I Didn't Choose Art

It just happened

At The Ontario College of Art in the 1970’s, the two teachers who most interested me were in the Experimental Arts Department: Gary Michael Dault, and Royden Rabinowitch. They both taught in the Brinks building just to the South of the main campus. OCA was in need of more space so they rented the vacant Brinks building and located the Experimental Arts Department there - probably so it wouldn't bother anyone.

The Experimental Arts Department was at the trailing edge of all the commotion caused by the previous administration when former President Roy Ascot shook things up. I don’t think the Fine Art and Design Departments were convinced Ascot’s changes were for the better.

It looked as if we had been sent to the Brinks to die and I thrived on that neglect: The students didn't need to worry about grades, and they didn't need to take any courses in particular. Everyone just pursued their interests. I would go to the main building and pop in on an art history lecture/slide show, go up to Franklin Arbuckle’s print studio to learn about intaglio printing, or down to the wood shop for help with table saws and planers. It was wonderful.

The Brinks building was very industrial, and mostly made of heavy concrete so it looked like a foundation built above ground. That all seemed like a reasonable thing to do if your business is protecting valuables. There were a couple of large rooms, perhaps where the Brinks trucks would've been parked overnight.

It was built like a bunker and there was no furniture in the entire building, except for a few worn desks and chairs in some of the offices. There was one office with a glass desk, and circulating legends said this desk had been Roy Ascot’s. As the department head, Royden claimed it. All of us were left alone to be on the outside looking in: a perfect situation for an artist.

I made a very large painting which was an assembly of three 3’x3’ squares over three 1’x9’ rectangles all bolted together on the back. Unfortunately, I never photographed it so the only image I have is from the notebook pictured above. To me, they seemed like connected boxes that were both an assembled painting and a sculpture at the same time. Back in 1975, this was a perfectly appropriate kind of thing for an art student who pondered the mysteries of Minimalism in the 1970’s.

I installed this piece on the only available large wall I could find, which happened to be in the chairless ante-room of the famed glass desk office. That was where Gary and Royden had their classes while we students sat on the floor. My piece had a captive audience day after day.

Shortly afterwards, Royden made some steel box sculptures that looked suspiciously similar in concept but made of sheet steel and placed on the floor. At some point, he said to me, I think you would be better suited selling real estate or something. Perhaps other things were said, snitched, or implied prior to this exchange, but I have no other memories about it other than how surprised I was that he said such a thing.

Artists see stuff and they re-purpose it. That’s a perfectly reasonable thing for me, Royden, or any other artist to do. I had done it myself with that painting of boxes stacked on edge. I thought about Judd’s work a lot at the time, and it seems obvious to me now that the painting was about Judd, at the very least by putting a sculpture on the wall. That's how it goes, things just circulate.

I made a precursor to that big painting that was 21” x 17”, acrylic on canvas, including the frame, made of lath wrapped in canvas. It definitely needs restoration after 50 years in various closets. Or perhaps it's better just as it is.

Unlike Royden, Gary Michael Dault was always a perfect gentleman. He introduced us to new things such as Romanticism, Tatlin, and Bachelard. And I think we were destined to be associated because I would bump into him in unlikely places. He also has a sub stack, which I highly recommend.

Years ago Irene and I went to see Annie Hall on its opening weekend and we bumped into Gary in the lobby. That's not terribly surprising because Gary and I have similar taste, but the most peculiar meeting was when we were at Sandbanks Provincial Park walking along its enormous beach and there he was. Neither one of us were really beach kind of guys. We’re still friends.

I set up shop in the Brinks beside my friend Brian Kipping, a natural born painter if ever there was one. He was either working on a lovely little painting of a crab-apple tree in Spring bloom that he was copying from a small, low resolution image in a nursery catalogue, or a pencil drawing of a water spout (a tornado over water). That image came from a little book of clouds, useful to meteorologists I suppose. I fully acknowledge the influence Brian had on my work, and I thank him for it. He died quite young of an incurable disease and it's left a hole in my life.

At any rate, while he was busy there, I set about making a one foot cube of scavenged scrap wood beside him. It was to be attached to a 1 foot cube of cement. The plan had been to affix galvanized sheet metal strategically on some of the sides of the double cube to foster some doubt as to what material was where, and also what might be solid rather than an empty box. I was starting to develop the idea of home-made Minimalism. That seemed like an obvious rule to break with the added benefit of being much cheaper than hiring a fabricator. It ultimately resulted in my numinous objects of 1976 made with construction grade lumber, brass I had scavenged from somewhere, screws, finishing nails, and stove pipe enamel.

Numinous Object, enamel and brass on lumber, 21”x14”, 1976.

Work continued beside Brian, things were going well: The wood cube was complete, including some pieces sticking out to secure the future cement cube to the wood. I then built a plywood form to hold the cement. It seemed secure with some 2 x 4 bracing around the perimeter but I underestimated the weight of cement. The corners parted, it drooled on the floor like grey lava that needed to be cleaned up before it set. In my panic, I couldn’t find anything for additional bracing. It was a heavy failure.

While I was a student at OCA, I was also going part time to the university of Toronto, taking courses in philosophy and religious studies. U of T has fabulous libraries and when a book was available at Knox College instead of that huge sterile Robarts main library, I would walk to Knox because I found their library extraordinarily beautiful. There were narrow painted iron steps up to the stacks, the floors were glass blocks scuffed by 10,000 shoes, and the shelves were also painted cast iron like the stairs. And all of this was in a limestone building with leaded glass windows. It felt like entering the heart of thought.

Those were very good years. I was completely immersed in a world with no practical concerns. I can't think of a better way to live.

I've written other student reminiscences here: Gwartzmans, Occlusions, Green String and Keyserling, Arts Education, Purity, and The Cloud Metaphor