxton Garneau, Allusion, intaglio and solvent transfer, 2022, commissioned as part of the “Future Forwards” project
Bente Roed: I have watched dedicated artists continue to develop along the path they have set out for themselves; I have great admiration for that. I have also seen some of them go off in new and adventurous directions which is even more satisfying to observe. But, and here is the real crux of the matter, recently I have not felt that I have been exposed to art that has reached out to me and made me take notice; become involved; made me see, sense, and experience something out of the ordinary. Have I looked at too much art? Are my senses satiated? Is it that I am not looking and feeling acutely any longer? Have I not looked in the right places? Or is that kind of art not being created right now? Are we experiencing an artistic void at this time? I don’t know the answers to those questions. [32]
Blair Brennan: Think about the visual art you’ve seen recently: did it challenge you? Did it force you to think about it even when it was no longer in front of you? Did you take it home with you in your head? Did it haunt you, the way great art can, and did it make you want to know more about the artist, the ideas behind the work or the curators, galleries or festivals that present this work? This doesn't happen very often. […] If difficult visual art helps us preserve and nurture uniqueness, it is no longer an entertaining distraction; it is a necessity that helps us forestall social decline and degeneration associated with [art critic Donald Kuspit’s definition of] cultural entropy. With a little awareness, artists and art viewers can choose the art that will “help us become individuals” rather than art that merely helps us conform. [33]
Karen Dugas: Individual vision, thoughtful interpretation and depth are soon to be replaced by a drone psychology in action and thought. What was once heralded as unlimited free access to information will in turn limit the linguistic, creative, memory and social faculty that we require in my view to actively engage in thought and discourse. Fundamental to the acceptance to the loss of authorship as we find in the proliferation of internet use is individuality expressed at any level, every venture is joint, interconnected, inconsistent with the basic canon of any democracy. What is slowly eroding away is the right to personal freedom and privacy. Mass culture dominates, our options have been reduced to a set of systems, electronic, behavioural, interactive. Whether we are aware of not our life has taken a forceful leap into the unknown and the awareness of this profound change will be the subject of the new work. [34]
Walter Jule: There’s a troubling disengagement with the history of graphic language, and an acquiescence to the war of advertising images and manga. As I’m in contact with people, as you are, who work and teach in other places, this is a common refrain in discussions about printmaking. Consequently the shows have become kind of reactionary. There’s a lot of political correctness, nationalism, and very difficult situations, even just shipping work internationally. Things are hung up in customs, and the number of people entering international exhibitions has dropped off; more from some countries than others, naturally. People are trying, but it’s an interesting question, because it does frame the difference between the general mood in the late ‘90s—the ease of communication and the excitement about not sticking to tradition but using it as a springboard—and what we’re experiencing now. We’re going through an interesting time. [35]
Sean Caulfield: I hope we can maintain what we have. Rather than ‘I want to do this new initiative’ or ‘let’s extend and do this thing,’ the really honest answer is ‘oh, I hope we can keep this going.’ And in a part of the world that is one of the richest on earth, the fact that we’re talking about that is shameful, I think. [36]
Tanya Harnett: Being a faculty member at a university in this period of time, I think everybody feels a foreboding—in every discipline. There is this fear, ‘is the ball going to drop on my watch?’ Does that mean printmaking in Edmonton, or the legacy of printmaking here, is going to go away? I don’t think so. [37]
Karen Kunc: The history of printmaking is largely oral and aging and reflects regional dynamics, the influence of particular programs and personalities. Somehow largely by absorption, this culture is being transmitted to students. It’s a subtle initiation, where students acquire the history while talking over the presses with their faculty mentors. For students, this telling of the family history instills a desire to become part of the group. The print world represents a tangible future, one that is more attainable than dreams of success in New York or of joining the ranks of the mythologized painter superheroes. In printmaking the legends are represented in the latest portfolio exchange box, arriving as guest artists to work next to you, expressing a willingness to talk and share at the next conference. This makes the possibilities of the printmaker's life real. [38]
Garth Rankin: Generationally things change so much, and I’m very cognizant of that at the moment. Where you grow up and what you’re taught or learn when you’re young, the kinds of things being done around you, you will carry with you for the rest of your life. So each generation has their own culture, and you’re part of that, and that changes with each generation. Often, and this always annoys me, the older generations shit on the younger generations. And if you’re with a bunch of friends of the same generation that can be fun—take some shots at the young people. But it shouldn’t be considered any more than that. It happened to me when I was young, and I certainly try not to do it. Each generation is different, and they each carry the ball to a certain extent, and good luck to all of them. That’s the part that happens, and the end result is something else.
Bente Roed: I have watched dedicated artists continue to develop along the path they have set out for themselves; I have great admiration for that. I have also seen some of them go off in new and adventurous directions which is even more satisfying to observe. But, and here is the real crux of the matter, recently I have not felt that I have been exposed to art that has reached out to me and made me take notice; become involved; made me see, sense, and experience something out of the ordinary. Have I looked at too much art? Are my senses satiated? Is it that I am not looking and feeling acutely any longer? Have I not looked in the right places? Or is that kind of art not being created right now? Are we experiencing an artistic void at this time? I don’t know the answers to those questions. [32]
Blair Brennan: Think about the visual art you’ve seen recently: did it challenge you? Did it force you to think about it even when it was no longer in front of you? Did you take it home with you in your head? Did it haunt you, the way great art can, and did it make you want to know more about the artist, the ideas behind the work or the curators, galleries or festivals that present this work? This doesn't happen very often. […] If difficult visual art helps us preserve and nurture uniqueness, it is no longer an entertaining distraction; it is a necessity that helps us forestall social decline and degeneration associated with [art critic Donald Kuspit’s definition of] cultural entropy. With a little awareness, artists and art viewers can choose the art that will “help us become individuals” rather than art that merely helps us conform. [33]
Karen Dugas: Individual vision, thoughtful interpretation and depth are soon to be replaced by a drone psychology in action and thought. What was once heralded as unlimited free access to information will in turn limit the linguistic, creative, memory and social faculty that we require in my view to actively engage in thought and discourse. Fundamental to the acceptance to the loss of authorship as we find in the proliferation of internet use is individuality expressed at any level, every venture is joint, interconnected, inconsistent with the basic canon of any democracy. What is slowly eroding away is the right to personal freedom and privacy. Mass culture dominates, our options have been reduced to a set of systems, electronic, behavioural, interactive. Whether we are aware of not our life has taken a forceful leap into the unknown and the awareness of this profound change will be the subject of the new work. [34]
Walter Jule: There’s a troubling disengagement with the history of graphic language, and an acquiescence to the war of advertising images and manga. As I’m in contact with people, as you are, who work and teach in other places, this is a common refrain in discussions about printmaking. Consequently the shows have become kind of reactionary. There’s a lot of political correctness, nationalism, and very difficult situations, even just shipping work internationally. Things are hung up in customs, and the number of people entering international exhibitions has dropped off; more from some countries than others, naturally. People are trying, but it’s an interesting question, because it does frame the difference between the general mood in the late ‘90s—the ease of communication and the excitement about not sticking to tradition but using it as a springboard—and what we’re experiencing now. We’re going through an interesting time. [35]
Sean Caulfield: I hope we can maintain what we have. Rather than ‘I want to do this new initiative’ or ‘let’s extend and do this thing,’ the really honest answer is ‘oh, I hope we can keep this going.’ And in a part of the world that is one of the richest on earth, the fact that we’re talking about that is shameful, I think. [36]
Tanya Harnett: Being a faculty member at a university in this period of time, I think everybody feels a foreboding—in every discipline. There is this fear, ‘is the ball going to drop on my watch?’ Does that mean printmaking in Edmonton, or the legacy of printmaking here, is going to go away? I don’t think so. [37]
Karen Kunc: The history of printmaking is largely oral and aging and reflects regional dynamics, the influence of particular programs and personalities. Somehow largely by absorption, this culture is being transmitted to students. It’s a subtle initiation, where students acquire the history while talking over the presses with their faculty mentors. For students, this telling of the family history instills a desire to become part of the group. The print world represents a tangible future, one that is more attainable than dreams of success in New York or of joining the ranks of the mythologized painter superheroes. In printmaking the legends are represented in the latest portfolio exchange box, arriving as guest artists to work next to you, expressing a willingness to talk and share at the next conference. This makes the possibilities of the printmaker's life real. [38]
Garth Rankin: Generationally things change so much, and I’m very cognizant of that at the moment. Where you grow up and what you’re taught or learn when you’re young, the kinds of things being done around you, you will carry with you for the rest of your life. So each generation has their own culture, and you’re part of that, and that changes with each generation. Often, and this always annoys me, the older generations shit on the younger generations. And if you’re with a bunch of friends of the same generation that can be fun—take some shots at the young people. But it shouldn’t be considered any more than that. It happened to me when I was young, and I certainly try not to do it. Each generation is different, and they each carry the ball to a certain extent, and good luck to all of them. That’s the part that happens, and the end result is something else.
Above: 1. Sydney Lancaster teaching an online cyanotype course during the Covid-19 lockdown, 2020, photo by Manpreet Singh; 2. Screenshot of Amy Leigh conducting a zine class via-Zoom, 2020; 3. Dennis Yowney prints a litho during a tailored printmaking lesson, with the help of Ruby Mah, 2022; 4. Yilu Xing walks Ashna Jacob through an activity at Print Affair 2022
Sara Norquay: In Alberta? People come to get what they want and they leave. That’s the thing I find so interesting about Edmonton: people come and go, come and go; nobody stays. History disappears. When you move into an area, if there’s nobody there to tell you the history, how would you know?
Mary Joyce: I don’t know how you get interested in history, I think it might be something about the way you are raised. When you’re paying attention to your parents telling what happened to them. And then you realize, wow, I would have never known that if they hadn’t told me. Then they go and die.
Luke Johnson: Then the conversations change at that point.
Mary Joyce: They do, right? If only I’d paid attention, if only I’d asked this or that question…
Marc Siegner: I think it’s interesting to note that your graduate work in a sense, [Luke], was about the university, and how that institutional memory has all been cleansed by the current administration.
Robin Smith-Peck: It’s all about memory and archiving. I tell people about the work you did and they’re astonished, they’re baffled. You reached out, you did a deep dive, you looked around and you saw what’s happening. And what’s really astonishing is most folks don’t care. But as we have witnessed as well, those who’ve been around long enough to see it go in cycles, things will inevitably resurface, so it’s important to do the work regardless. Nothing has changed since the time we were able to record history—nothing has changed. These urges and impulses and responses have always been part of human nature. Don’t know why they’re there… inevitably things get removed, misplaces, displaced, forgotten.
Marc Siegner: Or recycled into other things.
Sara Norquay: In Alberta? People come to get what they want and they leave. That’s the thing I find so interesting about Edmonton: people come and go, come and go; nobody stays. History disappears. When you move into an area, if there’s nobody there to tell you the history, how would you know?
Mary Joyce: I don’t know how you get interested in history, I think it might be something about the way you are raised. When you’re paying attention to your parents telling what happened to them. And then you realize, wow, I would have never known that if they hadn’t told me. Then they go and die.
Luke Johnson: Then the conversations change at that point.
Mary Joyce: They do, right? If only I’d paid attention, if only I’d asked this or that question…
Marc Siegner: I think it’s interesting to note that your graduate work in a sense, [Luke], was about the university, and how that institutional memory has all been cleansed by the current administration.
Robin Smith-Peck: It’s all about memory and archiving. I tell people about the work you did and they’re astonished, they’re baffled. You reached out, you did a deep dive, you looked around and you saw what’s happening. And what’s really astonishing is most folks don’t care. But as we have witnessed as well, those who’ve been around long enough to see it go in cycles, things will inevitably resurface, so it’s important to do the work regardless. Nothing has changed since the time we were able to record history—nothing has changed. These urges and impulses and responses have always been part of human nature. Don’t know why they’re there… inevitably things get removed, misplaces, displaced, forgotten.
Marc Siegner: Or recycled into other things.
Above: Marc Siegner, Lilac 2, lithography, 2022
Robin Smith-Peck: Exactly, but somehow they will be passed on through time, because folks like yourself put things down as a record that can get pieced back together. Yeah, it’s a fascinating thing these ideas of cultural memory, personal memory, institutional memory… Institutional follies that are erected that smack of wanting to rewrite history. They want it their way or no way, and that’s really sad. And I wasn’t expecting it, because there’s so many ways to document stuff. But as I’ve discovered through what your work has done, and through others, is that it doesn’t matter how much you document the stuff, it’s all interpretive dance at the end! It’s all about the way people remember things. And there are times where things go through a transfiguration process; things may die. Things will become whatever they’ll need to become, or what is required.
Luke Johnson: Well, when you say, Robin, that you’re taking these photos of work you did in 1987 and still integrating them into the work you’re doing today, or look at what you’re doing, Marc, with these photo-lithos you’ve printed once, and now printing them again, differently, in a new way and in a new context—maybe that’s how things actually survive—you hide it in the layers. It’s a poetic recording. You can’t write it down as it is, it has to be transformed.
Robin Smith-Peck: Exactly, but somehow they will be passed on through time, because folks like yourself put things down as a record that can get pieced back together. Yeah, it’s a fascinating thing these ideas of cultural memory, personal memory, institutional memory… Institutional follies that are erected that smack of wanting to rewrite history. They want it their way or no way, and that’s really sad. And I wasn’t expecting it, because there’s so many ways to document stuff. But as I’ve discovered through what your work has done, and through others, is that it doesn’t matter how much you document the stuff, it’s all interpretive dance at the end! It’s all about the way people remember things. And there are times where things go through a transfiguration process; things may die. Things will become whatever they’ll need to become, or what is required.
Luke Johnson: Well, when you say, Robin, that you’re taking these photos of work you did in 1987 and still integrating them into the work you’re doing today, or look at what you’re doing, Marc, with these photo-lithos you’ve printed once, and now printing them again, differently, in a new way and in a new context—maybe that’s how things actually survive—you hide it in the layers. It’s a poetic recording. You can’t write it down as it is, it has to be transformed.
Above: Robin Smith-Peck, Sleeper 4, drawing, ink, and pastel on paper, 2022
David Armstrong: The story of print has always been told as [a ghost story]—an apparatus, a trace, a remainder. And yet the printed trace precedes us, it is already there ahead of us, before we step, and, already past. To speak of print now, in the present tense, in the very act itself, one inevitably turns a backward glance. This is not to pronounce a final “end” of the story, but to note a reversal of the conventional means of transport—where technology (that questionable measure of “progress” and futurity) turns in on itself, turning and returning. The story turns elsewhere, and otherwise. [36]
Marlene MacCallum: I think that what we do as beings who perceive is we construct realities. And we have choices about what we do with that construction. Physiologically, in terms of neurons and synapses and how the brain works, there’s layers of that which we don’t have much choice. But once it moves into that conscious realm, and into what we share, whether it’s creative or not… as beings who create realities, we’re also communities that together can construct realities. And what SNAP did in terms of the energy and potential of all those people to construct something very positive and worthwhile is really to be commended. And I just had one small role, and there are people who put huge life-long commitments into it, you know. Kudos to them for not turning their backs. Every time things got hard, SNAP’s continued, keeping it alive, keeping it going. Keep constructing a positive reality.
Caitlin Wells: I’m just so grateful for the amount of energy and passion that so many decades of people have brought to SNAP, and the work that’s being done to maintain that opportunity for our students and emerging artists. I remember thinking very clearly ‘What am I going to do? How am I going to be a printmaker? I love this, but I don’t have the money to buy all of the materials and equipment,’ and so knowing that SNAP was there made it possible to envision yourself as a person whose practice would continue to contain printmaking. I just have endless gratitude for the people like Robin and Marc who founded it in the first place, and everybody who’s kept it alive and kept the boat afloat in some trying waters. Certainly my hat is off to April for the really important work that she’s done to look at the things that needed to evolve. What do we need to maintain, and then how do we also respond to and support the new things that our culture and our technologies are asking us to grapple with, and how do we bring those things to the community?
David LaRiviere: I will say this, my experience being on the board of SNAP, being in such fine company, was one of the ways that we were able to move on and beyond as artists in ways that still inform us to this day on some sort of virtual level (and that’s in a Deleuzian sense, of course).
Ashna Jacob: I don’t know what is coming tomorrow, let alone in the next three months. Uncertainty is in the jobs we applied to last week, the texts we sent last night, the Twitter feeds we read tomorrow morning as we open the window and breathe in the Current Political Climate (we should just call it ‘political weather’ until it settles down). The future (depending on our privileges perhaps) brings excitement, anticipation, hope, and fear—where will I move to? What will I create? Will I leave the house today? Will I apply to grad school? Will I be deported? Where will I sleep tonight? Who knows! [37]
Matt Whitson: Robin Smith-Peck and Marc Siegner joke about how they were tricked into founding SNAP. They’re glad it has lasted, even if that wasn’t really the point. [38]
Marc Siegner: It is vertigo inducing; to realize that we are finite in our lifetimes. Philosophically there is something, in the back of your mind, that defines the significance of things, because you know your life is finite. Maybe this creates a laissez faire attitude—what does it all matter? Or maybe it creates an urgency, to do certain things because it is all over so quickly.
Robin Smith-Peck: I think the most interesting thing about this ride, this 40 year ride has been that it was so unexpected. This is just something we were doing to drink beer and put a wall up. So to be continually reminded of this legacy—that it was important to some people—is very touching, but unexpected. We did lots of stuff… this is not the thing I thought anybody would remember.
Loren Spector: It’s such a little thing, this little printshop in northern Alberta, but it’s such a big thing too.
David Armstrong: The story of print has always been told as [a ghost story]—an apparatus, a trace, a remainder. And yet the printed trace precedes us, it is already there ahead of us, before we step, and, already past. To speak of print now, in the present tense, in the very act itself, one inevitably turns a backward glance. This is not to pronounce a final “end” of the story, but to note a reversal of the conventional means of transport—where technology (that questionable measure of “progress” and futurity) turns in on itself, turning and returning. The story turns elsewhere, and otherwise. [36]
Marlene MacCallum: I think that what we do as beings who perceive is we construct realities. And we have choices about what we do with that construction. Physiologically, in terms of neurons and synapses and how the brain works, there’s layers of that which we don’t have much choice. But once it moves into that conscious realm, and into what we share, whether it’s creative or not… as beings who create realities, we’re also communities that together can construct realities. And what SNAP did in terms of the energy and potential of all those people to construct something very positive and worthwhile is really to be commended. And I just had one small role, and there are people who put huge life-long commitments into it, you know. Kudos to them for not turning their backs. Every time things got hard, SNAP’s continued, keeping it alive, keeping it going. Keep constructing a positive reality.
Caitlin Wells: I’m just so grateful for the amount of energy and passion that so many decades of people have brought to SNAP, and the work that’s being done to maintain that opportunity for our students and emerging artists. I remember thinking very clearly ‘What am I going to do? How am I going to be a printmaker? I love this, but I don’t have the money to buy all of the materials and equipment,’ and so knowing that SNAP was there made it possible to envision yourself as a person whose practice would continue to contain printmaking. I just have endless gratitude for the people like Robin and Marc who founded it in the first place, and everybody who’s kept it alive and kept the boat afloat in some trying waters. Certainly my hat is off to April for the really important work that she’s done to look at the things that needed to evolve. What do we need to maintain, and then how do we also respond to and support the new things that our culture and our technologies are asking us to grapple with, and how do we bring those things to the community?
David LaRiviere: I will say this, my experience being on the board of SNAP, being in such fine company, was one of the ways that we were able to move on and beyond as artists in ways that still inform us to this day on some sort of virtual level (and that’s in a Deleuzian sense, of course).
Ashna Jacob: I don’t know what is coming tomorrow, let alone in the next three months. Uncertainty is in the jobs we applied to last week, the texts we sent last night, the Twitter feeds we read tomorrow morning as we open the window and breathe in the Current Political Climate (we should just call it ‘political weather’ until it settles down). The future (depending on our privileges perhaps) brings excitement, anticipation, hope, and fear—where will I move to? What will I create? Will I leave the house today? Will I apply to grad school? Will I be deported? Where will I sleep tonight? Who knows! [37]
Matt Whitson: Robin Smith-Peck and Marc Siegner joke about how they were tricked into founding SNAP. They’re glad it has lasted, even if that wasn’t really the point. [38]
Marc Siegner: It is vertigo inducing; to realize that we are finite in our lifetimes. Philosophically there is something, in the back of your mind, that defines the significance of things, because you know your life is finite. Maybe this creates a laissez faire attitude—what does it all matter? Or maybe it creates an urgency, to do certain things because it is all over so quickly.
Robin Smith-Peck: I think the most interesting thing about this ride, this 40 year ride has been that it was so unexpected. This is just something we were doing to drink beer and put a wall up. So to be continually reminded of this legacy—that it was important to some people—is very touching, but unexpected. We did lots of stuff… this is not the thing I thought anybody would remember.
Loren Spector: It’s such a little thing, this little printshop in northern Alberta, but it’s such a big thing too.
***
|
|
Above, left: Nocturnal view over the original SNAP printshop in the Great West Saddlery Building, 1989
Above, right: The current SNAP printshop at Queen Mary Park, leaving into the snow after the 2022 Print Affair
Above, right: The current SNAP printshop at Queen Mary Park, leaving into the snow after the 2022 Print Affair
Footnotes, part 8:
[1] Megan Stein, “Mountain Views and Sunset Rolls,” SNAPline, Summer 2017, 10.
[2] Dominik Royko, “How to Study Relief Printmaking at SNAP?,” SNAPline, Winter 2014, 12.
[3] Maren Kathleen Elliott, “Portraiture as Ethnography Part 2: : Present Day Artist Examples (Norquay, Al Solh, Vegt, Ervin),” February 21, 2022, https://marenkathleenelliott.com/blog/2022/02/21/portraiture-as-ethnography-part-2-present-day-artist-examples-norquay-al-solh-vegt-ervin/
[4] Megan Stein, interviewed by Prairie Seen, “Artist Feature: Megan Stein,” Prairie Seen, October 27, 2012, https://prairieseen-blog.tumblr.com/post/34444464300/artist-feature-megan-stein
[5] Caroline Barlott, “A Creation Story,” EDify, January 18, 2021, https://edifyedmonton.com/urban/structures/a-creation-story/
[6] Sydney Lancaster, “Looking Back (and Forward) in Suspended Time,” SNAPline, 2020.1, Spring 2020, 17.
[7] Megan Bertagnolli, “Message from the Board,” SNAPline, 2020.1, Spring 2020, 3.
[8] Andrew Benson, “Message from the Board,” SNAPline, 2020.3, Fall 2020, 3.
[9] Justine Jenkins, interviewed by Stacey Cann in “Slowness as Recovery,” SNAPline, 2021.1, Sprint 2021, 25.
[10] Sara Norquay, statement in ‘Activities Archive,’ https://saranorquay.com/activities-archive/
[11] Riaz Mehmood, “At a Time: Tender and Tense Exhibition Response by Riaz Mehmood,” exhibition response, November 11, 2021, https://snapartists.com/at-a-time-tender-and-tense-exhibition-response-by-riaz-mehmood/
[12] Andrew Benson, “President’s Report,” SNAP 2021 Annual Report, presented at SNAP’s AGM, May 26 2021
[13] Email from [email protected], subject “New year, new SNAP! 🥂🍾,” December 29, 2019.
[14] Ibid.
[15] Ibid.
[16] Andrew Thorne, statement for ‘Carving Room,’ solo exhibition at SNAP Gallery, August-October 2021, https://andrewthorneart.com/andyswork/carving-room-2021
[17] Laurel Westlund, “My Process,” SNAPline, Winter 2014, 10.
[18] Morgan Pinnock, “Artist Statement,” SNAPline, 2022.1, Summer 2022, 7.
[19] Sergio Serrano, “Small Objects That You Can Hold in Your Hands,” exhibition response, November 2, 2021, https://snapartists.com/small-objects-that-you-can-hold-in-your-hands/
[20] Amanda McKenzie, interviewed by the Art Gallery of St. Albert, “Meet the Artist: Amanda McKenzie (behind the exhibition Enticement at Art Gallery of St. Albert),” video, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hJK-Gh0mPFw
[21] Brianna Tosswill, “Comforting Notion: The Wind Will Take Me Where I Need to Go,” February 15, 2022, https://www.penrosepress.ca/blogs/nerd-time/the-wind-will-take-me-where-i-need-to-go
[22] Erica Vaskevicius, “Artist Statement,” SNAPline, 2020.3, Fall 2020, 5.
[23] Andrew Benson, artist statement posted by Lowlands Projects (@lowlands.projects), “OFORTUNA,” Instagram photo, June 11, 2022, https://www.instagram.com/p/Ceq5E8Xr68J/?hl=en
[24] Liam MacGregor (@cosmodemonictelegraphco), “I think using old records…” and “I’ve had a few people…,” Instagram photos, November 16, 2020 and April 20, 2021, https://www.instagram.com/p/CHq_e-0grXC/ and https://www.instagram.com/p/CN5_HukAWfS/
[25] Agata Garbowska, artist statement for the exhibit “At a Time: Tender & Tense,” SNAP Gallery, October 2021.
[26] Myken McDowell, interviewed by Wendy McGrath, “My Process: Myken McDowell,” SNAPline, 2020.1, Spring 2020, 30-31.
[27] Shelley Wilson, “Coordinator’s Report,” in meeting minutes for SNAP AGM, April 6, 2001.
[28] Walter Jule, “Survival Tips For Young Artists in Changing Times,” 2015 SGC International Excellence in Teaching Award Address, transcript available at sgciinternational.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/Walter-Jule-Survival.pdf
[29] Lyndal Osborne, artist panel ‘Rebellious: Alberta Women Artists in Conversation - Edmonton Edition,’ Art Gallery of Alberta, January 16, 2020.
[30] Liz Ingram & Bernd Hildebrandt, artist talk, February 12, 2022, Society of Northern Alberta Print-artists, conducted via Zoom
[31] Agnieszka Matejko, “Photographer Mines for Spare Inspiration,” Vue Weekly, June 1, 2006, 23.
[32] Bente Roed Cochran, ‘Where is art,’ Edmonton Bullet, vol 8, no 6, June 6, 1990, 11.
[33] Blair Brennan, “The Future and the Future of Art,” VUE Weekly, August 27, 2015, 9.
[34] Karen Dugas, statement for "Dualities," SNAP Gallery, 1999
[35] Karen Kunc, “Teaching Printmaking: An American View,” in Sightlines (Edmonton: University of Alberta Press, 1997) 199.
[36] David Scott Armstrong, exhibit statement on poster for “And Now, Then Otherwise,” SNAP Gallery, 2006.
[37] Ashna Jacob, “Message from the Board,” SNAPline, Winter 2018, 3.
[38] Matt Whitson, “Message from the Board,” SNAPline, 2019.3, Fall 2019, 1.
[39] Lianne McTavish, essay in Know Thyself as a Virtual Reality, exhibition brochure, FAB Gallery, University of Alberta, 2023.
[40] Desmond Rochfort, “Introduction,” in Lines of Site: Ideas, Forms and Materialities (Edmonton: University of Alberta Press, 1999) 11.
