Scrolling further down the page I am met by a list of contributors. A l-o-n-g list. It reminds me that an online publication can contain more material than a physical copy [I should admit here that I’m still getting used to electronic magazines, not so much a Luddite as a dinosaur, I still convert kilos to pounds, meters to yards, kph to mph, centigrade to fahrenheit, I still begin writing with a pencil and paper, &etc] a helluva lot more material and I’m struck by the notion of a possible [plausible, even] Borgesian-type of infinity where a single article can provide a link or links to an(other) associated article or articles which link to further links and so on and so forth and suddenly [frighteningly] it’s down the rabbit hole Alice — “Dave, Dave, my mind is going, I can feel it.” At any rate, beyond this obvious flight of fancy, I fail to recognize any of the contributor names [though I do pick up on Terence and Camille Kinsella and I wonder if they are any relation to Fiona Kinsella and by extension to Paul Lisson, the intrepid editors who “lovingly curate” [[a phrase used regularly by my pal rob mclennan in Ottawa and which I’m fond of as well]] the magazine], nor am I given any insight as to what eaches contribution is. For this, I need to hit the link, which I do.
It appears that my initial assumption is correct. The issue is jam-packed with a variety of items that deal with the city of Hamilton at large. Scanning the titles, I can see that there are several that deal with the impact of COVID on the city and its inhabitants, approached in different ways through different genres: Comics, a COVID chronicle, paintings, illustrations, a photo essay, personal experiences by local artists, effects of COVID on local businesses, a sketchbook, a short film [which you definitely can’t include in a hard-copy magazine]. There are items of left-leaning politics that challenge the current Doug Ford administration — always a worthwhile pursuit, in my humble opinion, as I agree with Don DeLillo who says, “Writers must oppose systems. It’s important to write against power, corporations, the state, and the whole system of consumption and of debilitating entertainments. I think writers must oppose things, oppose whatever power tries to impose on us.” Even if it means biting the hand that feeds us [the little it feeds us, granted, but, nevertheless, bite, hard]. So. There are items of historical significance, including a piece dealing with The Hammer Gallery (1990-95), as well as an article [plus videos] of a band from the 1980’s/90’s local art-punk music scene, The Hated Uncles, neither of which I’d heard of before this present moment. Add to this a smattering of artwork, poetry and prose, and it is difficult to know where to begin.
Deciding to relax my literary brain a moment, and not wanting to go head-long into the pissoir that is the political arena, I choose to open “Woman with a Sketchbook, Rae Hendershot [1921-1988], an artist — and whose work — I had no previous acquaintance with on any level. It’s a fine article, straight-forward and not pressured by abstract confounding precious art-speak, and so, allows the painter to exist within the actual flesh&blood world, rather than outside of it. Rae’s paintings exemplify this beautifully, both with her subject matter and her technique. My particular favourites are “Self-Portrait” [oil], “Orphanage” and a portrait of her daughter “Katherine” [oil], though I was also impressed by her black and white sketches, which are all executed with quick, confident strokes of the pen or brush.
Having whet my appetite for art, I move the mouse to the article on The Hammer Gallery, where I’m promised something “raucous, rule-breaking, ground-breaking.” Fantastic! I click. It’s an excellent article [accompanied by terrific documentation photos of the “who” and the “what” of the gallery as well as copies of posters over the years] by Janice Kovar and Paul Enright that describes an art scene spectacle usually reserved for cities such as Paris, London or New York, not Hamilton, The Hammer Gallery being a venue that was “an intimate and inclusive place to display new and experimental work, and offered a much-needed exhibition space and an opportunity for rich dialogue.” The writers go on to say, “We remember having several parties, but one in particular, a New Year’s Eve party, in which we had over 150 people roll through our space, complete with wrestlers, musicians, writers, and theatre performers.” Yes! Transport me back [please] to those days of derelict buildings, low rents, open/friendly camaraderie and collaboration, and the romantic charm of innocent boho excess in the quest for artistic [and personal] freedom of expression.
Phew, I’m beat — “Dave, Dave, my mind is going. I can feel it” — and I’ve barely dipped my toe in the water; barely begun my exploration into this delicate delectable box of chocolates [excuse the Forrest Gump reference. Another slippage of the grey matter, I’m afraid]. I think, in fact, that it’s time for a glass of wine. Also, time to allow you, the reader(s), to seize the opportunity and make your own excursion into the latest issue of HA&L and arrive at your own ideas and conclusions about life and art in The Hammer. Cheers!
