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...

Who Pays for Vancouver's Public Art?

 Who Pays for Vancouver's Public Art?

Part 1 of the Vancouver Biennale Investigation 

I love public art.

Let me start there.

I love walking or riding through Vancouver and suddenly encountering something unexpected — something colourful, beautiful, funny, enormous or completely imaginative.

OSGEMEOS' Giants at Granville Island is exactly the kind of public art I love.

Those huge colourful figures transformed an industrial landscape into something playful and unforgettable.

So this investigation isn't about hating contemporary art.

It isn't about saying every unusual sculpture should disappear.

And it certainly isn't about telling artists what they are allowed to create.

It is about asking who chooses what gets put into our public spaces — and who pays for it.

Because once art leaves a gallery and enters a public park, waterfront, sidewalk or cycling route, something changes.

The public becomes the audience.

And sometimes the public becomes the unwilling audience.

That is why I have started asking questions about the Vancouver Biennale.

Let's follow the money.

The Vancouver Biennale describes itself as a charitable organization and says its work is supported through grants, corporate sponsorships, in-kind contributions, philanthropy and art sales.

Its public list of supporters includes government and public organizations as well as corporations and foundations.

That doesn't mean anything improper is happening.

But public money and public partnerships deserve public questions.

How much money does the Biennale receive?

From whom?

How much comes from governments?

How much comes from corporations?

How much comes from private donors?

How much comes from foundations?

How much is spent on artists?

How much goes toward transportation, installation and removal?

How much goes toward administration?

How much does it cost to maintain an artwork sitting in a public park?

And when a temporary artwork is removed, who pays for that?

These aren't hostile questions.

They're accountability questions.

And then I found something important.

The Vancouver Park Board's 2017 agreement with the Vancouver Biennale proposed three exhibitions over 12 years, with up to 15 artworks each.

Under that agreement, the Biennale provides the curatorial leadership and funds installation, insurance, maintenance and de-installation.

Park Board staff, meanwhile, conduct technical and risk-management reviews. Sites are identified and agreed upon in advance.

That means public art appearing in our parks isn't simply an artist showing up one morning with a sculpture.

There is a system.

There are agreements.

There are decision-makers.

There are public institutions involved.

And there is money.

That's where I want to go next.

Because who pays can tell us something about who has influence.

I am not suggesting that a corporation donating money gets to choose which sculpture goes into a park.

I am not suggesting government funding means government censorship.

I am not suggesting anything improper has happened.

I'm saying we should know how the system works.

And I want to see the documents.

I want the financial filings.

I want the sponsorship agreements.

I want the municipal agreements.

I want to know who approves what.

I want to know what criteria are used.

And I want to know how much opportunity ordinary Vancouver residents actually have to say:

“No. This doesn't belong here.”

Because I've encountered Biennale artwork that I absolutely love.

And I've encountered artwork that I find disturbing, depressing or even frightening.

That's okay.

We don't all have to like the same art.

But when that art is placed in the spaces where we live, walk, cycle, play and raise our families, I believe we have a right to ask questions.

This isn't an attack on artists.

It's an investigation into the system.

Who chooses our public art?

Who pays for it?

Who approves it?

Who gets to object?

And ultimately:

Who is public art actually for?

I'm going to follow the paper trail.

No rumours. No conspiracy theories. No assumptions.

Just documents, money, names, decisions — and the questions they raise.

Part 2: Who's Behind the Curtain?

WHO IS JOÃO LOUREIRO

 WHO IS JOÃO LOUREIRO — AND WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS SIGN? 

I've been researching the Vancouver Biennale's Vancouver Novel after encountering this sign while riding my bike along Point Grey Road.

I have questions.

The Biennale identifies the artist as João Loureiro, a Brazilian artist born in 1972, and says the installation cycles through 29 sentences — including six new sentences added in 2021.

Okay.

But where is the information about him?

Where is his official website?

Where is his direct artist contact?

Who is responsible for the wording currently appearing on this sign?

And most importantly:

Did João Loureiro actually approve the words that are currently being displayed?

Because I am seeing messages such as:

“He hides pills.”
“She is begging again.”
“They can see you.”

I find this deeply disturbing.

I went out for a bike ride because I wanted some peace, fresh air and beauty. Instead, I'm confronted with dark, personal and disturbing statements.

And I'm not just asking this as an art critic.

I'm asking as a member of the public who has to encounter this work in a public space.

The Biennale says the work is about the boundary between public and private life and our appetite for constant information. The original catalogue describes 25 statements; the current website says 29, with six added in 2021.

So what changed?

Who added the six?

Who approved them?

And who decides what this sign says today?

Vancouver is experiencing an overdose crisis. People are grieving children, parents, partners and friends. People in recovery are riding these paths. Unhoused people are riding these paths. Teenagers are riding these paths.

You don't know what someone has lived through before they encounter those words.

That is why I'm asking the Vancouver Biennale:

PLEASE TELL US WHO JOÃO LOUREIRO IS.

Give us the artist's official information.

Tell us where people can learn about him.

Tell us who is responsible for the current text.

Tell us whether the current wording is his original work or whether it has been altered since the original installation.

And tell us why this particular content belongs on a public bike route.

I'm not afraid of art.

I'm not afraid of uncomfortable conversations.

But I believe public art comes with public responsibility.

And if we're going to put words into public space where thousands of people encounter them without choosing to enter a gallery, then we should be able to ask questions about those words.

That's not censorship.

That's the public asking questions about public art.

#RethinkIt #PublicArt #VancouverBiennale #Vancouver #PointGrey #JoaoLoureiro #ArtAndSociety #PublicSpace #CommunityResponsibility #Waterfront

When Public Art Becomes a Public Trigger

 When Public Art Becomes a Public Trigger 

There is a difference between challenging people with art and accosting people with disturbing imagery when they are simply trying to enjoy a public space.

I want to talk about the João Loureiro artwork Vancouver Novel, installed along Point Grey Road as part of the Vancouver Biennale.

The Biennale explains that the work is deliberately made up of short, sometimes ominous statements. It is supposed to make us think about the boundary between public and private life, social media, voyeurism and our appetite for information.

Fine.

I understand the artistic concept.

But I don't think artistic intention is the end of the conversation.

Because this isn't a gallery.

You don't have to buy a ticket.

You don't decide, “Today I'm going to expose myself to challenging contemporary art.”

You might simply be riding your bicycle.

You might be walking beside the ocean.

You might be a teenager.

You might be a parent.

You might be someone in recovery.

You might have lost a mother, father, brother, sister, child or friend to an overdose.

And then suddenly, in the middle of your peaceful bike ride, you're confronted by disturbing messages involving pills and other deeply unsettling themes.

You didn't choose that.

That matters.

Art can be a trigger

We talk increasingly about trauma, mental health and triggers. We understand that certain images, words and situations can unexpectedly bring people back into painful experiences.

So why does that consideration suddenly disappear when we call something art?

A trigger doesn't require someone to have the same reaction as the artist intended.

The artist may be asking an intellectual question.

The person passing by may experience something completely different.

And we cannot see those consequences.

We don't know who went home upset.

We don't know who was reminded of a child's death.

We don't know who was reminded of a parent's overdose.

We don't know who is struggling with addiction themselves.

We don't know who is carrying grief that nobody around them can see.

The consequences are invisible.

And that is precisely why public art requires responsibility.

Vancouver is living through an overdose crisis

This is not happening in some abstract universe where pills are merely an artistic symbol.

This is Vancouver.

This is British Columbia.

We have watched families bury people because of the toxic drug supply.

Young people have died.

Teenagers and young adults have died.

Parents have lost children.

Children have lost parents.

Entire families have been permanently changed.

So when someone says, “It's only art,” I don't think that's good enough.

Context matters.

A gallery can present difficult material with warnings, context, programming and the understanding that people have voluntarily entered an exhibition.

A public bike route is different.

People should be able to ride beside the water without having disturbing material thrust into their field of vision.

Would we accept anything simply because it is art?

Here's where I become really uncomfortable.

If an image or message is disturbing enough that we would recognize it as potentially triggering in another context, does putting it behind the label ART magically remove the responsibility?

Would we accept a giant public sign showing a gun?

A suicide scene?

Graphic violence?

Drug paraphernalia?

Something designed to evoke someone's worst trauma?

At some point we have to ask:

Where is the line?

And I am not arguing that artists should be forbidden from making difficult work.

Quite the opposite.

Make it. Exhibit it. Debate it. Challenge us.

But please understand that location is part of the artwork.

If you deliberately put something in a public space where cyclists, joggers, pedestrians, families and young people are going to encounter it, you have made a decision about your audience.

You have made the public part of the work whether they agreed to participate or not.

The Biennale should reconsider

I am not calling for censorship of João Loureiro.

I am calling for responsibility.

If the words are causing distress, change the words.

If the concept depends upon disturbing messages, move the work somewhere appropriate.

If the location is essential to the concept, then perhaps the people responsible for commissioning and maintaining public art need to ask themselves whether the artistic benefit outweighs the unintended human cost.

Take it down or change the wording.

That isn't anti-art.

That is asking the people who put art into public spaces to remember that the public is made of real human beings.

Some are carrying grief.

Some are carrying trauma.

Some are carrying addiction.

Some are carrying the memory of someone they loved who never made it home.

And you cannot see any of that from a bicycle path.

That's the problem.

You don't know who you are triggering.

And if you don't know, you have a responsibility to think harder.

Art should make us think.

Absolutely.

But public art should also make the people who install it think.

Because artistic freedom is important.

So is human responsibility.

And sometimes the most responsible artistic decision is knowing when a work needs to change.

public art, Vancouver Biennale, João Loureiro, Vancouver Novel, public space, artistic responsibility, trauma triggers, overdose crisis, fentanyl crisis, community safety

#PublicArt, #VancouverBiennale, #JoaoLoureiro, #VancouverNovel, #PublicSpace, #ArtisticResponsibility, #ArtAndSociety, #TraumaAwareness, #OverdoseCrisis, #CommunityCare

You Shall Not Pass

 You Shall Not Pass: When Gandalf Came Knocking on Peter Thiel’s Door

Sometimes resistance comes with a megaphone. Sometimes it comes with a paintbrush. And sometimes… it arrives wearing a very impressive wizard hat.

On August 18, 2026, a group of protesters dressed as Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings gathered outside billionaire Peter Thiel’s home in Buenos Aires.

Their message?

“You shall not pass.”

Honestly, I love this.

Not because costumes magically stop billionaires. They don't.

But because art can make resistance impossible to ignore.

The Gandalf protest came after news that Thiel's investment fund had acquired roughly a 1% stake in Vista Energy, worth about US$76 million, giving him a significant financial interest in Argentina's Vaca Muerta shale oil and gas region.

And there is a delicious bit of symbolism here.

Thiel co-founded Palantir, a technology company whose name comes directly from Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. A palantír is a magical seeing stone — an object associated with extraordinary power and the ability to see things happening far away.

So what better way to greet the man behind Palantir than with a bunch of Gandalfs standing outside his mansion?

You shall not pass.

Art has always been a weapon against power

This is what I mean when I say:

#FightBackWithArt

and

#WarriorUpWithArt

Art doesn't have to be hanging inside a gallery.

It can be a costume.

A puppet.

A mural.

A song.

A photograph.

A dance.

A ridiculous hat.

A sign painted by hand.

A group of people turning up in character and making a billionaire wonder why Gandalf has suddenly appeared outside his house.

😂

That's art.

And it's political art at its best because it communicates something complicated without needing a 40-page policy paper.

You see Gandalf.

You know the reference.

You hear:

“You shall not pass.”

And suddenly an argument about oil extraction, wealth, technology, surveillance and corporate power becomes a story that millions of people can understand.

The billionaire has the money. The people have the imagination.

That distinction matters.

Power can buy advertising.

It can buy buildings.

It can buy companies.

It can buy enormous amounts of influence.

But it cannot buy your imagination.

And imagination is one of the most powerful democratic tools ordinary people have.

The Gandalf protesters understood something important:

If you want people to pay attention, don't simply repeat the language of the powerful. Create your own language.

They didn't stand outside Thiel's home holding a boring sign saying:

“We oppose investment in unconventional hydrocarbons.”

They became Gandalf.

That is infinitely more memorable.

And judging by the reaction online, it worked. The images spread rapidly, with people laughing, sharing them and asking exactly the question every good piece of political art should provoke:

“What the hell is going on here?”

And then they learn.

The joke has teeth

Of course, underneath the humour is a serious argument.

Vaca Muerta is one of the world's major shale oil and gas formations, and the expansion of fossil-fuel production there has environmental and climate implications.

Thiel's investment puts his money directly into that story.

And his growing relationship with Argentina — including his meeting with President Javier Milei and purchase of a home in Buenos Aires — makes the symbolism even more interesting.

But here's the thing about satire:

You can laugh and still be serious.

In fact, sometimes laughter is what gets people to listen.

The protest reportedly even incorporated songs and Tolkien references into the demonstration.

That's not weakness.

That's creativity.

This is what fighting back with art looks like

I've spent years believing that artists shouldn't simply decorate the world.

We should question it.

We should make people uncomfortable sometimes.

We should make them laugh.

We should make them stop scrolling.

We should make them think.

A painting can ask a question.

A mural can reclaim a wall.

A photograph can document something someone would rather have forgotten.

A song can carry an idea farther than a speech.

And a dozen people dressed as Gandalf can turn a billionaire's front door into an international news story.

That's the magic.

Not literal magic.

Human magic.

The ability to take an idea and turn it into an image that people cannot unsee.

So to the Gandalfs of Buenos Aires, I say:

Bravo.

You reminded us that protest doesn't always have to look like protest.

Sometimes it looks like art.

Sometimes it looks ridiculous.

Sometimes it makes people laugh.

And sometimes, standing outside the gates of enormous power, all you need to say is:

You shall not pass.

My kind of resistance

This is exactly why I keep coming back to:

#FightBackWithArt

#WarriorUpWithArt

Because the world doesn't need more people shouting at each other.

It needs imagination.

It needs courage.

It needs artists willing to pick up the brush, camera, microphone, costume, cardboard sign — whatever they've got — and say:

“No. This matters.”

The billionaires can have their palantíri.

We'll keep the paintbrushes.

And apparently, the wizards.

🧙‍♂️🎨

#FightBackWithArt #WarriorUpWithArt #Gandalf #PeterThiel #Palantir #VacaMuerta #Argentina #ArtAsActivism #PoliticalArt #ClimateJustice #ProtestArt #ArtistsForChange