The Patkaus are giants in the Canadian architectural world—their work is studied in universities around the globe—but they do not use their heft to produce 80-storey towers punctuating urban centres. Instead, quietly, the Patkaus focus on ideas: the pure, unembarrassed inquiry that precedes and infuses all truly great designs.
Geoffrey Farmer mines popular culture to create mixed-media masterpieces, garnering plenty of art crushes.
Authors—once permitted to sit in their hovel and emerge once a year for a writer’s festival—have become social entities.
Philanthropist Michael Audain’s new Audain Art Museum in Whistler is a study of British Columbia’s art of the past 200 years—and by extension, the story of B.C. itself.
It’s the most innocent doorstep in Canada. A line of senior citizens—eager as children at Disneyland—peer across manicured lawns and hold up shaky iPads to photograph the sweet and sunny house from Anne of Green Gables.
There were then two glowing screens atop my desk; three, if you count my yappy little phone. I was a magazine editor at the time—or, as we now say, a “content creator.” Yet I spent my days not so much creating content as reacting to it.
Painter Barry Oretsky is a matter-of-fact man, and he is not. At his Toronto studio, where he hunkers over a massive canvas, there is something both plain-spoken and mystical going on as he describes a small portion of his technique.
It’s hard to talk about art with Ian Wallace. Now 69, the man is a legendary figure in the galleries of Canada (and, indeed, the world). He’s often cited as the godfather of photoconceptualism, which is one of the more daunting, intellectual, and exacting territories of the art world.
There is a lot that happens in the five milliseconds before Milos Raonic smashes his tennis racket against the ball he just tossed above his head. The head itself (with once wild, now professionally coiffed, hair) is locked back in rapt attention. Six thousand sets of eyes in the arena are focused on that little yellow ball.