What About the Baby?

 What About the Baby?

I was watching a documentary about AI, and halfway through I had to stop.

I needed to think.

In our conversation afterward, we started talking about something that keeps bothering me about the way AI is being presented to us.

There are people who genuinely believe AI is going to solve everything.

Disease.

Hunger.

Climate change.

Poverty.

Housing.

Education.

War.

Everything.

And it reminded me of an old story I remembered from years ago.

I couldn't remember the title or the author. I only remembered the idea:

A glorious new invention.

A tiny pill containing an entire Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner.

The future had arrived!

No cooking. No preparation. No dishes.

Just take the pill and you have your entire dinner.

But there was a baby.

And the baby swallowed the pill.

The problem was that the pill expanded when water was added.

And a human body contains water.

I remembered the story as being from the 1960s.

So I asked AI if it knew what story I was talking about.

At first, we didn't have the answer.

Then we went looking.

And what we discovered made the story far more powerful.

It wasn't from the 1960s.

It was written in 1910.

One hundred and sixteen years ago.

The story is “The New Food” by Canadian writer Stephen Leacock, published in his collection Literary Lapses.

And yes—the story really does involve concentrated food, a Christmas dinner compressed into a tiny pellet, and a baby who swallows it.

The little pellet expands when water is added.

And the baby gets the water.

You can probably imagine what happens next.

😳

The story is darkly funny, but underneath the humour is something much more serious.

Consequences.

Think about that.

In 1910, someone was already writing about the excitement surrounding a technological breakthrough while quietly asking:

What could possibly go wrong?

And that's what struck me so hard.

Because here we are, 116 years later, doing something remarkably similar.

We are surrounded by enormous technological promises.

We are told to imagine the possibilities.

And yes, there are extraordinary possibilities.

But sometimes we become so fascinated by what a technology can do that we forget to ask what happens when it meets reality.

The inventor thinks about the invention.

The salesperson thinks about selling it.

The investor thinks about the money.

The consumer thinks about the convenience.

But who is thinking about the baby?

Who is thinking about the unintended consequence?

Who is thinking about what happens when millions of people use the technology?

What happens when somebody uses it in a way nobody anticipated?

What happens when something designed to be contained suddenly isn't?

That's why I think this little story from 1910 belongs in today's conversation about AI.

Not because AI is evil.

Not because technology is evil.

And not because we should be afraid of every new invention.

I'm actually fascinated by technology.

But fascination isn't enough.

Knowledge isn't wisdom.

Being able to build something doesn't automatically mean we should build it.

Being able to automate something doesn't mean we should automate it.

Being able to make something faster doesn't mean faster is better.

And being able to imagine something doesn't mean it is physically, economically, environmentally or socially possible.

Human beings dream.

We always have.

We dream about curing disease.

Unlimited energy.

Living on Mars.

Machines doing our work.

Artificial intelligence solving problems that have challenged humanity for centuries.

Dreaming isn't the problem.

Forgetting reality is the problem.

Because reality has rules.

Physics has rules.

Nature has limits.

Resources have limits.

Money has limits.

Human beings have limits.

And consequences don't care how exciting the sales pitch was.

Someone can stand in front of us and say:

“Don't worry. You'll love it!”

But I want to know what happens after we buy it.

I want to know what happens when the technology leaves the laboratory.

I want to know what happens at scale.

I want to know who benefits.

Who pays.

What resources it consumes.

What jobs disappear.

What new risks appear.

What happens when the system is wrong.

What happens when people misuse it.

And who is responsible when something goes terribly wrong.

So here are ten questions I think we should be asking about AI:

1. What happens when AI makes a mistake at enormous scale?

2. Who is responsible when an AI system causes real-world harm?

3. Who makes the money—and who pays the costs?

4. How much electricity, water, mining, manufacturing and infrastructure does AI require?

5. What happens to people whose jobs disappear faster than new ones are created?

6. What happens when AI-generated information becomes impossible to distinguish from reality?

7. What happens when governments, corporations or individuals use AI in ways nobody intended?

8. Are we actually solving human problems, or simply creating new markets around them?

9. What ethical boundaries should exist BEFORE something goes wrong?

10. And perhaps the hardest question: Are we building something because humanity truly needs it—or because someone figured out how to make money from it?

Stephen Leacock wrote his story 116 years ago.

He didn't have computers.

He didn't have artificial intelligence.

He didn't have data centres.

He didn't have ChatGPT.

But he understood something about human beings that hasn't changed.

We get excited.

We dream.

We invent.

We sell.

And sometimes we forget to stop and think about what happens next.

So I'm sharing this little story because I think we need its warning again.

Not as an argument against progress.

As an argument for thinking.

For ethics.

For consequences.

For reality.

For asking questions before the damage is done.

Because when someone shows us the miracle invention and says,

“Look what it can do!”

maybe our first response shouldn't be:

“Wow!”

Maybe it should be:

“Wait a minute.

What about the baby?”

And after 116 years, maybe that's still a question worth asking.

#WhatAboutTheBaby #StephenLeacock #TheNewFood #AI #ArtificialIntelligence #AIethics #Technology #TechEthics #CriticalThinking #UnintendedConsequences #ResponsibleInnovation #KnowledgeAndWisdom #ThinkBeforeYouBuild #RethinkEverything 

To the Young People Growing Up With AI

 To the Young People Growing Up With AI

I'm watching a documentary about AI, and halfway through, I had to stop.

I needed to have a conversation with AI about what I was watching, because something kept bothering me.

So this is what I want to say to the young people growing up with AI.

Please don't let AI become the thing that thinks for you.

Use it. Learn from it. Question it. Ask it to explain things. Let it help you discover information and ideas. But don't hand over your curiosity, your imagination, your judgment or your ability to figure things out for yourself.

Learn how to learn.

Once you know how to learn, you don't have to sit around waiting for someone to tell you what to do, what to think or what to believe. You can go looking. You can experiment. You can make mistakes. You can discover something nobody taught you.

That, to me, is one of the greatest gifts education can give a person.

And I'm worried about something else.

What happens when machines can do more and more of the work humans currently do? What happens when young people grow up thinking there is no reason to work, create, build, make art, grow food, repair things or learn a skill because a machine can do it?

We need to be very careful.

Because humans need purpose. We need something to get up for. We need other people. We need to make things. We need to struggle with something and eventually say, “I did that.”

We learned something about that during COVID. Isolation, boredom, loss of routine and disconnection were not harmless. Human beings need each other.

And while we're talking about the future, I want to tell you something about mine.

I was born in 1962.

My parents were raising a baby in Surrey during the Cold War. The Bay of Pigs invasion had happened the year before. In October 1962, when I was only about ten months old, the Cuban Missile Crisis brought the world frighteningly close to nuclear war—and Typhoon Freda hit the B.C. coast.

My parents couldn't possibly know what kind of world their little girl was going to grow up in.

And before them, my family had already lived through enormous upheaval. My great-great-grandmother, a Songhees woman, married my great-great-grandfather from the Azores. They had one child, my great-grandfather. He eventually had five children, and one of them went to war.

Another branch of my family goes back another generation: my third great-grandmother had 15 children and two husbands. On my grandfather's father's side, there were 11 living children. My dad was the youngest.

Think about that.

They brought children into worlds marked by colonization, the Indian Act, disease, poverty, war and uncertainty.

They didn't know what was coming.

And neither did my parents.

I had my own child after 9/11. I didn't know what the world was going to become either.

There has never been a perfect time to have a child.

There has never been a guarantee that tomorrow will be safe.

And yet people keep loving, creating, raising children, planting gardens, making art, building homes and imagining a future.

That's what humans do.

So when I hear people talking about AI as though it is going to save us, I have to stop and think.

Save us from what?

And at what cost?

We're building enormous data centres that require huge amounts of energy. We're mining more resources. We're consuming more. We're putting more and more of our lives into machines.

And at the same time, people are fighting those data centres because they are asking very reasonable questions about land, water, electricity and the environment.

We cannot keep saying “technology will save us” while ignoring the damage caused by building more and consuming more.

The Earth is not an unlimited battery.

AI isn't our parent.

AI isn't our conscience.

And AI isn't going to give your life meaning.

You have to do that.

So use AI as a tool.

Don't let it become your master.

Ask it questions—but question its answers.

Let it teach you something—but then go learn it yourself.

Let it help you brainstorm—but still have your own ideas.

And sometimes, close the screen.

Go outside.

Talk to someone older than you.

Talk to someone younger than you.

Grow something.

Make something with your hands.

Learn how to fix something.

Make art.

Get bored.

Be curious.

Fall in love.

Fail at something.

Try again.

Because the future has always been uncertain.

My parents didn't know what world they were bringing me into.

I didn't know what world I was bringing my child into.

And you don't know what world you will live in.

Nobody does.

But that doesn't mean there is no reason to live.

It means the future is still unwritten.

And maybe the greatest thing we can teach you isn't how to predict it.

Maybe it's how to think for yourself well enough to help create it. 🌎💙

#AI, #ArtificialIntelligence, #FutureOfAI, #YouthAndAI, #CriticalThinking, #Education, #TechnologyAndHumanity, #HumanPurpose, #ClimateChange, #DataCenters

Barbara Findlay Rest in Peace and Power

 Barbara Findlay Rest in Peace and Power

Barbara Findlay — What Kind of World Are We Creating?

I didn't know Barbara Findlay personally.

But I have been reading about her death, listening to her words, and learning about the life she lived — and I understand why so many people are reeling.

Barbara was a young lesbian when homosexuality was still considered a mental illness. She was locked in a psychiatric institution because she was attracted to women. She experienced firsthand what happens when society decides that there is something wrong with you simply because of who you are.

She survived that.

And she didn't just survive it. She became a lawyer and spent decades fighting for equality, dignity and the rights of people who had been pushed to the margins.

Then I watched her talking about ageism.

About growing older.

About how elderly people can be warehoused and forgotten. About how queer people who grow old without children can become especially vulnerable. About what happens when people lose independence and the systems around them fail to provide the dignity and care they deserve.

And now we learn that Barbara has died through MAID, after a long disabling illness.

I didn't know her, so I don't pretend to know what she experienced privately, or what led her to make that decision. I would never take away a person's autonomy or presume to know their suffering.

But I am deeply uncomfortable with the questions her death raises.

Because what happens when someone is living with disability, aging, isolation, inadequate care or the feeling that they have become a burden?

Can we truly say, “This person wants to die,” without also asking:

Why has living become so difficult?

Where is the good housing?

Where is the home care?

Where is the companionship?

Where is the accessible healthcare?

Where is the dignity?

Where is the assurance that an older or disabled person is still wanted, still valuable and still has a place in this world?

Barbara spent her life fighting against systems that told marginalized people that something was wrong with them.

She knew what it was like to have institutions make decisions about her life.

And now, at the end of that extraordinary life, we are left with questions that are bigger than Barbara herself.

I don't know whether MAID was the right decision for Barbara.

But I know we need to be absolutely certain that every person who asks for death has first been given every genuine opportunity to live with dignity.

Not because disabled people are less capable of making decisions.

Not because older people don't have autonomy.

But because a society should never make death easier to access than a life worth living.

Barbara Findlay fought for a better world.

Maybe the most respectful thing we can do now is keep asking whether we have actually built it.

Rest peacefully, Barbara. 🧡

And thank you for fighting for people who needed someone to stand up and say:

There is nothing wrong with us.

#BarbaraFindlay, #RestInPeaceAndPower, #LGBTQ2S, #HumanRights, #DisabilityRights, #Ageism, #MAID, #DignityInAging, #QueerHistory, #SocialJustice

THE DIGNITY PROJECT — 15 YEARS LATER 🧡

 THE DIGNITY PROJECT — 15 YEARS LATER 🧡

I wrote this in March 2011.

I found this old post today and honestly, it broke my heart.

Fifteen years ago, I was asking a very simple question:

Do you really believe people choose to be poor?

I wrote about single mothers struggling to survive.
People falling through the cracks.
People living on the streets.
Young people escaping abuse.
People struggling with addiction and mental illness.
Seniors who couldn't afford to live.
People living in poverty who were treated as though their circumstances were somehow their fault.

I wrote about food banks, housing, dignity, community gardens, art, empathy and the importance of simply seeing people as human beings.

I wrote:

“These people do not choose this life. They do not choose to be poor.”

That was 2011.

Now it is 2026.

And I wish I could say we solved these problems.

We didn't.

In fact, in many ways, things have become dramatically harder.

Housing costs have exploded.
Homelessness is everywhere.
Food is expensive.
People are struggling to survive.
And B.C. has now lost roughly 18,000 people to toxic drugs since the public-health emergency began in 2016.

Think about that number.

18,000 human beings.

Not statistics.

Someone's child.
Someone's brother or sister.
Someone's mother or father.
Someone's friend.
Someone who was once somebody's beautiful little baby.

And still, we hear:

“They chose it.”

Did they?

Did the abused child choose trauma?

Did the teenager who aged out of care choose homelessness?

Did the person who lost their job choose poverty?

Did the person who became sick choose illness?

Did the person who became addicted choose a toxic drug supply?

Did the senior who can no longer afford their rent choose this?

Sometimes people make choices that hurt themselves or others. Of course they do.

But a human being's worst moment should not become their identity.

And when people fall through enough cracks, eventually those cracks become a chasm.

That is what I was trying to talk about in 2011.

Dignity.

Not pity.

Not judgment.

Not pretending difficult problems don't exist.

Dignity.

Seeing the person before the problem.

Seeing the human being before the label.

And asking:

“What happened to you?”

instead of immediately asking:

“What's wrong with you?”

I still believe there is hope.

I still believe in community.

I still believe gardens can bring people together.

I still believe art can heal.

I still believe children can learn empathy.

I still believe ordinary people can create extraordinary change.

And I still believe we have to stop looking away.

Because this isn't somebody else's problem.

It is our community.
It is our province.
It is our country.
It is our humanity.

Fifteen years ago I ended my post with:

“We must be Changemakers.”

I still believe that.

Maybe now, more than ever.

🧡

Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita
Dignity Project — originally written March 1, 2011

If You Haven’t Seen The Dressmaker, Put It On Your List

 If You Haven’t Seen The Dressmaker, Put It On Your List

There’s a movie I absolutely love that I don't think enough people have seen: The Dressmaker (2015), starring Kate Winslet, Judy Davis and Hugo Weaving.

It is funny, strange, beautiful, dark and surprisingly deep.

At first, you might think you're watching a story about a woman returning to a tiny Australian town to make beautiful clothes.

But there's so much more underneath.

There are lessons about bullying, shame, abuse, sexuality, trauma, gossip, conformity, revenge, forgiveness and what happens when an entire community decides who you're supposed to be.

And Hugo Weaving's character, Sgt. Farrat, is one of my favourites. Watch what happens when he discovers the fabrics. There's such joy in him. That red satin scene gets me every time.

And then there's the mirror tree. ❤️

The movie also deals with some very difficult subjects. The rape scene and the abuse within a marriage are hard to watch, and I've learned to skip those parts. You can still appreciate everything else the film has to offer.

But somehow, even with all that darkness, this movie is hilarious.

The woman eating the hash brownies? 😂
The outrageous dresses?
The characters?
The absurdity of the entire town?

And then that ending.

I'm not going to spoil it for anyone who hasn't seen it, but let's just say the town eventually has to deal with its own garbage.

I've watched this movie over and over, and every time I notice something different.

So if you've never seen The Dressmaker, give it a chance.

Don't expect a straightforward romantic comedy.

It's a dark fairy tale about people, secrets, cruelty, survival and finally getting the chance to become who you really are.

And underneath all the beautiful clothes and wicked humour are some very serious lessons.

Watch it. Then come back and tell me what you thought. ❤️

#TheDressmaker, #KateWinslet, #HugoWeaving, #JudyDavis, #AustralianFilm, #MovieRecommendation, #HiddenGem, #DarkComedy, #FilmLovers, #MustWatch

Canada Had an LGBT Purge. Today, We Have a Monument to Remember It.

Canada Had an LGBT Purge. Today, We Have a Monument to Remember It.

Today, Canada officially opened Thunderhead, a national monument in Ottawa honouring 2SLGBTQI+ communities and, importantly, the survivors of something many Canadians have probably never been taught about:

The LGBT Purge.

I had to stop and ask myself: How did I not know this history?

The LGBT Purge was not one isolated incident. It was a government campaign that began in the 1950s and continued into the 1990s. Canadian authorities systematically investigated people suspected of being lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender, particularly within the Canadian Armed Forces, the RCMP and the federal public service.

People were surveilled, interrogated, investigated, harassed, demoted and fired. Careers were destroyed. Lives were changed.

The justification came from Cold War fears that LGBTQ people could supposedly be blackmailed into becoming security risks.

Think about that.

The Canadian government was investigating its own citizens because of who they loved or who they were.

And this wasn't ancient history.

The Canadian military's discriminatory policy remained in place until 1992.

One of the people who fought it was Michelle Douglas, a Canadian Armed Forces officer who was investigated and discharged because she was a lesbian. Her legal challenge helped force the military to abandon its discriminatory policy.

The federal government eventually apologized in 2017, and a $145-million class-action settlement followed in 2018.

Now, in 2026, Thunderhead stands in Ottawa.

And I think monuments like this serve a purpose beyond remembering the past.

They make us stop.

They make us ask questions.

They make us uncomfortable.

And sometimes that's exactly what history is supposed to do.

Because Canada wasn't always the country we like to imagine it was.

Rights that seem obvious today were fought for by people who lost jobs, careers, dignity, relationships and sometimes their sense of safety simply for being themselves.

Today, Thunderhead opens as a place to remember those people — but also as a reminder that rights are not self-maintaining.

We have to know our history if we want to recognize when we're heading backward.

I didn't know enough about the LGBT Purge.

Now I do.

And maybe that's part of what this monument is for.

Remember. Learn. Question. And don't let history disappear.

#LGBTPurge, #Thunderhead, #CanadianHistory, #2SLGBTQI, #LGBTQHistory, #LGBTRights, #HumanRights, #MichelleDouglas, #NeverForget, #KnowYourHistory

Section 899: One Year Later — The Warning Still Matters

 Section 899: One Year Later — The Warning Still Matters

An update to my June 2025 post

I reshared my article about Section 899 today because, a year later, I think the questions it raised are even more important.

When I wrote that piece in June 2025, I argued that Section 899 wasn't simply about taxes. It was about trust — and what happens when the United States begins using its enormous financial power as a political weapon.

There is an important correction: Section 899 ultimately did not become law. It was removed from the final legislation after pressure from U.S. allies, including the G7.

But the bigger issue didn't disappear.

Now we're hearing renewed discussion about the U.S. dollar's role as the world's reserve currency — including arguments from JD Vance questioning whether that status has actually benefited ordinary Americans.

And this is where I think we need to pay attention.

The dollar's reserve status is one of the greatest sources of American economic power. Countries hold dollars. Governments hold U.S. Treasury securities. Businesses conduct international trade in dollars. Investors around the world treat U.S. financial markets as a relatively safe place to put their money.

That system depends on something you can't legislate: trust.

You can impose tariffs.

You can impose sanctions.

You can threaten retaliatory taxes.

You can pressure other countries economically.

But you cannot order another country to trust you.

Eventually, countries and investors make their own calculations.

They can diversify their reserves.
They can trade in other currencies.
They can build alternative payment systems.
They can reduce their dependence on the American financial system.

None of this means the U.S. dollar is suddenly going to disappear. It doesn't mean the American economy is collapsing tomorrow.

But it does mean something worth watching:

The world's financial system is built on confidence, and confidence can change slowly — until suddenly it doesn't.

That's what concerned me about Section 899.

The provision itself may be gone, but the underlying question remains:

How much economic power can a country use against its allies before that power starts encouraging those allies to build alternatives?

And here's the part that really matters to ordinary people.

If the United States loses some of the financial advantages that come with being the world's dominant reserve currency, the consequences aren't limited to Wall Street or Washington.

They can eventually affect borrowing costs, government debt, investment, currencies, trade and the prices people pay for everyday necessities.

So when politicians debate tariffs, sanctions, currencies and economic warfare, I don't think we should only ask:

“Who wins today?”

We should also ask:

“What happens to the system five or ten years from now?”

I wrote Section 899: Break Global Trust last year as a warning.

I'm resharing it today because I still think the central issue is the same:

Once trust in a financial system begins to erode, rebuilding it is much harder than destroying it.

Maybe Section 899 was only one chapter.

Maybe the bigger story is just beginning.

— Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita

#Section899, #USDollar, #ReserveCurrency, #JDVance, #GlobalEconomy, #EconomicPower, #FinancialTrust, #USPolitics, #InternationalTrade, #EconomicPolicy

When Did Childhood Become a Business Model?

 When Did Childhood Become a Business Model?

Something very important just happened in New Mexico.

A judge has ordered Meta to pay another $567 million after finding that Facebook and Instagram contributed significantly to a youth mental-health crisis and created what the court called a “public nuisance.” That comes on top of a $375 million jury award earlier this year, bringing the total in the case to $942 million. Meta says it will appeal.

The money isn't simply disappearing into government coffers. Much of the $567 million is intended for youth mental-health treatment, education, prevention and screening.

But the money isn't actually the part that caught my attention.

The words “public nuisance” did.

Because we're finally having a conversation about something we've been treating as an individual parenting problem for years.

We tell parents:

Monitor your child's phone.

Set screen limits.

Know who they're talking to.

Talk to your kids.

Watch what they're watching.

All of that matters.

But what happens when the environment itself is designed to capture attention?

What happens when the business model depends upon keeping people engaged for as long as possible?

What happens when children become incredibly valuable customers because they can be influenced, measured and marketed to?

And what happens when the people building these systems know there are serious problems?

That's where this gets uncomfortable.

Look at YouTube.

I can sit down to watch a video.

Advertisement.

Watch another video.

Advertisement.

Another video.

Advertisement.

And increasingly, the experience can feel less like “I'm watching something I chose” and more like “I'm being moved through a commercial environment that happens to contain some videos.”

YouTube officially supports pre-roll, post-roll and, for longer videos, mid-roll advertising.

And yes, advertising is how much of the internet pays for itself.

I understand that.

Creators need to earn money.

Companies need revenue.

Businesses advertise.

That's not the issue.

The question is:

Where is the line?

When does monetization become manipulation?

When does engagement become exploitation?

And when the user is a child, should that line be dramatically different?

We need to stop pretending children are just small adults.

A child's brain is developing.

Their understanding of risk is developing.

Their ability to recognize manipulation is developing.

Their identity is developing.

Their social world is developing.

And meanwhile, we have created enormous systems designed by some of the smartest people on Earth to determine:

What should this child see next?

That is an extraordinary amount of power.

The New Mexico judge found that Meta's platforms were designed around maximizing engagement, including in ways detrimental to teenagers' health and safety. The court also imposed restrictions affecting minors, including limits on notifications and usage.

And this isn't happening in isolation.

Right now, a 29-state coalition is taking Meta to trial in another major case alleging that Facebook and Instagram were deliberately designed to be addictive to children and that the company misled the public about safety. Meta disputes those allegations.

So maybe we're witnessing the beginning of something much bigger.

The internet may need its tobacco moment.

Remember when industries could say:

“We didn't force anyone to use our product.”

Eventually society started asking a different question:

“But what did you know, when did you know it, and what did you do about it?”

That's the question I think we should be asking technology companies.

Not:

Can you find one bad predator?

Not:

Can parents install another parental-control app?

But:

What is your product designed to do?

What does your business model reward?

What happens when a vulnerable child gets caught in it?

And most importantly:

What did you know?

Because our children are not test subjects.

We cannot keep introducing enormous technologies into children's lives and then conduct the experiment afterward.

We shouldn't need another generation of damaged kids before we decide the experiment has gone too far.

And this is why the New Mexico decision matters.

It's not necessarily the final answer.

Meta will appeal.

Other companies will fight similar allegations.

Courts will have to sort through difficult questions about causation, responsibility, free speech and technology.

But a door has opened.

We're beginning to ask whether a corporation can create a digital environment that produces widespread social harm and then simply point at the parents and say:

“You should have watched your child more carefully.”

I don't think that's good enough anymore.

Because the responsibility doesn't belong to parents alone.

It belongs to parents, schools, governments, technology companies, advertisers and all of us.

And perhaps most importantly, it belongs to the adults who built these systems.

We need to ask a very simple question:

Are we building technology for our children — or are we building children for technology?

Because those are two very different futures.

And I know which one I want.

Let children be children.

Not consumers.

Not data points.

Not engagement statistics.

Not advertising targets.

Not experiments.

Children.

And maybe it's time we started designing the internet accordingly.

#ChildSafety #ProtectOurChildren #YouthMentalHealth #SocialMedia #TechAccountability #DigitalSafety #OnlineSafety #SocialMediaRegulation #StopTheExperiment #LetKidsBeKids

Maybe I Should Run for Mayor 😂

 Maybe I Should Run for Mayor 😂

Well… apparently this is why. 😂

Running for public office this fall? Voters aren’t the only ones who need to do their homework. 👀✏️

So I thought I’d do mine.

If I were mayor of Vancouver, my platform would be pretty simple:

🏡 Tiny, dignified homes for everyone who needs one.

🌱 Gardens galore — edible landscapes, community gardens, fruit trees everywhere.

🚲 A city where people actually want to ride real bicycles.

🚗 Get people out of cars by making walking, cycling and transit genuinely easy.

⚡ Dramatically reduce wasted electricity and fossil fuels.

🍎 Good food for everyone.

🏠 No more treating homelessness as somebody else’s problem. Federal, provincial and municipal governments would sit down together and actually solve it.

🚪 Get rid of SROs and replace them with real, secure homes.

🚑 M.A.S.H. units in the DTES and encampments — Mobile Assistance, Support & Housing teams bringing food, medical care, addiction support, housing help and human connection.

And no, we wouldn't show up with bulldozers to destroy someone's only shelter and throw their belongings in the garbage.

We would show up to help.

We'd educate people about addiction honestly — including what it can actually feel like, what happens to your body and your life, and how quickly things can spiral.

 And we'd build many doors back in so someone who is falling has more than one chance to be caught.

🎨 ART. ART. ART.

A city needs places for people to create, connect, grieve, heal and belong.

And grieving people? We wouldn't abandon them either. We'd create spaces where people can actually grieve and be supported through it.

Because here's the thing:

I don't think a city should be measured by how shiny its downtown is.

I think we should measure it by what happens to the person sleeping under the willow tree.

By the elderly woman walking around Kitsilano carrying everything she owns in No Frills bags.

By the kid who doesn't have enough to eat.

By the person who is one bad week away from losing everything.

By whether we still have gardens, artists, trees, clean water, community and somewhere to belong.

So yes…

Maybe I should run for mayor. 😂

Zipolita for Mayor?

✌️😁🤗🦋🫐🍒🌽

#VancouverVotes #Vancouver #MayorForThePeople #TinyHomes #HousingForAll #EndHomelessness #CommunityGardens #BikeVancouver #ArtForChange #HumanityFirst

Social Media, Our Children and the Class Actions That Could Change Things

 Social Media, Our Children and the Class Actions That Could Change Things

I want to talk about something that affects almost every family with a child who has a phone.

Social media.

Facebook. Instagram. Snapchat. TikTok. YouTube.

We talk about these platforms as entertainment, communication and “just what kids do.”

But something much bigger is happening.

Across the United States and Canada, governments, families, schools and lawyers are increasingly challenging social-media companies over the way their platforms affect children and teenagers.

And right now, Meta — the company behind Facebook and Instagram — is on trial in the United States.

Twenty-nine U.S. states accuse Meta of deliberately designing Facebook and Instagram in ways that encourage addictive use among children and teenagers, while prioritizing engagement and profit over youth safety.

These are allegations being tested in court — not proven facts. Meta denies wrongdoing.

But the allegations are serious enough that they are now being argued in federal court. The case seeks not only money, but changes to the way the platforms operate.

And Meta isn't alone.

TikTok. Snapchat. YouTube.

All are facing lawsuits in the United States alleging that social-media platforms contribute to harm among young people. Thousands of individual cases have been filed, along with lawsuits brought by states and school districts.

And just this week, the U.S. Department of Justice announced a $400-million settlement with TikTok and ByteDance over allegations involving children's privacy.

$400 million sounds enormous.

But here's the question:

Is that accountability — or simply the cost of doing business?

Because while governments investigate and corporations negotiate settlements, children are still living with the consequences of what happens online.

Cyberbullying.

Humiliation.

Group-chat harassment.

Sexual exploitation.

Body-image pressures.

Algorithms continually feeding increasingly extreme content.

Addictive features designed to keep people scrolling.

And sometimes, devastating consequences.

This isn't theoretical to me.

My own child was bullied in a group chat.

I don't know everything that happened, and I'm not going to pretend that I do.

But I do know this:

I have tried to stay informed.

I have tried to keep talking about it.

And I believe we need to make sure other parents and kids know what is happening — because silence doesn't protect children.

WHAT ABOUT CANADA?

Canada isn't sitting this one out.

Canadian privacy regulators have already investigated TikTok and raised serious concerns about children's privacy, age assurance, consent, collection and use of children's personal information, profiling and targeted advertising.

And our federal government is also moving toward stronger rules around children's online safety.

So this isn't just an American problem.

It's happening here.

BUT WHAT CAN A KID ACTUALLY DO?

First:

If you're being bullied online, don't fight back.

Save the evidence.

Take screenshots.

Keep dates and times.

Don't forward harmful material around.

Block the person where appropriate.

Report the account or content through the platform.

And tell an adult you trust.

That might be a parent, grandparent, teacher, counsellor, coach or another adult who will listen.

The Government of Canada specifically recommends documenting cyberbullying, blocking the person, reporting the behaviour and getting help from a trusted adult.

And if you don't feel comfortable talking to someone you know, Kids Help Phone is available across Canada.

You can text CONNECT to 686868 and reach a trained crisis responder 24/7.

You can also find information about removing intimate images and dealing with online exploitation through NeedHelpNow.ca and report online child sexual exploitation through Cybertip.ca. The RCMP specifically identifies these as resources for young people experiencing online abuse.

WHAT ABOUT THE LAWSUITS?

This is where parents need to be careful.

You may see advertisements saying:

“Were you harmed by Instagram, Snapchat, TikTok or YouTube? You may qualify for a lawsuit.”

Some legal organizations are currently seeking people who may have been affected by social-media addiction or related harms.

But a class action is not simply a website where everyone signs up and automatically receives money.

A proposed class action has to go through the legal process before it becomes a certified class action. Different lawsuits have different requirements, deadlines and definitions of who may qualify.

So if you or your child has been seriously affected, don't give personal information to a random Facebook advertisement or someone messaging you privately.

Go directly to the law firm's official website.

Read what the lawsuit actually says.

Check whether it is Canadian or American.

Find out whether it is a proposed class action, a certified class action, or an individual lawsuit.

And if you're unsure, talk to a lawyer before signing anything.

AND TO THE KIDS READING THIS:

You are not weak because something online hurt you.

You are not responsible for someone else's cruelty.

You don't have to handle it alone.

Take a screenshot.

Tell somebody.

Ask for help.

And if you see someone else being bullied, don't join in, don't forward it and don't laugh along just because everyone else is doing it.

You could be the person who changes what happens next.

TO THE PARENTS:

Don't just ask:

“What are you doing on your phone?”

Ask:

“What's happening to you online?”

There's a difference.

Know the apps.

Know the group chats.

Know how reporting works.

Talk about what to do BEFORE something happens.

And most importantly, make sure your child knows:

If something terrible happens online, they can come to you without being afraid that their first punishment will be having their phone taken away.

Because if we make children afraid to tell us, we make them easier targets.

This conversation isn't about hating technology.

It's about asking a very simple question:

WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR KEEPING CHILDREN SAFE ONLINE?

Parents?

Schools?

Governments?

Or the billion-dollar companies that designed the platforms?

Maybe the answer is all of us.

But one thing is certain:

Our children should not have to be the price of doing business.

#ProtectChildren #OnlineSafety #Cyberbullying #SocialMedia #Instagram #Facebook #Snapchat #TikTok #ChildrensPrivacy #Canada

And we're going to train 100,000 skilled trades workers to build it.

 Build Big — But Build What?

Canada is building big again: hydro, transit, mines and ports.

And we're going to train 100,000 skilled trades workers to build it.

Okay. But can we please ask the next question?

What exactly are we building, and what kind of country are we building it for?

Our forests are burning. Communities are flooding. People can't afford housing. Thousands are unhoused. Groceries and rent keep climbing. We already struggle to find doctors and caregivers.

We trained an enormous number of people for the tech economy, while essential care work became harder and harder to fill. Now we're being told the answer is to build even bigger — more mines, more infrastructure, more extraction.

But where is the plan for the people who will actually live in this country?

Where is the affordable housing?
Where are the doctors?
Where are the caregivers for our aging population?
Where is the affordable, healthy food?
Where is the plan for communities facing fire and flood?

And what happens when "building big" means destroying the very environment those communities depend on?

During COVID, while Canadians were locked down and dealing with a once-in-a-generation crisis, the Trans Mountain pipeline was pushed through B.C.

Now we're watching our province burn.

So forgive me if I'm not automatically impressed by another announcement about building bigger.

Build, yes. But build wisely.

Build homes people can afford.
Build healthcare capacity.
Build resilient communities.
Build food security.
Build infrastructure that can survive the climate we're actually living in.

And if you're going to mine this country for the minerals needed to power the next technological revolution, then tell us honestly:

What is all this growth ultimately for?

Because I don't want my generation's legacy to be:

We burned to grow, grew to mine, mined to power more consumption — and left our children a country they can no longer afford to live in.

I see the direction.

I hope Canadians are awake enough to ask where it's taking us.

#Canada #SkilledTrades #HousingCrisis #AffordableHousing #WorkersRights #CostOfLiving #ClimateChange #Homelessness #FutureOfCanada #BuildForPeople

Build Big — But Who Pays the Price?

 Build Big — But Who Pays the Price?

I keep hearing about training 100,000 skilled trades workers because Canada needs to "build big again."

I agree that tradespeople are essential.

But I don't think people sitting around a boardroom talking about labour shortages always understand what a trades career actually does to a human body.

Trades are hard physical work.

Your back hurts. Your knees hurt. Your shoulders hurt. Your hands hurt. Years of repetitive work can leave people with chronic injuries and pain. I know what chronic tendonitis feels like myself.

Talk to tradespeople who have been doing this for decades. Many reach their 30s, 40s or 50s and are already thinking about what they can do next because their bodies simply can't keep taking it.

You can't solve a labour shortage by treating human bodies like unlimited resources.

And there is another problem.

What are we asking young people to build?

Mines. Ports. Highways. Condos. Industrial projects.

But meanwhile, we have young people growing up in a completely different world — video games, delivery apps, COVID lockdowns, social media, the dark web, deepfakes and now AI.

They're entering adulthood into a world that is technologically overwhelming and economically uncertain.

Of course some want a good-paying job.

But "work hard and make money" isn't the whole equation anymore.

At what cost?

Are we building affordable housing — or luxury condos ordinary Canadians can't afford?

Are we building communities — or simply building for whoever has the most money?

Because here in Vancouver, I watch people who already live here struggle to find housing while newcomers from other provinces arrive with enough money to rent, go to school and compete for the limited housing supply.

And meanwhile, people who have lived here for years are sleeping on the streets.

I see older women walking around Kitsilano carrying what little they own in No Frills bags.

That should break our hearts.

💔

So yes, Canada needs skilled trades.

But Canada also needs a vision.

A vision that asks:

What are we building?

Who can afford to live here when we're finished?

How do we protect the workers doing the building?

What happens to their bodies after 20 years?

Where are the affordable homes?

Where are the doctors, caregivers and teachers?

Where is the food security?

Where is the plan for communities facing fire, flood and climate change?

And most importantly:

What kind of country are we actually trying to build?

Because bigger isn't automatically better.

More mines aren't automatically progress.

More condos aren't automatically housing.

More GDP isn't automatically a better life.

And 100,000 workers aren't numbers on a spreadsheet.

They're human beings with backs, hands, knees, families, dreams and only one body to spend.

Canada needs to start building for people again.

Not just building things.

#Canada #SkilledTrades #HousingCrisis #AffordableHousing #WorkersRights #CostOfLiving #ClimateChange #Homelessness #FutureOfCanada #BuildForPeople

Fixed My Otter Murals

 Good morning everyone! 🌞🩷

I wish you all a wonderful Thursday!

Edited: Oops😬🤣 it's only Thursday, I posted saying Friday! Sorry🙄

Hope I didn't mess you up!

I am SO happy with how my otter mural turned out. 🦦🦦

Zipolita'Z ArtworkZ

The mural had been badly weather-damaged. I tried repairing it back in April, but I wasn't happy with my efforts. At some point I tried again, and still… it just wasn't my best work.

Yesterday, I decided to tackle it again.

I worked on it all morning. Every now and then I stopped to chat with people passing by, but I was probably there for about four hours when I finally had to leave to eat, pee and take a nap. 😂

And I felt awful leaving.

It wasn't finished, but I simply couldn't work on it anymore in that moment.

After my nap, I refilled my paints, washed my brushes, packed everything up and headed back.

Luckily, there were only a few people around, and I could get right back to my otters.

People came by while I worked. I would have loved to stop and chat more, but I had to keep pushing through.

And I DID IT! 🎨🦦❤️

Finally, I am happy with them.

There is still lots of maintenance to do before fall and winter arrive. Paint doesn't like cold and rain, and there are flowers, twigs and plants growing around the mural that need trimming and tidying.

So… busy day ahead!

ZipolitaZ Artworkz

ZipolitaZ Artworkz

You can find me on Instagram

@Zipolita

@ZipoltaZArtworkz

BUT…

I'm thinking about bringing some of my paintings out on Saturday or Sunday so you can have a closer look. 🎨

ZipolitaZ ArtworkZ

ZipolitaZ ArtworkZ

Until then, have a wonderful day!

Last night's sunset was absolutely beautiful. Even before the breeze came up, the temperature was perfect. It felt like a REAL August summer evening.

Precious. 🩷🤗

Have fun today, kids!

Sending out peace, love and light. ✨🌿🩷

#OtterMural, #MuralArt, #MuralPainting, #PublicArt, #StreetArt, #VancouverArt, #VancouverArtists, #WildlifeArt, #ArtRestoration, #ArtistLife, #KeepCreating, #Persistence, #WaterIsLife, #NatureInspiredArt, #SummerInVancouver, #PeaceLoveAndLight, #FridayVibes, #LocalArtist, #CommunityArt, #Otters

What Should Public Art Be?

 What Should Public Art Be? 

Part 6 — The Final Chapter of the Vancouver Biennale Investigation

Six posts.

A lot of questions.

A lot of documents.

A lot of digging.

And I started this investigation because one electronic sign on a bicycle route genuinely upset me.

I wanted to know:

Who chose this?

Who approved it?

Who paid for it?

And did anybody think about the people who would encounter it?

After following the money, the people, the approval process, the artworks and the public consultation, I've come to a conclusion.

I don't want less public art.

I want better public art.

I want art that remembers where it is.

A gallery is not a seawall.

A museum is not a bike path.

A private exhibition is not a public playground.

When an artwork is placed in a shared public space, the location becomes part of the artwork.

And so does the audience.

You don't get to choose who walks past.

You don't get to choose who is having a wonderful day.

You don't get to choose who is grieving.

You don't get to choose who is recovering from addiction.

You don't get to choose who has just lost someone.

You don't get to choose who is a child or teenager encountering the work.

That's what makes public art different.

I discovered that I actually love some Biennale art.

The clearest example for me is Giants at Granville Island.

Those enormous colourful figures transformed concrete silos into something imaginative and joyful.

You don't have to understand contemporary-art theory to appreciate them.

You can simply see them and smile.

That's what I want more of.

Art that makes us stop.

Art that makes us curious.

Art that makes us laugh.

Art that makes us see our city differently.

Art that makes an ugly place beautiful.

Art that makes a child look up and say:

“Wow.”

But I've also encountered works that I find disturbing.

A-maze-ing Laughter makes me uncomfortable.

The Proud Youth frightened me.

And Vancouver Novel has genuinely upset me.

The electronic sign cycles through statements including:

“He hides pills.”

“She is begging again.”

“They can see you.”

The Biennale describes the work as deliberately moving between ordinary and ominous statements.

Perhaps that is exactly what the artist intended.

But here's what I have learned:

Intent isn't the same thing as impact.

An artist can intend humour and someone can experience fear.

An artist can intend provocation and someone can experience distress.

An artist can intend social commentary and someone can experience a painful reminder of something that happened in their own life.

That doesn't automatically make the artwork wrong.

But it does mean the response is real.

And that brings me back to the word PUBLIC.

We use that word so casually.

Public art.

Public park.

Public space.

Public consultation.

Public money.

But public means people.

Real people.

Messy people.

Happy people.

Angry people.

People who disagree.

People who don't know anything about contemporary art.

People who know far more about it than I ever will.

People with trauma.

People without homes.

People with money.

People without money.

People who love the artwork.

People who hate it.

All of them are the public.

So what should public art be?

I don't think there should be one answer.

And I don't want governments deciding that art must always be cheerful.

That would be dangerous.

Artists need room to challenge us.

Sometimes we need art that makes us uncomfortable.

Sometimes we need art that forces us to confront something we'd rather ignore.

Sometimes we need art that makes us angry.

Sometimes we need art that makes us ask uncomfortable questions.

But we also need beauty.

We need joy.

We need colour.

We need wonder.

We need places where a person can ride a bicycle and simply feel good for a few minutes.

Why can't public art sometimes say:

YOU LOOK AWESOME.

YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL.

HAVE A GREAT DAY.

KEEP GOING.

Imagine that.

And I don't think the answer is censorship.

That's not what this investigation found.

What I found was something more complicated.

There is a real organizational structure.

There are curators.

There is a Board.

There are government and municipal relationships.

There are funding sources.

There are agreements.

There are approval processes.

There have been public consultations.

There have been controversies.

There have been artworks that stayed.

There have been artworks that left.

And there are documents showing how some of these decisions happened.

That's actually good news.

Because it means we don't have to rely on rumours.

We can ask questions.

We can look at the records.

We can disagree.

We can participate.

And we can ask the organizations responsible for public art to explain themselves.

My biggest question remains unanswered.

When an organization says it is bringing art into the places where people “live, work, play and transit,” what responsibility does that create?

I think it creates a big one.

Because you have deliberately removed the gallery door.

You have removed the choice to enter.

You've made the artwork part of someone's everyday environment.

So perhaps the responsibility of public art isn't simply:

“Can we put this here?”

Perhaps it should also be:

“What will it feel like to encounter this here?”

And:

“Who might we be forgetting?”

Those are questions worth asking before the sculpture arrives — not only after people complain.

So, Vancouver Biennale, here's my challenge.

Don't be afraid of criticism.

Don't dismiss people who don't understand contemporary art.

Don't assume that someone who dislikes a work simply “doesn't get it.”

Listen.

Explain.

Show us the process.

Tell us who selected it.

Tell us who approved it.

Tell us who funded it.

Tell us what consultation happened.

And when people object, explain why you decided to proceed.

Maybe we'll still disagree.

That's okay.

That's democracy.

And to artists:

Keep making art.

Please.

Make the strange stuff.

Make the beautiful stuff.

Make the uncomfortable stuff.

Make the art that makes us stop in our tracks.

But when your work enters public space, remember something:

Your audience didn't necessarily choose you.

And that doesn't mean you have to make everyone happy.

It means you have to understand that the public experience is now part of the work.

And to the public:

Don't assume that public art is something that simply happens to us.

Look.

Question.

Discuss.

Love it.

Hate it.

Take photographs.

Find out who made it.

Find out who paid for it.

Find out who approved it.

And if you think something belongs somewhere else, say so.

Public space belongs to all of us.

So should the conversation about what happens there.

WHO CHOOSES OUR PUBLIC ART?

After six investigations, I think that's still the best question.

Not:

“Is it good art?”

But:

“Is it good public art — for this place, for this audience, and for this city?”

And maybe that's where the conversation should begin.

#PublicArt #VancouverBiennale #Vancouver #ArtAndSociety #PublicSpace #ArtisticResponsibility #CommunityVoice #VancouverArts #RethinkIt #Giants

The Public Gets a Say — Or Does It?

 The Public Gets a Say — Or Does It?

Part 5 of the Vancouver Biennale Investigation 

We've followed the money.

We've looked at the people.

We've examined the approval system.

We've looked at the art itself.

Now comes the question that may matter most to ordinary Vancouverites:

DO WE ACTUALLY GET A SAY?

The Vancouver Biennale puts art into places where people live, walk, cycle, work and play.

So what happens when the people who use those spaces don't like what's being installed?

Is there a meaningful way to object?

Does anyone listen?

And can public opinion actually change the outcome?

I started looking through the records.

And the answer is more complicated than I expected.

Public consultation is not new.

A 2009 Park Board document says public response was one of the considerations used in reviewing Biennale works, along with technical and risk analysis and artistic and aesthetic merit.

There were also specific public consultation processes around proposed long-term installations.

So this isn't some new idea I'm inventing.

The public has been part of this conversation before.

But what does that participation actually accomplish?

Let's look at A-maze-ing Laughter.

This is especially interesting because I personally find those giant laughing figures unsettling.

But Vancouver clearly has many people who absolutely adore them.

When the original temporary exhibition was coming to an end, the Vancouver Biennale wanted to keep A-maze-ing Laughter at Morton Park for another 20 years.

And the Biennale openly asked the public for help.

It said a civic engagement process was required and invited people to submit their opinions and feedback to the Park Board.

That's exactly what public participation should look like:

Here is the proposal.

Here is the location.

Here is what we want to do.

Tell us what you think.

The sculpture ultimately became a permanent part of Vancouver's public-art collection.

The Park Board accepted the long-term loan or donation in 2012.

And the Biennale says the Wilson family subsequently donated $1.5 million specifically so the sculpture could remain in Vancouver.

That's an extraordinary example of public art moving from temporary exhibition to permanent civic asset.

And here's the interesting part:

I don't like it.

Many other people apparently love it.

Both reactions can be true.

That's democracy in public art.

The point isn't that the majority should always win.

Art isn't a referendum.

If we required everyone to agree before installing anything, Vancouver would become incredibly boring.

But there should be a way for people to say:

“I object.”

And there should be a way for decision-makers to demonstrate:

“We heard you.”

The Biennale has actually asked people to campaign for art.

In 2009, the Biennale itself asked supporters to write to the Park Board in support of Michel Goulet's Echoes, a proposed permanent addition to Vancouver's public-art collection.

The Biennale told supporters that letters of public support would assist the Park Board in its decision.

That tells us something important.

Public opinion matters when the organization wants public support.

So I think it is perfectly reasonable to ask whether public opposition receives the same attention.

If people write:

“Please keep this artwork!”

What happens?

If people write:

“Please remove this artwork!”

What happens?

Are both positions counted?

Are both documented?

Are both presented to decision-makers?

Or does public consultation become more of a campaign for the outcome the organization already wants?

I don't know.

That's what we need to investigate.

And then there is The Proud Youth.

The City released an FOI file specifically concerning the Biennale's Proud Youth installation and the public-art process. The City's FOI index identifies the records as covering September 2020 through May 2021.

This is exactly the kind of document I want to examine.

Because instead of talking about public consultation in theory, we can ask:

What actually happened?

Who was contacted?

Who responded?

What concerns were raised?

What did City staff say?

What did the Biennale say?

What information was provided to the public?

And ultimately:

Who made the decision?

There's another clue in the 2017 Park Board agreement.

The Park Board approved a 12-year partnership with the Biennale for three temporary exhibitions of up to 15 artworks each.

The agreement gave the Biennale curatorial leadership and responsibility for installation, insurance, maintenance and de-installation, while Park Board staff handled technical and risk-management reviews. Sites were to be identified and agreed upon in advance.

The Park Board minutes show that commissioners heard from members of the public during consideration of that agreement. Several speakers supported it and praised the opportunity to bring world-class art to Vancouver. The discussion also included questions about how communities could retain artworks and whether Park Board should support some installation costs.

So there was public participation.

But here's the question I haven't answered yet:

How representative was it?

Six speakers?

Twenty?

Two hundred emails?

A petition?

An online survey?

A neighbourhood meeting?

And who was actually being consulted?

The people who already follow the Biennale?

The people who live beside the artwork?

Cyclists?

Families?

Teenagers?

People experiencing homelessness?

People with disabilities?

People who don't normally participate in arts consultations?

Those details matter.

Because “the public” isn't one person.

When an organization says:

“The public loves this artwork,”

I want to know:

Which public?

When someone says:

“There was public consultation,”

I want to know:

How many people participated?

When an artwork is controversial, I want to know:

What did the people who objected actually say?

And when a decision is made, I want to know:

What changed because of public feedback?

That's what meaningful consultation should tell us.

And there is a bigger issue here.

The Park Board adopted formal public-engagement standards intended to make consultation more meaningful, transparent and inclusive.

Those standards specifically discuss reaching beyond traditional methods and engaging underrepresented groups.

That is encouraging.

But it gives us an even better question:

Are those standards actually being applied to Biennale installations?

And if so:

How?

This is where my investigation is going next.

I don't want to assume that the Biennale ignores the public.

The documents show that it doesn't.

I don't want to assume that public consultation is meaningless.

Sometimes it clearly has been part of major decisions.

And I don't want to pretend that every controversial artwork should be removed.

That would defeat the purpose of public art.

But I do want transparency.

If the public is being asked for its opinion, show us what happened to that opinion.

Show us the numbers.

Show us the concerns.

Show us the responses.

Show us the decision.

And show us whether the people making the decision actually changed anything because of what they heard.

Because public consultation should not simply mean:

“We asked.”

It should mean:

“We listened.”

And if the answer is sometimes “No, we listened but decided differently,” that's okay too.

At least then the public knows how the decision was reached.

So here's the question for Part 5:

Does Vancouver have meaningful public participation in public art — or mostly an opportunity to comment after the important decisions have already been made?

I'm still investigating.

And now we're getting somewhere.

Part 6: WHAT SHOULD PUBLIC ART BE?

The final part will bring everything together:

The money.

The people.

The approvals.

The consultation.

The artworks.

And the public reaction.

Because I don't want the conclusion to be “get rid of weird art.”

I want the conclusion to be a much harder question:

What do we owe the public when we put art in public space?

And what does the public owe artists in return?

That conversation is worth having.

The Art That Divided Us

 The Art That Divided Us

Part 4 of the Vancouver Biennale Investigation 

So far in this investigation, I've followed the money.

I've looked at the people behind the Vancouver Biennale.

I've started looking at the approval process.

Now I want to look at something much more subjective — the art itself.

Because this is where people can get very defensive.

Someone says, “That's incredible!”

Someone else says, “That's ugly.”

One person sees humour.

Another sees something frightening.

One person sees an important social statement.

Another asks, “Why am I looking at this on my bike ride?”

And that's precisely why I think we need to have this conversation.

I don't hate public art.

Actually, quite the opposite.

There is Biennale art that I absolutely love.

Giants

The enormous Giants by Brazilian artists OSGEMEOS transformed six concrete silos on Granville Island into a gigantic, colourful public artwork.

The Biennale says the six silos cover approximately 23,500 square feet and that the artists deliberately chose the industrial site because they wanted to create a relationship between their work, the architecture, the water and the people who use the area.

And I understand that.

I see it.

It makes me happy.

It takes something industrial and grey and turns it into something imaginative.

It doesn't require me to understand a 40-page curatorial essay before I can appreciate it.

I can simply ride past and smile.

And apparently I'm not alone.

The Biennale has used Giants in educational programming with Vancouver students, describing how the colourful installation transformed the otherwise drab concrete silos and inspired children to think about colour, identity, imagination and place.

That is public art doing something wonderful.

Then there is A-maze-ing Laughter.

Twenty enormous laughing figures.

The Biennale describes the work as a celebration of laughter and says it was intended to touch people's hearts and bring enjoyment.

But I'll be honest:

I find those figures creepy.

Those enormous mouths.

Those exaggerated expressions.

Those bodies frozen in hysterical laughter.

They don't make me feel joy.

They make me uncomfortable.

And that's okay.

The artist doesn't have to design art specifically for me.

But it does raise an important question:

What happens when the emotional experience of the public is completely different from the artist's intention?

Is that success?

Is it failure?

Or is that simply what art does?

I don't think there is a simple answer.

Then came The Proud Youth.

This one affected me much more strongly.

The Biennale describes Chen Wenling's huge red bronze figure as a celebration of the inner child, freedom and fearlessness.

The artist's description is actually quite positive.

The figure's bright red colour is described as auspicious, and the pose as an invitation to embrace our inner child.

But when I saw it?

I found it terrifying.

Not liberating.

Not playful.

Terrifying.

And I remember thinking:

Who decided this was something I should encounter beside the Seawall?

The sculpture was eventually removed after its exhibition period, which ran from March 8, 2021, to May 3, 2023.

That doesn't mean the artwork was “bad.”

It means something very important:

A work can have one intended meaning and produce a completely different emotional response in the person encountering it.

And now we have Vancouver Novel.

This is the work that triggered me into starting this investigation.

A sign beside Point Grey Road cycles through short sentences.

The Biennale describes them as sometimes banal and sometimes ominous.

The current installation contains 29 sentences, including six added in 2021.

And the words I have personally recorded include:

“He hides pills.”

“She is begging again.”

“They can see you.”

I don't find those messages uplifting.

I find them disturbing.

And I have started asking whether a public bike route is the right location for them.

Because I wasn't looking for an art experience.

I was riding my bicycle.

I wanted fresh air.

I wanted to clear my head.

And I encountered a message about pills.

For someone who has lost a loved one to an overdose, those words might land very differently.

For someone in recovery, differently again.

For someone experiencing homelessness, the phrase “She is begging again” can feel particularly loaded.

And that's where the idea of public art becomes complicated.

The artist doesn't control the audience.

That's the part I keep coming back to.

In a gallery, I choose to walk through the door.

On a public bike path, I don't.

The artwork becomes part of the environment.

And the audience becomes everyone.

Children.

Teenagers.

Parents.

People grieving.

People struggling.

People celebrating.

People having the worst day of their lives.

People having the best day of their lives.

Everyone.

But here's the part where I want to be fair.

Provoking an emotional response isn't automatically a bad thing.

In fact, the Biennale itself has historically embraced controversy.

In 2009, it acknowledged a major public debate over Dennis Oppenheim's Device to Root Out Evil, an upside-down church sculpture. The controversy became so intense that the work was eventually moved to Calgary.

So disagreement isn't new.

Public art has always generated arguments.

Maybe that's part of its purpose.

But if controversy is part of the process, then public response should matter.

That's my question.

What I don't want is a city filled with art that makes everyone feel the same thing.

That would be boring.

I want artists to challenge us.

Make us laugh.

Make us cry.

Make us furious.

Make us curious.

Make us think.

But I also want some public art that simply makes us happy.

And I think Giants demonstrates that you can create enormous, serious, internationally recognized public art without making the public feel psychologically assaulted.

The artists themselves said they wanted their work to establish a relationship with the people who frequent the site and integrate the artwork into the city scenery.

That is an idea of public art I can get behind.

So here's the question.

Not:

“Is this good art?”

That's almost impossible to answer.

Instead:

Is this good public art for this particular place?

Those are two completely different questions.

A work might be fascinating inside a gallery and completely wrong beside a children's playground.

A disturbing installation might be powerful in a carefully contextualized exhibition and deeply upsetting when encountered unexpectedly on a bike path.

A giant colourful mural might transform an industrial landscape and bring joy to millions.

Location matters.

Audience matters.

Context matters.

And public reaction matters.

So as this investigation continues, I'm going to ask the Biennale a very simple question:

What does “public” mean to you?

Does it mean the public gets to see the art?

Or does it also mean the public gets to have a meaningful voice about what appears in the spaces we all share?

Because those aren't the same thing.

Part 5: THE PUBLIC GETS A SAY — OR DOES IT?

That's where we'll look at consultations, complaints, public feedback and what actually happens when people say:

“We don't want this here.”

Who Approves the Art?

 Who Approves the Art?

Part 3 of the Vancouver Biennale Investigation 

In Parts 1 and 2, we followed the money and started following the people.

Now we get to the question I've really been wanting to answer:

WHO ACTUALLY APPROVES THE ART?

Because here's something I have learned while digging through Vancouver's public records:

A sculpture doesn't simply appear in a Vancouver park because an artist and the Biennale like it.

There is a process.

There are agreements.

There are municipal officials.

There are technical reviews.

There are location decisions.

And, at least historically, there was a formal requirement for Park Board approval.

That matters.

The paper trail

A Vancouver Park Board report from 2009 describes the agreement between the Park Board and the Vancouver International Sculpture Biennale.

It says that all sculpture installations were subject to Park Board approval.

The same document describes several considerations in the approval process:

• technical and risk analysis of the artwork and site;
• public response;
• aesthetic and artistic merit, assessed by the Biennale's professional curatorial staff.

In other words:

Someone was supposed to look at more than whether the artwork was “good art.”

The location and risks mattered too.

That raises an obvious question:

What does that process look like today?

And what does “public response” actually mean?

Because those words sound reassuring.

But I want to know how they work in practice.

Let's look at one sculpture.

The Proud Youth

This is the enormous red sculpture that I found terrifying when it was installed beside the Vancouver Seawall.

And yes — the City eventually took it down after its temporary exhibition period.

But the fascinating part is that we can actually find the City's records about how it got there.

The City of Vancouver released a 30-page FOI file concerning the installation.

The proposal describes The Proud Youth by Chinese artist Chen Wenling as a temporary public-art installation at a small plaza beside the Seawall between 1288 and 1328 Marina Crescent.

The proposed exhibition period was two years.

And the document says the Vancouver Biennale would be responsible for the installation, with the artwork installed at no cost to the City or its residents.

That last sentence is interesting.

Because “no cost to residents” doesn't necessarily mean there is no public value being exchanged.

The public provides the space.

The public provides the audience.

The City provides the regulatory and administrative framework.

And the artwork occupies a piece of public realm.

So I want to understand exactly how these arrangements work.

The public was invited to comment.

The FOI document says:

“You can share your thoughts regarding this temporary public art proposal…”

And gives an email address for feedback to the Biennale.

That's good.

But now comes the question I really want answered:

What happened to that feedback?

How many people responded?

How many supported the sculpture?

How many opposed it?

What were their concerns?

Did the Biennale change anything because of the feedback?

Did City staff consider the responses?

Did the decision-makers see the comments?

Were objections summarized?

And ultimately:

Who had the authority to say YES?

This isn't just about The Proud Youth.

That's why I'm digging deeper.

Because if we find one approval process, we can compare it with another.

And another.

And another.

Then we can ask whether the process is consistent.

For example:

Why was one location chosen over another?

Who decides whether a sculpture is appropriate beside a cycling route?

Is emotional impact considered?

Is the experience of children considered?

Is accessibility considered?

Are nearby residents consulted?

Are cyclists and pedestrians consulted?

What happens when people complain after installation?

And perhaps most importantly:

Can the public say NO?

Here's where things get complicated.

Artistic merit is subjective.

One person sees a masterpiece.

Another sees a monstrosity.

One person sees humour.

Another sees cruelty.

One person sees a joyful expression.

Another sees something deeply disturbing.

That is normal.

We aren't going to settle that argument in this investigation.

Instead, I'm interested in the decision-making system around it.

Because when an artwork is inside a gallery, the gallery controls the audience.

When it's placed beside a public bike path, seawall or park:

the public becomes the audience.

And that audience includes people who never asked to participate.

There is another important piece of evidence.

The Park Board's historical documents show that when Biennale sculptures were proposed to remain or return to Vancouver parks, staff examined them through an established process.

In one 2009 report, staff specifically said they had examined proposed returning sculptures according to technical and artistic review before recommending them to the Board.

And in another case, a proposed donated sculpture at Kitsilano Beach went through public consultation, with staff reporting that feedback was very positive while also recording concerns about public space and whether the area should remain natural.

That tells us something important:

Public consultation isn't a new idea.

It has been part of the process before.

So let's find out how robust that process is now.

And this brings me back to my original question.

I've encountered Biennale art that I love.

I've encountered art that makes me laugh.

I've encountered art that makes me stop and stare.

And I've encountered art that makes me uncomfortable.

That's okay.

Public art doesn't have to please everyone.

But if public institutions are providing access to public spaces for temporary installations, I believe the public deserves transparency about how those decisions are made.

Not censorship.

Not a demand that every artwork be pretty.

Transparency.

Who proposed it?

Who selected it?

Who approved it?

Who paid for it?

Who reviewed the location?

Who considered the public response?

And who can remove it if the public experience becomes unacceptable?

So I'm asking the Vancouver Biennale and the City of Vancouver:

Show us the process.

Show us the agreements.

Show us the criteria.

Show us the consultation.

Show us the decision-making.

And show us what happens when the public says:

“This isn't working here.”

Because if public art is truly for the public, then the public shouldn't merely be the people who walk past it.

We should have a meaningful voice in the spaces we share.

And I'm going to keep digging.

Part 4: THE ART THAT DIVIDED US

That's where we'll stop talking about the system in the abstract and start examining the actual artworks — including The Proud Youth, A-maze-ing Laughter, Vancouver Novel, and the works people have embraced.

Because if we're going to ask whether there is a pattern, we need to look at the evidence.

No assumptions.

No conspiracy theories.

Just the art, the documents, the decisions — and the public reaction.

Who's Behind the Curtain?

 Who's Behind the Curtain?

Part 2 of the Vancouver Biennale Investigation 

In Part 1, I started following the money.

Now I want to follow the people.

Because when an organization puts art into the parks, waterfronts and public spaces where Vancouverites live, walk, cycle and play, I think it's reasonable to ask:

Who decides what we see?

Not because I believe there is some secret conspiracy.

Not because I think artists shouldn't make challenging work.

And not because I believe every piece of public art needs to be pretty.

I'm asking because someone makes these decisions.

And the Vancouver Biennale actually tells us who some of those people are.

Meet the founder

The Biennale identifies Barrie Mowatt as its Founder and President.

It also identifies him as the curator of its Open Air and Residencies program.

According to the Biennale, Mowatt founded the organization around the idea of bringing art into public spaces where people “live, work, play, and transit.”

He also founded the Buschlen Mowatt Fine Art Gallery and the Buschlen Mowatt Nichol Foundation, which the Biennale describes as a principal funder of various Biennale projects and programs.

That is important information.

Because we're not just talking about someone who sits on a board.

The organization's own website identifies its founder as both President and curator of the Open Air program.

So I want to understand how that curatorial authority works.

Who proposes an artwork?

Who evaluates it?

Who decides that it belongs in Vancouver?

Who decides where it goes?

And who has the final word?

Then there is the international curatorial team

The Biennale identifies Marcello Dantas as Senior Curator for Latin and South America and the Asia-Pacific region.

His résumé is extensive. He has curated public-art projects internationally and worked with artists including Ai Weiwei, Anish Kapoor, Jenny Holzer, Bill Viola and Laurie Anderson. The Biennale also identifies him as having organized projects in Brazil and internationally.

Again, I'm not presenting that as something sinister.

Quite the opposite.

It tells us that these aren't random choices.

There is considerable curatorial experience behind the exhibitions.

Which makes my question even more interesting:

What philosophy guides the choices?

And then there are the advisors

The Biennale lists numerous curatorial advisors, including people connected with major international galleries, museums, art institutions and festivals.

Among them are Hans Ulrich Obrist of London's Serpentine Galleries, Steve Nash, former Executive Director of Palm Springs Art Museum, Zheng Shengtian of the Vancouver Art Gallery, Sarah Fillmore of the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia and others.

This is an international network of people with serious experience in contemporary art.

So again:

What are the selection criteria?

What makes one artwork suitable for a Vancouver seawall, park or cycling route?

What makes another unsuitable?

Is emotional impact considered?

Is age appropriateness considered?

Are trauma and accessibility considered?

Is the surrounding neighbourhood considered?

Is the experience of cyclists and pedestrians considered?

Or is the primary consideration artistic merit?

And the Board

The current Board of Directors includes Barrie Mowatt, Murray Nichol, Jesse Saniuk, Marty Hasselbach, Skwetsimeltxw Willard “Buddy” Joseph, Shahrzad Khatami, Virginia Bremner and David Stein, according to the Biennale's published information.

Their backgrounds span philanthropy, real estate, business, education, architecture, landscape architecture, Indigenous arts and culture, community development and the arts.

That diversity is interesting.

And it raises another question:

Where does the final decision actually happen?

Is it with the curator?

The curatorial team?

The Board?

The municipality?

The Park Board?

The property owner?

Or some combination?

That's what I want to find out.

Because the public doesn't get to choose the artwork.

We encounter it.

Sometimes we love it.

Sometimes we walk past it without noticing.

Sometimes we laugh.

Sometimes we stop and take photographs.

And sometimes...

we are disturbed by it.

I have personally experienced some Biennale works as beautiful and joyful.

The enormous colourful Giants at Granville Island is one example.

But I've also encountered works that I found deeply unsettling.

The red Proud Youth sculpture was one.

The enormous laughing figures of A-maze-ing Laughter are another. I personally find those faces creepy rather than joyful.

And now I'm questioning Vancouver Novel, the electronic sign along Point Grey Road that displays changing statements including:

“He hides pills.”

“She is begging again.”

“They can see you.”

The Biennale describes Vancouver Novel as an exploration of public and private life and says its statements are deliberately sometimes “banal and ominous.”

That's an artistic concept.

But I'm interested in something else:

What happens when that concept meets an actual human being having an actual day?

A person who is grieving.

A teenager.

A person in recovery.

A parent.

Someone who has lost a loved one.

Someone who is unhoused.

Someone who simply went out for a bicycle ride because they needed an hour of peace.

That is where art becomes public policy.

Once you put art into a gallery, people can choose whether to enter.

Once you put it beside a public bike route, you've changed the audience.

The person experiencing the work may have no idea who the artist is.

They may not know the curatorial concept.

They may not have read the Biennale's explanation.

They may simply see the words.

And react.

That's not necessarily a failure of the artwork.

But it is something the people responsible for placing art in public spaces should consider.

So this investigation is getting more specific.

I want to know:

Who nominates the artists?

Who selects the works?

Who approves the final selection?

Who selects the location?

What criteria are used?

What role does the Board play?

What role do municipal governments play?

What public consultation is required?

How are complaints handled?

Can the public force reconsideration?

Who decides when something comes down?

And perhaps the biggest question:

Does the public have meaningful input — or are we simply the audience?

I'm not going to answer those questions before I have the documents.

That's the point of this series.

I'm going to follow the paper trail.

Part 3: WHO APPROVES THE ART?

That's where we're going into the municipal agreements, Park Board process, location approvals and the actual documents surrounding The Proud Youth.

Because I've already found something fascinating:

The City of Vancouver has released the FOI file.

Thirty pages of records about that artwork and the public-art process.

And that's where we can stop speculating and start reading what actually happened behind the scenes.

To be continued...