Don’t Stop Believing is Vancouver-based artist Kevin Schmidt’s multi-media solo exhibition at the internationally recognized, contemporary Justina M. Barnicke gallery, curated by Barbara Fischer. Eight varying works of video, light installation, photography, and watercolour, are thematically connected via an examination of relationships between faith, fantasy, doctrine, belief, and nature. Beyond the innate power of the works themselves, curatorial decisions of exhibition space and layout, artwork installation, and gallery texts, all have profound impacts on audience engagement and experience. Without extensively interpreting each work, an examination of curatorial decisions in Kevin Schmidt’s solo show sheds much light on its experience-oriented nature.
        Curator Barbara Fischer’s achievement of powerful viewer engagement and emphasis on individual experience, is aptly in accord with writer and curator Robert Storr’s ideas, that in an exhibition “showing is telling” in order to allow artwork to “reveal itself[1].” Storr stresses the significance of space as “the medium in which ideas are visually phrased,” and installation as “presentation and commentary, documentation and interpretation[2].” In this regard, Fisher’s focus on space and installation makes observation the primary experience of the show. This is exemplified by a minimal use of texts and labels. Written curatorial voice is manifested in three unassuming texts, available to take upon entry or exit at the front desk: a simple map identifying each work, a four-page exhibition write-up detailing each work, artist aims and biographical information, and a one-page extended screening announcement. An extensive catalogue including these documents and Schmidt’s complete CV, press-related papers, and critical texts, is on view at the desk.
        The optional nature of the documents emphasizes personal experience over guided, forced involvement – unlike wall texts that can impose certain understandings. Furthermore, the gallery’s generally dim lighting makes it conducive to experience the work in the moment and examine texts later, thus allowing viewers to be sensitive to and observant of their surroundings, and furthering an active engagement with the work beyond the gallery. Indeed, the documents provide information that can direct viewers towards well-informed decisions and interpretations of the work, yet their discreet placement in the gallery gives prominence to initial experience. The only wall text, besides two exhibition titles, is a print of the apocalyptic proclamation of artwork Sign in the Northwest Passage in the hallway before its installation, making use of the unique gallery layout to extend the work’s questioning themes of belief versus reality into the context of the whole exhibit.
        Indeed, the layout of the Justina M. Barnicke Gallery uniquely tailors each piece, and rouses multiple facets of artwork interpretation and meaning. The gallery space is a white open palette of five rooms laid out in a circular, roundabout formation. The space provides direction through the gallery, without hindering re-approaching works in different orders. Rather, the layout encourages re-examination, as to exit one must backtrack by way of entrance. By means of this literal numerical increase of times, directions, and angles the works are viewed, the circular layout behooves re-engagement and prompts expansion of meaning. Ultimately, the layout does not contain the works to each room, but expands them into an active involvement with the greater context of the whole exhibition.
       The Justina M. Barnicke Gallery’s space itself is important in allowing the artworks to communicate with the audience. Upon entering the gallery, one is greeted by the bright, central reception desk and a clean, modest exhibition title silk-screened on the white walled interior in a cool blue and black. The entrance is minimalist and unobtrusive, lending focus to the works over the establishment. Each of the gallery’s five rooms is transformed by elements of lighting, sound, entranceway, and installation. The white, cubic, artificial spaces of the rooms allow the artworks to take on their own life. This constructed environment of the “white cube” gallery space has a profound effect of allowing the art to exist in an “eternity of display” as theorized by artist Brian O’Doherty; a gallery space “devoted to the technology of aesthetics” and “untouched by time[3].”
        The timeless nature of the gallery space emphasizes Schmidt’s questioning of relationships between real-time and fantasy, and expectation and endurance in Don’t Stop Believing. Questions of time are exemplified in Burning Bush, a five-hour video projection appropriating the Biblical tale of Moses receiving message from God though an angel in the fantastical form of a flaming bush – a bush miraculously imperishable despite fire’s natural destructive power. The video depicts a quiet desert scene of a bush on fire by means of prop stage flames, the scene eternally unfluctuating but for the gradual rotation of the sun. It ironically tests the viewer’s relationship between expectation of change and endurance of time, as well as faith and doubt. Flaming Bush’s length works towards its theme of expectation and patience inherent in the Christian faith, so alluded to by the anticipation for God’s voice to appear after the sign of the burning bush. By means of obvious use of stage flames Schmidt questions beliefs, and insinuates comparisons of the Biblical tale to man made fantasy. The video is projected and centred intimately in an open-entrance room, the dim light and airiness of the space complimenting the projection’s daylight glow. The room’s smaller size enlivens the natural sounds of the scene – birds, wind, rustling leaves. Indeed, the judicial balance of sound is key in an exhibition containing three video projections within a relatively small gallery space, and this proves successful, as the soft sounds of Burning Bush do not interfere with other works. Ultimately, the dim light and airy but confined space give the projection a believable aura.A bench invites viewers to absorb the work and decipher its believability. The open door entrance allows a graceful flow and coherence to the exhibition. The placement of the work on the way in and out of the gallery indeed beckons the viewer to re-engage a second time, perhaps noticing subtle changes in the real-time projection.

        Unlike the warm, natural glow created in Burning Bush, Angel of Light emphasizes and contrasts the gaudiness of theatrical spectacle and bright city lights with religious proverb in a large, dark, open room. Bright, neon text from the lyrics of the Christian rock song “Angel of Light” dances word-by-word and stanza-by-stanza along two walls – transforming the empty space into an engaging stage. The horizontal line installation of ceiling spotlights mimics theatre stage lights. Though no barrier exists, the theatrical aura created by stage lights and an open room keeps viewer’s gazes at an observant distance. The shrill electrical ring of the lights creates discomfort, but their florescence demands hypnotizing attention. Such deliberate installation choices promote motifs within the work of an unholy attraction to the spectacle of city lights and temptations of the flesh – and the irony of Christian beliefs expressed in the godless form of the rock song.
        A bench invites intimate experience with Epic Journey, an 11.5-hour film within a film of The Lord of the Rings movies projected in a boat at night. The dark entrance curtain, spacious room, and large cinematic projection uniquely relate and question ideas of the cinematic power to make fantasy believable. The transformation of the white gallery space into a black cinematic room exhibits Fischer’s technical mastery of creating an immersive audio-visual experience within the multi-media show. The low sound volume of the fantastical film against the reality of a boat bobbing in water make it difficult to distinguish what noise is from reality, supporting the artwork’s questioning of reality and fantasy. The length of the piece presents the audience, as in Burning Bush, with tensions between real-time and fantasy, endurance and expectation. Ideas of fantastical experience and lived experience in cinema are contrasted, and especially enhanced via the cinematic aura constructed by the space and installation.
        Sad Wolf’s small, hidden, corner closet space is key in advancing themes of the lonely outcast related in the video projection of a shunned wolf. The space features an obviously hand-made wooden-cased projector, its central position inhabiting half the room and filling it with heat and a rustic, woody scent. Factors of space, smell, heat, and projection create so moving and believable a scene that the experience compels strong emotion and sympathy from the viewer. The short video, six minutes in length, provides a cinematic experience entirely different from the open, comfortable, seated spaces of Burning Bush and Epic Journey. It does not play with the relationship between the fantastical and the real, but between different realities of space and time. The audience is not only in close contact with the projector, an item otherwise hidden in cinematic tradition, but forced to stand in the tight space around it, perhaps even stepping in front of and interrupting it to gain better sight of the projection. The viewer must become hyper aware of his or her own body in presence of the projection, which furthers an understanding of the human outcast the lonely wolf represents. Indeed, the viewer becomes outcast by the uncommonly close presence of technological equipment in the space of a contemporary, modern gallery, and by literal location in the small corner closet space of the gallery. Beyond the viewer, the strongly exhibited artist’s hand suggests a comparison of the artist to the reality of the outcast wolf.
        The installation of Sad Wolf develops a close relationship between the artist and viewer, much like the room it opens from: the brightly lit room displays a Canadian map of the upper west coast tacked on the wall; Sign in the Northwest Passage – a large framed photograph of an apocalyptic warning sign in the desolate arctic mounted on the wall; For Paul, For Huner & Cook Auction – two modestly framed and hung blue-collar themed watercolours; three camping chairs and a plastic table with three meek documentational Sign in the Northwest Passage artist books. The multi-dimensional layout of the room enhances motifs of distinguishing faith from reality, and art from everyday objects. The map and camping chairs speak to real, logistical, human experience; personally dedicated watercolours evidence relationships. Artist books and modest chairs invite the viewer to individually experience the human narrative behind the startling apocalyptic work – driving experience off the wall and into a believable reality. A focus on documentation, by means of the map, watercolours and artist books detailing the process of achieving the final work, enunciate Schmidt’s personal experience. They provide a narrative that works to prove the reality of the otherwise unreal looking Sign in the Northwest Passage – its position in the arctic seeming as unreal and fantastical as the apocalyptic proclamation it announces. Certainly, the presentation of work plays with tangible human engagement and strengthens the artworks’ juxtaposition of Christian faith based believability with the harshness of nature’s reality.

        Undoubtedly, the work of curator Barbara Fischer is highlighted in the layout and structure of Don’t Stop Believing; her own title displayed on exhibition posters and in gallery texts. Fischer’s modest touch allows the art to speak for itself, exemplified by the absence of wall text. Individual, deliberate installation – construction, space, sound, and medium – evidence extensive curatorial planning, and strengthen artworks’ inherent themes. The transformation of the space into separate yet coherent experiences also displays a technical mastery of audio-visual installation. Indeed, the size and scale of the projections would not produce so immersive an experience on small screens. A roundabout layout allows the viewer to engage and re-engage with each work from multiple angles, and move between the works in a comparative process. The external exhibition write-up expands thoughtful involvement with the works outside the gallery space. Don’t Stop Believing stresses the individual experience of each viewer, catering not only to a select contemporary art audience, but an extensive public by the gallery’s participation in public events like “Nuit Blanche,” and location within the University of Toronto’s cultural student based hub, Hart House. Sponsorship stemming from the Canada Council for the Arts (CCA), Hart House, and Justina M. Barnicke Gallery as noted on exhibition posters and texts, demonstrate the exhibition’s involvement with community and support of Canadian artists. Don’t Stop Believing’s rounded and engaging nature thus appeals to a mass public, touching on human themes of belief and disbelief within common religious and social contexts.

                                                                                                                               contact: katherine.tucker@utoronto.ca

    [1] Robert Storr, “Show and Tell,” in What Makes a Great Exhibition?, ed. Paula Marincola (Chicago: Reaktion Books, 2006), 23.
    [2] Ibid.
    [3] Brian O’Doherty, “Inside the White Cube,” Artforum, March 1976, 25, quoted in Iwona Blazwick, “Temple/White Cube/Laboratory” in What Makes               a Great Exhibition?, ed. Paula Marincola (Chicago: Reaktion Books, 2006), 128.