Artist Statement 

Moozhan Ahmadzadegan is an artist based on the unceded and traditional territory of the Syilx Okanagan People, also known as Kelowna, BC. His artistic interests center on themes of queer culture, Iranian diaspora, and cultural in-betweenness. This spectrum of ideas serve as a point of access to deepen his understanding of contemporary social issues. Moozhan’s practice encompasses painting, screenprinting, textiles, and installation practices. Through these mediums, he investigates how we respond and engage with the colonial social and cultural structures that shape identity on personal, national, and public scales.

In his exhibition, there hidden, far beneath and long ago, he examines traditional Iranian art such as Persian miniatures, patterns, rugs, architecture, and poetry, and reimagines them through a queer lens. This approach symbolically carves out space for queer narratives within historically heteronormative frameworks, addressing the erasure of queer identities in various contexts. These themes resonate with the increased condemnation of queer people felt globally, including within his immediate community, in so-called Canada, and by the present government of Iran—the contemporary source of his influences.

By queering traditional Persian visuals and narratives, Moozhan reinterprets, reimagines, and reconfigures these elements to create new meanings and queer-inspired narratives. Persian carpets are reimagined through the interplay of materials, contradicting a carpet’s original intentions. A carpet is wall mounted, scaled down through printmaking, and its tassels elongated with 15’ rope. With no set meaning, these objects offer the potential for new narratives. As designer and architect Jaffer Kolb describes it “[queerness is] an open mesh of possibilities, gaps, overlaps, dissonances, resonances, lapses, and excesses of meaning” (Pavka). With that in mind, Moozhan attempts to disrupt these traditional art forms and bring them into a contemporary context. there hidden, far beneath and long ago emphasizes creative play and experimentation, allowing Moozhan to move away from overtly literal interpretations and embrace fluidity. His work serves as an entry point for exploring critical dialogues surrounding queer identity, diaspora, and cultural hybridity. Through this approach, he invites viewers to engage with these themes in nuanced and open ways.

Citations:
Pavka, Evan. “What Do We Mean By Queer Space?” Azure Magazine, 29 June 2020, https://www.azuremagazine.com/article/what-do-we-mean-by-queer-space/

Acknowledgements:
I am grateful for the opportunity to work, play and create on the lands that have been tended to by the people of Sylix Okanagan Nation and to present this artwork as a guest on the lands of the xʔməΘḵʷəỵəm (Musqueam), Sḵwx̣wú7mesh (Squamish), and səlilwətaɬ (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations.

I acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts.

Artist Bio

Moozhan Ahmadzadegan is an emerging artist based on the unceded and traditional territory of the Syilx Okanagan people, commonly known as the Okanagan. He received a BFA from the University of British Columbia Okanagan with a Major in Visual Arts and a Minor in Art History and Visual Culture in 2019. His work explores Iranian diasporic and queer themes, most often engaging the mediums of painting, screenprinting, textiles, and more recently installation practices.

Tactile Object (welcome station)

Note: a laminated PDF in gallery of this transcript is also available.

Tactile Objects:

2D Site Map

3D Dollhouse Gallery Map

Tactile Arabesque Patterns: 

The following patterns appear in quilt-like squares on the large mounted and standing sculptures. The artist has also supplied one of the prints installed on the wall for tactile exploration.

• Pinwheel: A rectangular grid divided into squares, each square divided diagonally into two right triangles, one filled and one empty. They are arranged such that no two triangles of the same “colour” are adjacent. 

• Decorative Floral: A rectangular illustration of a cluster of flowers, most of which are roughly star-shaped, connected to stems and leaves that radiate outward in an organic arrangement. 

• Geometric: A rectangular illustration consisting of a dense pattern of intersecting heavy lines that zig-zag form a variety of star-shapes and other polygons in an irregular arrangement. 

• Decorative Interlocking Vines: A rectangular illustration consisting of rows of quatrefoil/clover-shaped forms placed adjacent to one another to create a chain link-like pattern. 

Carpet Series Screenprint Pattern: This pattern appears on top of the panels mounted on the east wall. 

A rectangular black and white illustration reminiscent of a decorative rug. Patterns are arranged in two concentric rectangles with a quatrefoil/clover-shaped form in the center. Within these forms, multiple repeating and symmetrical patterns depict flowers, leaves, and similar decorative elements. 
The ropes beyond the tactile tape near the middle and east side of the gallery (left of where you entered)  can be gently touched. You will need to kneel or bend down to touch them.

Creative Access Audio Tour

Transcript note: The Indigenous nations are written in English to reflect that this tour prioritizes non-visual or Blind visitors who may be accessing the tour with a screen reader. We both respect ongoing language revitalization efforts and that updating assistive technology to allow for cultural respect and safety is slow and imperfect. Thank you for your patience.

Introduction

Welcome to grunt gallery’s creative access audio tour of there hidden, far beneath and long ago, the exhibition project by artist Moozhan Ahmadzadegan. My name is Kay Slater. I am a white, hard-of-hearing, queer settler on these stolen and unceded Coast Salish lands, the ancestral territories of the Hunquminum and Squamish Snichim speaking peoples. As the accessibility and exhibitions manager and preparator here at grunt, I assisted in installing this work. I have reviewed this script with both our artist and curator, but any pronunciation errors or cultural misrepresentations are on me. We welcome your feedback as we develop more creative access tools for our gallery and exhibitions.

This tour has four chapters. The fourth chapter is split into four parts, which allow you to jump back and forth through the exhibition descriptions when listening online or on the gallery’s audio players. The gallery transcript allows you to scrub the complete tour file using timestamps. At the start of each chapter, you will hear the sound of a page-turning:

[Page turning]

In Chapter One, I will detail the space and how to enter it and orient yourself in the gallery. In Chapter Two, I’ll describe our welcome station and the objects available for you to use and touch. Chapter Three covers our facilities, washrooms, and C-Care stations. If you’re ready to tour the show, you can skip to Chapter Four, where I will read the wall didactic and walk you through the show, but if you are skipping ahead, be aware that the welcome station has a tactile map to help you navigate this tour. Chapter four is broken up into parts as I move to different artworks in the show. When I move to a new artwork, you will hear this sound of chimes:

[Mystical chimes]

Let’s get started with Chapter One.

[Page turning]

Chapter 1: Physically Entering the Space

When approaching grunt gallery at 350 East Second Avenue from the accessible drop-off on Great Northern Way, follow the sidewalk to the building’s main entrance. Turn left at the entrance, and you’ll find us at the first exterior door, unit 116. A low-grade ramp leads to our front double doors, with automatic door buttons at waist and ankle level on a post to the right. Be cautious of the small lip at the threshold, which is a potential tripping hazard. Excluding Thursdays, masks are now optional and only recommended indoors at grunt; if you forgot yours, we have extras near the entrance and will not enforce their use outside of Thursdays for low-sensory and voice-off visiting hours.

Welcome to grunt gallery! We are situated on the occupied, stolen, and ancestral territory of the Hunquminum and Squamish Snichim speaking peoples, specifically the land of the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil Waututh peoples and families. We are grateful to be here

The current show features painted works with ropes that dangle and lay on the floor on the left side, and a free-standing sculpture in the far left back corner. A tactile tape runs on the floor to mark any tripping hazards. If you require assistance and are not greeted by staff upon entry, please call for help. Staff are in the office and will assist you as soon as possible. We are always happy to walk the show with you.

The public gallery space is a white cube with 20-foot walls on three sides and a 12-foot south wall that opens 8 feet before reaching the ceiling, providing light to the loft office space beyond. The office is not visible from the gallery, except for a large convex mirror that allows staff to see visitors. A tone rings when people enter the space.

On low-sensory and voice-off Thursdays, a staff member will be available but will not greet you, allowing you to move at your own pace. If you are non-visual, call out for help anytime. If you are sighted, please silently approach a staff member. We have hard-of-hearing staff on site, so a visual wave may be required to get their attention.

[Page turning]

Chapter 2: grunt gallery’s welcome station

As you enter the gallery, immediately to the right on the west wall is a sanitization and welcome station. The station is white with black labels in English, high-contrast icons, and some braille. There are three open shelves, including the top surface, and the two shelves below can be pulled out towards you. Below that are two closed drawers with d-hook handles.

On top of the welcome station is our gallery spider plant, Comos, who is watered on Wednesdays. The top surface holds a leather-bound guestbook with a black pen, a bottle of hand sanitizer, and a box of masks with tongs. A digital tablet lets you browse the exhibition page on our grunt.ca website or access our Big Cartel eCommerce store.

On the first pull-out shelf, on the left, is the exhibition binder with large print information about the space, the show, the artist, a transcript of this tour, and the exhibition map. On the right are a series of tactile objects. Our tactile objects are creative access tools designed to create a point of entry for non-visual, Blind, or partially sighted guests who may wish to experience the work through touch or by bringing the objects close. However, tactile objects are also sensory objects that can be used by sighted folks who wish to feel a connection to the work and those who enjoy or are supported by having objects in their hands to touch. 

Here, there is a large multimedia print here to touch. It uses acrylic and gouache paint as well as UV screen-printed images. This tactile object is associated with works that are hung on the wall and in the sculptural installation. The artist shared this print to present the textures used in the sculptures and illustrations. Two additional smaller tactile drawings isolate some of the patterns used.

Four additional sheets have tactile translation of the installed work on the east wall, depicting the patterns screen printed on the wall-mounted works, and repeated across the 2 panels.

These tactile objects are provided as a sensory point of entry into the works and are not necessarily representative of the work or equivalent to experiencing the works through explorative touch. We do not present these objects assuming that you have never had access to them, but we also do not assume that you have had these experiences. Smell them, hold them, observe them. Use them however you’d like as you engage with the show. This show, in particular, can be touched with a gentle hand, but these objects allow for a close examination and manipulation of details.

On the second pull-out shelf, to the left, are laminated maps of the space. Also within these shelves is a 3D map of the gallery and a flat 2D tactile map of the entire first floor space. Use the tactile maps to follow along with the creative access tour while in gallery. Works are indicated by unique shapes glued to the map with pauses and descriptions with braille markers A through F. You are currently at location A.

To the right of the maps are two Yoto audio players with large, friendly buttons. These players contain this tour and audio of any text within the binder. On the wall to the left of the welcome station is a scannable QR code or tappable NFC tag that links to this audio tour. On Thursdays, the Yoto players are moved to their carrying cases for use with headphones.

Below these are the two closed drawers. The first contains carrying cases with straps for headphones and the Yoto audio devices, allowing hands-free use.

The lowest drawer contains earmuffs for large and small bodies, specifically for those with noise sensitivities.

That concludes the description and tour of the welcome station. In the next chapter, I will tell you about our washrooms and c-care stations. If you prefer to continue with the exhibition tour, skip to Chapter Four.

[Page turning]

Chapter 3: The Facility and Amenities

If you need to use the washroom, it’s at the far end of our space. Exit the gallery through the doorway and follow the west wall (to your right when you enter). Pass by the media lab, and when you reach the back wall, take a left and walk through the small kitchenette to our single-room, gender-neutral washroom.

If you’re using the 2D tactile map, the washrooms are located at E.

An automated door button to the right holds the washroom door open for 14 seconds. Inside, to the left of the door, is the lock button, which creates a visual indicator that the washroom is in use. To exit, you can open the door manually or hover your hand over a button above the sink, below the mirror.

Near the exit button is a vertical cubby stack of supplies. Please help yourself to items like hair ties, disposable floss, sanitary napkins, and condoms. This is part of our C-Care program, Community Care for Artist-Run Events.

Speaking of C-Care, we have a tea station in our media lab. 

If you’re using the 2D tactile map, the C-Care tea station is at location F.

A television is wall-mounted above the tea station. This is a Satellite Screen of our public and permanent Mount Pleasant Community Art Screen located at the corner of Kingway and Broadway. The screen is a community urban art screen in Mount Pleasant, and you can learn more at mpcas.ca The presentations are all silent video with captions for sighted engagement when either watching here or passing by in the noisy city landscape. If you would like any of these vignettes described, please call out to our staff.

Also here is a colouring station for people of all ages. Take a pause and a break here before returning to the gallery and continuing the tour. 

We now arrive at Chapter Four, where I will begin the exhibition tour next to the welcome station, as if I had just entered the gallery, stepped right to sanitize my hands, and grabbed the tactile map.

[Page turning]

Chapter 4: The Exhibition Tour

4A. About the Show

Moozhan shares: “Queer culture and Iranian diasporic themes have been the focus of my practice for the last few years. I do not have specific inquiries, nor do I seek specific answers, but rather I attempt to create a point of access for both myself and the viewer. Playing with these themes has allowed me to deepen my connection to queer culture, my Iranian heritage, and myself. Working with these ideas has also presented opportunities for me to explore interdisciplinary approaches, strengthening my material and conceptual explorations while also embracing experimentation. I am excited by the interplay of materials and the discoveries I have been making in my practice.”

If you’re using the tactile map, we are at location A near the front of the gallery near the entrance.

On the wall behind and above the welcome station is wall didactic text in black vinyl that reads:

there hidden, far beneath and long ago

Moozhan Ahmadzadegan

Curated by Whess Harman

February 20 – April 5, 2025

The show’s title is in lowercase letters.

Within the exhibition binder at the welcome station is the exhibition abstract or artist statement and artist bio, as well as the timestamped transcript of this tour. 

Within the space, its walls a neutral gallery white, are two works across 3 walls. The works are bright and colourful, and the shades are up, allowing for natural light to come in from the busy street outside. If you need assistance moving through the space or viewing any work, please feel free to call out for help while on-site or contact a staff member for assistance before arriving in the gallery.

Let us move through the show.

[ Mystical Chimes ]

4B. One thing is certain and the rest is lies – west

If you’re using the tactile map, we are moving from the welcome station (A) to location B, facing the west wall.

Following the west wall (left) from the welcome station about 2 metres or 6 feet away is a large, painted pine plywood panel has been installed about 2 feet or 60 cm up from the ground. In the middle and offset a little right is an arched window opening backlit  with bright, sugar-drink pink LED lights. The lit cutout creates a soft, glowing halo on the wall behind it. It is playful and striking, 4 feet wide by 7 feet tall or 120 by 220 centimetres work, installed in the centre of an otherwise empty expanse of wall.

This work is part of the installation titled: One thing is certain and the rest is lies.

Moozhan shares: “This architectural shape derives from Persian miniature illustrations, where the scenes are painted with peculiar flatness. I use peculiar to describe them as sometimes they do not often make sense in terms of space, scale and perspective. High horizon lines, lack of vanishing point, and irregular scale contribute to this. With this artwork, I attempted to replicate the flatness of the source material.”

Our curator, Whess Harman, asked Moozhan, “Your work is non-figurative. Is there a particular way you think about that, in terms of referencing Persian miniature?”

Moozhan responded: “Yeah, I don’t. I want to invite viewers into a new world, and whatever that world is is up to them. I don’t want it to be too specific, because I want people to use their imagination and their own interpretation.”

Whess added: “Yeah, I think scaling up the work and making it more of a structural piece also kind of lends to that idea of entryways and entering new spaces.”

By queering these traditional Iranian aesthetics, Moozhan is reimagining Persian visual heritage through a contemporary lens. The radiant pink light, often associated with synthetic, modern materials, contrasts with the historical references embedded in the patterns. The cutout, illuminated yet empty, invites us to consider themes of absence, longing, and the spaces queer identities navigate within cultural histories.

The textures painted can also be experienced using the tactile objects at the welcome station. A light hand can touch this work, but it is installed on the wall by a cleat and not secured for extended tactile exploration.

This work, One thing is certain and the rest is lies, includes a few different pieces besides this large panel, including images that have been tacked onto the wall and a freestanding panel near the back wall.

Let’s continue exploring this work with the installation near the back wall of the gallery.

[ Mystical Chimes ]

4C. One thing is certain and the rest is lies – south

If you’re using the tactile map, we are moving from west wall (B) to location (C), near the back of the gallery to the left of the door to the media lab.

Following the west wall left toward the back (or south-west) corner of the gallery is a door that leads through and into our media lab. You’re welcome to continue through here, grab a tea or take a break. I’ll continue in the gallery and pivot left so I am facing the back, south wall. If you’re touching the west wall, there is a drop back to show you’re in the doorway and about to leave the gallery. Turn left and follow that wall until you feel paper and then step back, facing it. Once positioned about 2 metres or 6 feet back from that wall, and then stepping a few inches to my left, I am near the 2nd panel of the work in the installation titled One thing is certain and the rest is lies.

It is a freestanding piece that shares the similar tall, arched silhouette and bright colour palette of its wall-mounted counterpart. It is supported by two perpendicular triangular feet (like a cross or X) whose edges are coloured with a shocking neon pink along the edges, their faces left unpainted, showing the natural wood. The panel stands upright on the floor, allowing us to walk around it, the piece painted on both sides. Tactile floor tape marks the approach and perimeter of the piece, but it is also secure enough to be cane detectable, all sides firmly touching the ground.

This panel is not illuminated, but the colours and patterns are bright and command attention. It uses the same colours and patterns but in larger square, quilt-like patches. 

Behind the sculpture on the south wall, a mural of printed, poster-sized images unfolds. Each 18 x 24” piece displays a distinct pattern, all sharing the same bright colours found in the two large panels nearby. Together, they transform the 12-foot wall into something like a warm, inviting quilt. Some of these patterns appear in the tactile objects at the welcome station, inviting touch and deeper engagement.

Whess, again asked Moozhan, “I was just wondering if there’s any significant meaning for each individual pattern or if it’s more like an exploration of using different patterns?”

Moozhan responds: “It’s both. So in a lot of these miniatures or Iranian art, very traditional art patterns are very big. In architecture, painting, and textiles, you see these patterns quite often. In the miniatures, specifically, there’s always all these different mixes of patterns – on different buildings, and clothing that the figures might be wearing. I love the mix of all the patterns, and I wanted to really explore that. And a lot of these patterns often have different meanings, but sometimes they are inspired by Islam. For example, where these repeating geometric patterns are ever-expanding and they represent that beauty and that closeness to God. For reference, I am not Muslim, nor is my family, but we come from an Islamic country, so there is a lot of cross-cultural influence there. Many of the floral patterns, again, represent gardens, and gardens were in another idea of closeness to God or closeness to beauty or otherworldly.”

For me—Kay, your narrator—someone who is white, queer, and has spent most of my life on the west coast, where nature is wrapped in the damp, deep greens of cedars and pines—these patterns evoke gardens unlike any I’ve known. Some designs feature interlocking vines; others display geometric shapes—triangles repeating across the surface. The varying colours suggest hidden blooms tucked among dense leaves, vibrant and unexpected.

There’s a brightness here that feels both festive and comforting. The colours transport me: I imagine a fragrant, spice-filled outdoor gathering, somewhere far from here yet somehow close—surrounded by loving friends with a taste for neon, warmth, and joy.

Whess asked Moozhan, “I think what’s really striking about a lot of your work is the deliberate use of quite fluorescent colours. It feels very alive and lively. Is that a part of it? How did you select colours?

Moozhan answered: “Typically, these patterns would be very colourful, but not quite as vibrant in terms of some of the very neon or artificial colours that are being used here, but this was an experiment for myself to use more colour. To be more playful, not just with the patterns and colours, but with size, scale and materials. But I just really wanted to be really bold and strong and maximalist and sort of be a bit too much for the viewer, in a way. You might stare at it for too long, and it might hurt your eyes, but I just really wanted to play with that boldness and that maximalist approach.”

Let’s turn left and face the east wall, left of where you entered at the front door of the gallery.

[ Mystical Chimes ]

4D. Persian Carpet Series

If you’re using the tactile map, we are turning from the south wall installation (C) to location (D), facing the east wall. 

Pivoting left to face the east wall, I feel along the floor for the tactile tape that marks the edge of the other work installed in the gallery. The work titled Persian Carpet Series, is a three-panel series, with each piece mounted at varying heights. From each piece, six elongated carpet tassels are suspended. These thick, heavily braided cords extend from the bottom edge of each panel, draping toward the floor and sprawling outward in undulating, looping paths, each ending in a luscious and dense tassel. The cords overlap and rest in bunching serpentine lines. Tactile floor tape outlines the perimeter of the installation to enhance cane detection and mitigate tripping hazards, but the artist welcomes us to make gentle contact with the cords, encouraging a tactile exploration of their dense texture.

Each of the panels is slightly taller than wide, 20 x 24 inches. The triptych, 3 works in series, are all installed much higher than wall works are usually installed, but sighted visitors tend to stand closer to works installed at the typical 56” off the ground. With the ropes coiling on the ground, it requires people to stand back and it is more comfortable to take in the work that is installed above “eye level”, defined by conventional non-disabled, median European measurements. 

I’ll start with a colour description, going from left to right or nearest the window on the north wall, and then over to the right near the freestanding installation. 

Pink (left) Panel: Positioned closest to the gallery’s north side near the wall of the window, this panel is hung slightly lower than the others, about 62 inches or 90 centimetres above the ground. Under the Persian-inspired floral and geometric motifs is a gradient of colours that transitions from soft, light peachy tones at the top to rich royal magenta at the bottom. From its base, six braided cords—alternating between a deep and bright pink—cascade downward, gathering loosely on the floor. This panel stands apart from the others, with more space separating its neighbouring green print.

Green (middle) Panel: Installed highest among the three, this piece is adorned with blue-green Persian patterns on top of an intense lemon gradient that fades into a soft lime. Its cords alternate deep dark night blue and sunshine yellow strands, snaking across the floor in intertwining lines that echo the panel’s intricate visual patterns.

Purple/Pink (right) Panel: Mounted between the other two in height and located furthest to the right, approximately 48 inches or 120 centimetres away from the nearby freestanding panel installation, this work features a gradient of soft floral violet tones blending into soft bubblegum pinks. The cords extending from this work alternate between a deep summer flower purple and soft floral candy pinks, their coils on the floor forming subtle overlaps with the adjacent rope arrangements.

All three works have decorative surfaces on top of their colour gradients that mirror traditional Persian carpet motifs.

Moozhan says the following about these works: “I created a Persian carpet printed on paper again with very bold colours. Each has a gradient and each has a different colour. These screen prints are on paper, but they are mounted to a wooden cradle board, and each has six tassels coming down from the bottom, collecting on the floor and overlapping. The idea here was to create a Persian carpet that was not functional, that betrayed its original idea or the intention of the object. So mounting them on the walls, making the carpet itself very small and not with textiles, and then elongating the tassels to be 15 feet long… thereby, I have made this object no longer a functional carpet!

With no set meaning, these objects offer the potential for new narratives.”

[ Mystical Chimes ]

With that, we conclude the described tour of there hidden, far beneath and long ago. Later, during the exhibition’s run, we will have a curator’s essay and curatorial fellow commentary, as well as a response from author Asia Jong, available in the exhibition binder and digital assets.

Thank you so much for joining us on this creative access audio tour! We’d love to hear your thoughts on this experience and how we can improve it. If you carried any tactile object(s) during the tour, please return it to the welcome station! We acknowledge that we cannot be everything to everyone and respect that our creative access explorations may not serve your needs. You can reach us at access@grunt.ca or chat with any of the staff on-site with any feedback you have the capacity to provide.

Thank you again.

Curatorial Essay

by Whess Harman

We knew we wanted to put Moozhan’s show in the gallery for the spring. In the rain-drenched slide over from winter to spring and the city’s skies are low canopies of clouds sweeping across the glass and concrete, the idea of walking into the gallery to be greeted by vibrant colours and dizzying, intertwining patterns felt not warm and inviting so much as a welcome neon shock to break the mud and grey. It was the right choice; I’m not sure I’ve ever spoken to so many new visitors off the street who came in because they were so intrigued by the artwork that they couldn’t resist taking a closer look.

When Moozhan explains to me the different elements within the exhibition, it’s not lost on me that there is a practice of constructing a distinctly queer space out of this work despite the lack of overt references to queerness. There are no flags and no slogans, no representations of queer bodies; and yet, when I am standing within the space I feel a sense of being invited and held within the safety of the artwork because of the way Moozhan’s work blooms throughout the exhibition space. Though the patterns are fixed and largely non-figural, they feel lively in how they merge together recognizable traditions in Iranian art but are enacted with a hand-painted looseness. Pushing the colour scale towards neon bends the work towards an immediacy that agitates one into a state of excitement, a distinct difference from the coordinated calm of Persian gardens. These gentle subversions feel distinct to Moozhan’s sensibilities about his own identity and cultural heritage, a way to claim space that doesn’t require the force of a shout. I don’t mean to decry our battle cries; I enjoy the catharsis of shouting in the streets, but I also appreciate and believe in a diversity of approach. The queerness of this work moves slowly but insistently, there for those who recognize how it, we, are threaded through the places and communities we move through.

This work comes at a complicated time; the right-wing is off the deep end and the queer community itself is not unified in their support and recognition of trans and intersex identities especially. There is much to be said about this that goes beyond the purview of a curatorial introduction to the work, but to create a garden, to me, speaks towards our better impulses toward one another. These works feel like they were made not with the intention to instruct an outside audience but instead to exist as a reprieve for those who need it. The word “sanctuary” comes to mind, both in its definition as a refuge from persecution but also in its usage as a nature reserve. The creature in me craves these spaces where queerness can live accosted, unabated and not just tolerated but celebrated.

Most of the conversations I have with artists are interjected with the escalating dangers of authoritarian governments, that constant, consuming feeling of being caught between not doing enough while rapidly eating all the information we can to brace for what’s coming. What is the point of us artists and curators and what we do? Do we need the exhibition, the publication, the project? What do we offer in these moments?

We offer a diversity of strategies. We invite one another into our sanctuaries and gardens. We do the exhibition, the publication, the project, and we learn about one another while we do it–it’s easier to brace for the wave when you recognize and love the ones who are standing beside you.

Exhibition Essay

by writer, Asia Jong

I sit in the living room and see the construction crew in hi-vis vests gradually build the apartment across the street. Over the period of two years, what began as a hole in the ground has become a ten-story structure rising higher than any of the buildings surrounding it, including the top floor of my house. Like a desktop background, it gradually shifts, emerging one chunk at a time in the frame of my window. I didn’t know the building was going to exist when I moved to this neighborhood. But I watch as piece by piece, my supposed exterior turns into something much different from what it once was.

A block of grey and caramel aluminum siding fills the entire sightline from the second-floor window like a giant Quadratini wafer. The pattern of its crisscrossing facade and perfectly dispersed windows becomes a flattened plane of repeating lattice that seems to arrive within the living room itself. Insidiously, it slips through the glass, unfolding across the interior like new wallpaper. If all I knew was this view—one limited to the window’s frame—the structure could easily keep on going, repeating its pattern in endless tessellation. And for a moment, my negation of a perceptual understanding indulges its expansion. Linear tendrils weave in squared multiplication as it extends first over the curb, crossing the road past the neighbour’s lawn and then ascending above the skyline. It fills somewhere between here on this block and an undefinable expanse—ceaseless and never-ending. 

For about the same duration as the construction of the building, an ornamental paper star lamp has been hanging from my window. The timing of its arrival into my home coincided with the beginning of the build. Despite its existence as seasonal winter decor, it has inexplicably stayed up throughout the years and adamantly resisted the monthly comments that “we should probably take that down.” I tend to forget about its existence until I return home in the evening—my pseudo-North Star. I can see the glow shining from the sidewalk and, on the other side, the towering building. To my relief, in the time I’ve left my house, it hasn’t yet subsumed the whole block. But just in case, I’ll keep that star up.

—

In the exhibition, there hidden, far beneath and long ago, architecture and objects struggle with their forms, yearning to give birth to something new. The works by Moozhan Ahmadzadegan draw from patterning and architectural elements from Persian miniature paintings and carpets, but here, the forms grapple with an existence not confined by tradition or shape. Vibrant hues of electric blues and lime greens contrast against gradients of pink, filling the room with motifs of flora, windmill blocks, triangular patchwork, and 12-pointed stars. The boldness radiates an ornamental elation that is playful in its vibrancy but also unyielding in its multiplicity—an undertone of defiance seeps through the paint. There is something insistent in the way the forms press forward, in the way they refuse containment as they replicate themselves onto the walls around them. 

In the work Untitled (one thing is certain and the rest is lies) (2023), what was once a two-dimensional representation of three-dimensional architecture is now wrenched back into sculptural form—ripped from the page (or canvas) and stretched beyond its origins. This regurgitation seems to have carried a few indicators of its source. It maintains the traces of its architectural structure but shifts into a kaleidoscopic rhythm as repeated patterns emerge, overflowing without care for its container. There is a shameless process of reanimation. These are not just forms but gestures towards a place of mutated transformation, of queering what was once rigid, of unsettling the expectations placed upon history and its ornamentation. 

At the same time, the works seem to express an agency of their own. As if they had gotten fed up with getting stepped on all the time, the carpets blatantly reject the notion of staying on the ground. In a state of mid-evolution, the carpets in Ahmadzadegan’s Carpet Series (2024) defy their purpose and triplicate as if they have undergone a type of mitosis, a division of their cellular structures. They begin their new life by climbing up the walls, leaving a trail of tassels behind them. Instead of falling into line with their predetermined existence, they find reinvention as wall hangings and obliterate their usefulness as floor mats altogether by actively working against their intended purpose. Here, they create elongated and enlarged tassels that tangle onto the floor like some sort of tripping hazard. The carpets are not just decorative objects to adorn the gallery or a home; they are interruptions, provocations that demand presence and seek disruption. 

Caught somewhere between past and present, between surface and structure, between confinement and expansion, Ahmadzadegan’s work exists in a state of becoming. In this in-betweenness, custom is distorted and unravelled, desperate to create enough room to assert one’s own existence within a lineage of tradition. We have no control over the narratives we inherit or the structures that rise around us in a city driven by relentless development, but we can carve out space in the gaps—reshaping, resisting, and redefining the boundaries imposed upon us, however big or small that act might be.

Artist Statement 

Audio note: The following artist statement was written by exhibiting artist Teresa Vander Meer-Chassé – audio read by exhibitions manager Kay Slater

CONTENT WARNING: 

This exhibition includes themes of loss, grief, mourning, and substance use.

Hǫǫsǫǫ dìik’analta’ de’ (take care of yourself)

As a way to process grief and loss, I have created a literal and metaphorical shelter that has been reclaimed, reconstructed, and revitalized. Having found myself in deep internal conflict following the loss of yet another family member to substance use, I invite you to enter Nee’ Shah | Our House to witness the importance of awakening sleeping materials as a method of navigating loss. Through the processing of natural materials with my family, I attempt to empower you to witness universal cycles of loss, grief, and mourning.

By way of patches, I translate text I have sent to family members that I have lost to or are currently experiencing substance use disorder. I do not personally experience substance use disorder; I am only a witness and a loved one to many that are experiencing or have experienced substance use disorder. Symbols, colours, and patterns that represent my Upper Tanana, Frisian, and French families and communities are present throughout the tent and act as protection, grounding, and connection. Natural materials were collected and processed collaboratively as a family and became a daily ritual in my self-growth and grief recovery. 

Nee’ Shah | Our House began while pursuing my Master of Fine Arts at Concordia University under the guidance and influence of my Grandma Marilyn John. The exhibition explores themes of grief, loss, and remembrance. A special tsin’’įį choh (big thank you) to everyone that has stood by my side as I grieve the recent passings of my Grandma Marilyn John, Brother Stewart Chassé, Uncle Patrick Johnny, Uncle Peter van der Meer, and Cousin Duncan Stephen. 

Thank You:

I have been blessed with an abundance of teachers throughout my life, who share with me teachings, memories, stories, and language. This journey would not have been possible without contributors and supporters. Tsin’įį choh to my Ancestors, my family, my friends, my moosehide and fish tanning teachers, my Upper Tanana language teachers, and White River First Nation.

Artist Bio

Audio note: The following artist bio was written by exhibiting artist Teresa Vander Meer-Chassé – audio read by exhibitions manager Kay Slater. The bio begins with text written in Tanana and is not read in this audio recording.

Dineh k’èh Ddhälh kit Nelnah shǫǫsį’, nòodlèey k’èh Teresa Vander Meer-Chassé shǫǫsį’. Ts’òogot Gaay ts’änh diht’eh. Tthèe Tsa’ Niik ts’änh diht’eh. Amiskwaciy Wâskahikan dänh shih hǫǫłįį. Kwanlin dänh nìidhihshąąn. METULIYE Camosak tah huht’įįn. Shnąą Ttthìi’ Elgąy mǫǫsį’. Shnąą wunąą stsǫǫ Stsaay Ch’idzǜü’ mǫǫsì’, wunąą Nii’ii Jaiy, wunąą Laats’iih’ol, wunąą Gàan Dànihtl’įǫ. Shnąą wuta’ sts’aay Sid van der Meer moosi’. Shta’ Wilfred Chassé mǫǫsį’. Shta’ wunaa stsǫǫ Helen Chassé mǫǫsį’. Shta’ wuta’ sts’aay Louis Chassé mǫǫsį’.

Teresa Vander Meer-Chassé is a proud Niisüü Member of White River First Nation from Beaver Creek, Yukon and Alaska. She currently resides on Songhees, Esquimalt and W̱SÁNEĆ Territories in Victoria, British Columbia, although she travels home to the Yukon as often as she can. She is an Upper Tanana, Frisian, and French visual artist and curator. Her visual arts practice is invested in the awakening of sleeping materials and the reanimation of found objects that are rooted in understandings of identity. She has recently been exploring themes of grief, loss, family, community, and relationships in her installation works. 

Curatorial Introduction (Essay), by Curator Whess Harman

Audio note: The following introduction was written by curator Whess Harman – audio generated through ElevenLabs AI narrator “Bill”.

One of the questions we spend a lot of time on while reviewing exhibition proposals during our open call is why grunt, why this project here and now? For some shows this is easier to decipher than others but it is always the hope that the artist has some of their own reasoning as well for wanting to engage with our space. Teresa was very clear in her proposal about why grunt; her proposal was honest and thoughtful in thinking through the complexity of grief when losing loved ones through houselessness and substance use, while also being mindful of what this conversation means in a place like so-called Vancouver; it’s been nine years since the declaration of a public health emergency regarding overdose deaths in our communities, with the Downtown Eastside not being the only place that this crisis is occurring, but certainly an area which receives the ire of public and political attention for it.

Teresa is frank in stating that she is not someone who experiences substance use disorder and positions herself as a witness. This is not to suggest passivity. In many Indigenous cultures, both hers and mine, being a witness is not only a role given to someone trusted but serves as a crucial function in many of our cultural practices. To mark something as needing a witness(ing) is to ascribe to it an importance and to officiate a place within communal memory. I’ve always liked this method; not everyone is gifted with such a long and detailed memory to remember things equally, so signifying certain moments and then assigning the act of witnessing seems like a sensible way to organize collective memory. Being called to witness is not especially about prestige or personal honour; it is a service to your community and recognized as such. Remember what happened, who was there, what we were gathered for. Remember it in detail, and tell the story well when called upon to do so.

The privileges of working in institutions and the resources it can offer will not insulate you against loss, not if you’re paying attention. In this way, the “why grunt?” question is answered through knowing our community; many of us have lost loved ones in our families and arts communities to both houselessness and overdoses. grunt has been active for the last 40 years and invariably this means that it’s been called upon to hold and witness the grief and struggles of our communities over time. Grief is something that is deeply susceptible to becoming a private and individualized experience, but in this space, has often been felt and supported collectively.
The opening for this exhibition happened on Dec 5, coincidentally on the anniversary of the death of a very dear friend of mine, Lydia Sng. I did consider moving the opening, to grieve in private. So much of how we keep the dead alive is imagining what they might say and this year, what I was hearing was this friend telling me to stop holding back on living my life because I miss them so much. I’ll still hold myself back sometimes, it’s in my nature, but if there was ever a work that I would feel okay still showing up for, it was this one. Nee’Shah is something that every one who visits it will have a different relationship with depending on their experiences with losing loved ones, but what is interesting to me about it is that it’s a work that deliberately and gently gathers people together to connect them back to those personal relationships, to speak the names and tell the stories of those who’ve passed and to do so from a place of compassion and love so that there is still space for them to live alongside us.

A Song Sung // A Melody Returned (Essay), By Jaye Simpson

Audio note: The following introduction was written by writer jaye simpson and will appear in our forthcoming exhibition catalogue. Audio generated through ElevenLabs AI narrator “Bill”.

There’s a scraping sound, friction of blade against hide. the pulling of skin. A consistent thrum of movement, a ritual and prayer on the backdrop of canvas and sinew. Upon walking in, I am awash in the sensory experience of Nee’Shah | Our House by Teresa Vander Meer-Chassé. My breath hitches and my shoulders sag in, my eyes burn with an overwhelming sense of grief and witnessing. You can smell the tanned hide, see the way the light is dampened by the canvas and the beadwork glints light a thousand small pinpricks of light. As if glowing from behind, peering inwards. 

I immediately think about my mother. Julie-Ann Simpson. I think about my Auntie Olga, who calls me up and updates me on the ways in which our family in the Downtown Eastside is still here but sometimes we lose someone. I lost my mother more than a decade ago and I would like to wish that things were different when it comes to our reality. The positionality of Teresa Vander Meer-Chassé’s work in proximity to the Downtown Eastside is captivating and a stark reminder of the ways in which our grief of substance use related death impacts so many of us, especially so on these unceded territories.

I’m at work. In a small gallery on Pender Street and I see folks much alike to me, on their bodies is the familiar black container with a white cross. I see the numbers ebb and flow, a tide of confusion and fury as Ken Sim and David Eby enact anti-drug laws that kill more and more of our kin across the City and Province. I think about my friends in the DTES, how I bump into Jaz outside the West Pub, they call me a little bitch and ask if I want a sip of whiskey from their flask. It’s cold, the very air in my lungs curls around in concentric waves. As I think about this, I hear a wet noise in Nee’Shah, a consistent patterned noise. I turn to Teresa and ask her. The auditory accompaniment is the process of tanning a hide, the scraping and splashing and the auditory ends with the rumble of a car ripping up a driveway. It’s her grandparent coming to visit. 

I stand in awe, my friends nearby and I’m reflecting on how last year Kendell and I marched with DULF, on how my community of harm reduction friends zip around, looking for our friends and community members. I’m awash in the ways it’s us, folks with direct experiences with the toxic drug supply creating these weavings and patterns of care. Continental Breakfast is shouting into the microphone at a queer party to test your supply and not use alone, a harm reduction Buddy at the party is testing someone’s bag for them at the station and teaching someone how to use a safe snorting kit. I’m in a sea of bodies so much like mine and so different, Indigenous and queer and trans and varying in experience and life and so close to the place that so many cast downturned looks at. I could write a thousand love poems to the Downtown Eastside, and maybe I will. 

Teresa Vander Meer-Chassé accomplishes something so phenomenal with this work, a resounding statement that art is political, and devastatingly important to the work that’s to come, and to the work that has already been done. By fusing the personal journey and allowing a wider audience to be a part of this witnessing, it feels in part ceremonial and also a call for a better tomorrow. When I walked out of the exhibition, it felt like my head was breaching the cold waters of English Bay, the air hurting my lungs and my face stinging, my muscles on fire. Visceral and haunting, like part of me was fighting to come back up, as if witnessing such a rich exploration of grief and locational experience was needed deep in my spirit. When I reflect on my grief of overdoses and toxic supply, I feel overwhelmed, as if I couldn’t fathom it, this insurmountable ocean I have been familiar with since 2000, when I lost my stepfather. The Province of British Columbia seems to be a battleground of pseudo progressive and liberation talking point parties and the farcical cartoon villain acting conservative parties. A place where safe supply has become a battle ground on moral public purview instead of granting our own neighbours, our fellow humans the grace and humanity we all should be given at a base level. 

I am a person full of grief, rife with the weight of loss and many times I allow this well of hurt to manifest into rage, rage that pushes my body outside onto the frontlines, I find myself walking side by side with Whess, with Kendell, with Meenakshi, with Dean, with Jaz. I’m mad at a Metis Youth Shelter in Kamloops that evicts youth in and from care if they are found with substances, forcing them into the streets, even if it’s the dead of winter. I think about how many housing organizations do this to folks across the Province, forcing the many Indigenous folks accessing these programs to lose housing and safety. Kendall Yan once said “Everyone has an inalienable right to safe supply”, and I concur, there is something so cruel and genocidal about denying someone safety, especially when the weight of grief and intergenerational trauma so often leads so many of us into self medicating and self soothing by many means. Who is to judge how one tries to find reprieve in this storm of moral superiority that the governing bodies seem to be manufacturing at the expense of our very lives?

I guess what I am trying to say here is that I still don’t know what to do with my grief, but when spending some time in Nee’Shah | Our House by Teresa Vander Meer-Chassé, there was a calm and airlessness about it. Like I was suspended in the heart and song that Teresa so graciously shares with us. I feel more than just the space it takes, but the fingerprints of many lives and the whispers of many stories, a love letter to another, a song sung too early, but with a melody unlike any I have ever heard until now. I mean, I’ve heard the chorus, a few voices in different media, but now it feels cacophonous, the expression of grief and ceremony, this manifestation of wanting, wanting more than this despondent and callous disregard from our own service providers and the “care” system. 

Instead of losing faith, I will close my eyes and know, truly that there are many in their craft and heart who refuse to allow grief to silence them, rather to fuse sinew to bone again, extend muscle and build up the body: a song will be sung and a cacophonous melody returned. 

Exhibition Reflection, by curatorial fellow Vance Wright

“At the centre of Nee’ Shah is a portable tent structure. The canvas that constitutes its walls and roof is well worn–faded while also darkened in places by regular use. There is clear evidence of mending, and various words, abbreviations and symbols adorn its exterior. Visitors are encouraged to enter the tent, as much of the artist’s work is only visible from the inside. Once you enter, the light grows dimmer being filtered through the thick canvas. Each surface has intricate patches of beadwork, embroidery, tanned hide, and various traditional beading or adornment materials sewn onto them, such as dentalium or strands of sinew with medicinal seeds. Many patches have words beaded or embroidered onto them, communicating the sense of loss and love that brought VMC to create this work. One of these patches is partially concealed by a structural post, making it clear that while the artist is generously welcoming us into their experience, some things are still private. The artist frames this work as her experiencing the loss of her family to substance-use. While this is heavy content to hold, the presence of beadwork and medicine is a reminder to us that those who use substances are still sacred to Creator, and are loved and important to their community. The texts present in the tent reinforce this to me, as they read ‘Love you, miss you lots,’ or ‘Where you at? Have you seen them lately?’. Concern and care is stitched into every corner of this structure. The name ‘Our House’ implies more than just belonging to VMC, that this perhaps belongs to those we’ve lost and still love as well.”

Tactile Object (5 envelopes)

Note: a laminated PDF in gallery of this transcript is also available.

We invite guests to gently and carefully touch items inside the tent, but for a closer examination, please explore the following tactile objects provided by the artist:

Envelope one: Porcupine Quills

The artist says: “I have cut the barbs off both ends”.

This is used in a few of the beaded works on the wall of the tent.

Envelope two: Dentalium Shell

The artist says: “I didn’t put too many in there because I was focusing on material I harvested myself, and I didn’t harvest the Dentalium, so I limited it.”

This is used in a patch below the hide.

Envelope three: Silverberry Seeds

The artist says: “These are harvested and dried seeds before they are turned into beads.”

These adorn the dangling sinew below the hide.

Envelope four: Moose Rawhide

The artist says: “When you scrape a hide and get it ready for tanning, this is what you get. It’s really hard and you need to get it wet to use.”

This is used to suspend the hide in the tent.

Envelope five: Moose Backstrap Sinew

The artist says: “This is from a tendon on the back of a moose. It’s stripped and peeled into these strips, like jerky. Then I pull it into these threads, and that’s that I spin into thread.”

This is suspended from and below the hide in the tent.

Creative Access Audio Tour

Introduction

Welcome to grunt gallery’s creative access audio tour of Nay’ Shah | Our House, the exhibition project by artist Teresa Vander Meer-Chassé. My name is Kay Slater. I am a white, hard-of-hearing, queer settler on these stolen and unceded Coast Salish lands. As the accessibility and exhibitions manager and preparator here at grunt, I assisted in installing this work. I have reviewed this script with both our artist and curator, but any pronunciation errors or cultural misrepresentations are on me. We welcome your feedback as we develop more creative access tools for our gallery and exhibitions.

This tour has four chapters. The fourth chapter is split into seven parts, which allow you to jump back and forth through the exhibition descriptions when listening online or on the gallery’s audio players. The gallery transcript allows you to scrub the complete tour file using timestamps. At the start of each chapter, you will hear the sound of a page-turning:

[Page turning]

In Chapter One, I will detail the space and how to enter it and orient yourself in the gallery. In Chapter Two, I’ll describe our welcome station and the objects available for you to use and touch. Chapter Three covers our facilities, washrooms, and C-Care stations. If you’re ready to tour the show, skip to Chapter Four, where I will read the wall didactic and walk you through the show. If you are skipping ahead, be aware that the welcome station has a tactile map to help you navigate this tour. Chapter four is broken up into parts as I move to different artworks in the show. When I move to a new artwork, you will hear this sound of hide preparation:

[Scraping Hide]

This clip is from a longer audio piece in which Teresa prepares a hide like those exhibited in the show. It plays in the gallery throughout the exhibition.

Let’s get started with Chapter One.

[Page turning]

Chapter 1: Physically Entering the Space

When approaching grunt gallery at 350 East Second Avenue from the accessible drop-off on Great Northern Way, follow the sidewalk to the building’s main entrance. Turn left at the entrance, and you’ll find us at the first exterior door, unit 116. A low-grade ramp leads to our front double doors, with automatic door buttons at waist and ankle level on a post to the right. Be cautious of the small lip at the threshold, which is a potential tripping hazard. Excluding Thursdays, masks are now optional and only recommended indoors at grunt; if you forgot yours, we have extras near the entrance and will not enforce their use outside of Thursdays for low-sensory and voice-off visiting hours.

Welcome to grunt gallery! We are situated on the occupied, stolen, and ancestral territory of the Hul’qumi’num and Sḵwx̱wú7mesh speaking peoples, specifically the land of the X’wmuthqueyem, Sḵwx̱wú7mesh, and Selilwitulh peoples and families. We are grateful to be here.

On the exterior windows, the artist provides a content warning that this exhibition includes themes of loss, mourning, and substance use. Please take care of yourself.

The current show features a giant canvas tent that takes up most of the gallery with a walking path along the west wall. If you require assistance and are not greeted by staff upon entry, please call for help. Staff are in the office and will assist you as soon as possible. We are always happy to walk the show with you.

The public gallery space is a white cube with 20-foot walls on three sides and a 12-foot south wall that opens 8 feet before reaching the ceiling, providing light to the loft office space beyond. The office is not visible from the gallery, except for a large convex mirror that allows staff to see visitors. A tone rings when people enter the space.

On low-sensory and voice-off Thursdays, a staff member will be available but will not greet you, allowing you to move at your own pace. If you are non-visual, call out for help anytime. If you are sighted, please silently approach a staff member. We have hard-of-hearing staff on site, so a visual wave may be required to get their attention.

[Page turning]

Chapter 2: grunt gallery’s welcome station

As you enter the gallery, immediately to the right on the west wall is a sanitization and welcome station. The station is white with black labels in English, high-contrast icons, and some braille labels. There are three open shelves, including the top surface, and the two shelves below can be pulled out towards you. Below that are two closed drawers with d-hook handles.

On top of the welcome station is our gallery spider plant, Comos, who is watered on Wednesdays. The top surface holds a leather-bound guestbook with a black pen, a bottle of hand sanitizer, and a box of masks with tongs. A digital tablet lets you browse the exhibition page on our grunt.ca website or access our Big Cartel eCommerce store.

On the first pull-out shelf, on the left, is the exhibition binder with large print information about the space, the show, the artist, a transcript of this tour, and the exhibition map. On the right are a series of tactile objects. Our tactile objects are creative access tools designed to create a point of entry for non-visual, Blind, or partially sighted guests who may wish to experience the work through touch or by bringing the objects close. However, tactile objects are also sensory objects that can be used by sighted folks who wish to feel a connection to the work and those who enjoy or are supported by having objects in their hands to touch. 

There are five plastic backs, each marked with an English label and a braille number. Number 1 contains Porcupine Quills, whose barbs have been cut from the ends. Number 2 contains a few Dentalium Shells. Teresa remarks that these are rarely used in this show because she was mostly focused on materials she harvested herself but included a few of these for tactile exploration. Number 3 contains Silverberry Seeds which have not yet been made into beads. Number 4 contains a coil of Moose Rawhide. Teresa shares that this is obtained when scraping a hide and getting it ready for tanning. It’s really hard and you need to get it wet to use. Number 5 is some Moose Backstrap Sinew. Teresa says that this is the tendon on the back of the moose. It’s stripped and peeled into these strips like jery and then pulled apart into these tendrils which she then spins into the threads she uses.

These tactile objects are provided as a sensory point of entry into the works and are not necessarily representative of the work or equivalent to experiencing the works through explorative touch. We do not present these objects assuming that you have never had access to them, but we also do not assume that you have had these experiences. Smell them, hold them, observe them. Use them however you’d like as you engage with the show. This show, in particular, can be touched with a gentle hand, and these objects allow for a close examination and manipulation of details.

On the second pull-out shelf, to the left, are laminated maps of the space. Also within these shelves is a flat 2D tactile map of the space. Use the tactile maps to follow along with the creative access tour while in gallery. Works are indicated by unique shapes glued to the map with pauses and descriptions with braille markers A through I. You are currently at location A.

To the right of the maps are two Yoto audio players with large, friendly buttons. These players contain this tour and audio of any text within the binder. On the wall to the left of the welcome station is a scannable QR code or tappable NFC tag that links to this audio tour. On Thursdays, the Yoto players are moved to their carrying cases for use with headphones.

Below these are the two closed drawers. The first contains carrying cases with straps for headphones and the Yoto audio devices, allowing hands-free use.

The lowest drawer contains earmuffs for large and small bodies, specifically for those with noise sensitivities.

That concludes the description and tour of the welcome station. In the next chapter, I will tell you about our washrooms and c-care stations. If you prefer to continue with the exhibition tour, skip to Chapter Four.

[Page turning]

Chapter 3: The Facility and Amenities

If you need to use the washroom, it’s at the far end of our space. Exit the gallery through the doorway and follow the west wall (to your right when you enter). Pass by the media lab, and when you reach the back wall, take a left and walk through the small kitchenette to our single-room, gender-neutral washroom.

If you’re using the 2D tactile map, the washrooms are located at H.

An automated door button to the right holds the washroom door open for 14 seconds. Inside, to the left of the door, is the lock button, which creates a visual indicator that the washroom is in use. To exit, you can open the door manually or hover your hand over a button above the sink, below the mirror.

Near the exit button is a vertical cubby stack of supplies. Please help yourself to items like hair ties, disposable floss, sanitary napkins, and condoms. This is part of our C-Care program, Community Care for Artist-Run Events.

Speaking of C-Care, we have a tea station in our media lab. During Nee’ Shah, this space is a quiet space for reflection and rest. If you need some energy, you can help yourself to a drink or a puréed fruit snack, and if you simply need a moment to reflect or collect yourself, you are welcome here.

If you’re using the 2D tactile map, the C-Care tea station is at location I also marked by the braille word Table.

We now arrive at Chapter Four, where I will begin the exhibition tour next to the welcome station, as if I had just entered the gallery, stepped right to sanitize my hands, and grabbed the tactile map.

[Page turning]

Chapter 4: The Exhibition Tour

4A. About the Show

Nee’ Shah | Our House invites visitors into a shelter constructed with salvaged materials, offering a space for mourning, reflection, and connection. This installation explores grief and loss, steeped in the traditions and teachings of the artist’s Upper Tanana, Frisian, and French heritage. Teresa Vander Meer-Chassé reanimates these “sleeping materials” to engage with cycles of life, death, and remembrance.

If you’re using the tactile map, we are at location A near the front of the gallery near the entrance.

On the wall behind and above the welcome station is wall didactic text in black vinyl that reads:

Nee’ Shah | Our House

Teresa Vander Meer-Chassé

Curated by Whess Harman

December 5, 2024 – February 1, 2025

Within the exhibition binder at the welcome station is the exhibition abstract or artist statement and artist bio, as well as the timestamped transcript of this tour. On the gallery’s exterior doors and within the binder, the artist states that this exhibition includes themes of grief, mourning, and substance use and reminds us to take care of ourselves.

Within the space is a huge canvas fishing tent pushed against the East and South walls or with your back to the entrance to the far left and against back wall. Behind that, the walls are painted a dark matte blue, and the baseboard trim is white. The West wall that continues through and out of the gallery back into the media lab is white with a blue trim. If you need assistance moving through the space or viewing any work, please feel free to call out for help while on-site or contact a staff member for assistance before arriving in the gallery.

Let us now move to the tent’s entrance.

[Scraping Hide]

4B. Taathǜh (Canvas Wall Tent)

If you’re using the tactile map, we are moving from the welcome station (A) to location B, the entrance of the tent.

Following the west wall from the welcome station about 2 metres or 6 feet away and turning 90 degrees left, we now face the East wall and the tent’s entrance. 

The tent is covered in weathered white canvas stretched over a gable-shaped frame. The entrance rises about 1.5 metres or 5 feet, so many visitors will need to duck slightly to enter through the zippered opening. The left side of the entrance is tied back, while the right side hangs loose, brushing the floor.

The canvas is visibly marked by Teresa’s craftsmanship: black and red blanket and long-armed stitches accentuate repaired seams and attached patches. These handstitched, decorative yet functional Friesian whitework stitches serve as a visual and tactile representation of history and care. While Teresa says, “Blanket stitches are just fun,” the long-armed embroidery comes from traditional lace work done in the Northern Netherlands, where her grandfather is from.

Peeking out from the bottom and edges of the tent is black ABS tubing, which forms the lightweight frame and serves as a cane-detectable boundary. In some places, the canvas and weatherproofing materials are frayed and shredded, and spill out a few centimetres from where the tent meets the ground.

Teresa shares: “The tent is reclaimed by my Dad Wilfred Chassé and I, with permission from our Elders and White River First Nation, from my Grandma Nelnah Bessie John’s Fish Camp. They were just going to throw it out, but we were able to get it.”

To the right of the entrance, large letters W.R.F.N, which stands for White River First Nation, are spray painted in blue above stencilled text that reads 12 by 14 by 4, 10 oz. F.R. The track lights in the gallery are low and shine directly down on the tent, allowing light to pass through a slightly thinner and more translucent fabric than on the thick sides.

Let’s move into the tent.

[Scraping Hide]

4C. Smoke Hole & Embroidery

If you’re using the tactile map, we are moving from the tent’s entrance (B) to location (C), just inside the tent.

Stepping into the tent, the sound and lights change. The gallery lights are diffused through the tent’s gabled ceiling. In other words, the ceiling posts angle in and meet at a tall point in the middle of the tent. The highest point of the tent runs East to West or from entrance to back, so be aware that you may bump your head as you move North or South inside the tent. With our backs to the entrance, let’s turn in place and face North towards the left wall of the tent. The sloping roof has a hole through which smoke could pass if there were a fire. A rectangle of patterned fabric sewn with thick, colourful thread in textured stitches frames the opening. Through it, the front gallery windows, and the winter-naked trees across the street can be seen. Following the seam along the right side of this decoration and down toward the low wall is a rectangle of hide on which a beaded floral design is embroidered. This special piece was Teresa’s grandmother, Nelnah Bessie John’s last piece of beadwork. If we crouch down, we can reach the side, which rises about a metre or just over 3 feet on the North and South walls. 

Facing the left tent wall, the canvas is visually divided into two sections by the thick black ABS pipe that forms part of the tent’s frame. While the pipe runs along three sides of the tent’s base, leaving the entrance unobstructed, its vertical posts define the structure. Each corner has a vertical post, with two additional vertical posts at the center of the North and South walls. These posts converge at the tent’s peak, dividing the white canvas into five distinct areas: two on the North wall, two on the South wall, and one large section on the back (East) wall.

Still facing the North or left wall, on the left side is a round black shape with a cross in the center. Teresa shares: “This is an old Upper Tanana symbol that relates to the sun and portals to other worlds.” It is drawn onto the side of the tent in black paint.

Let’s move towards the back of the tent, still facing the left wall.

[Scraping Hide]

4D. Beaded Patches and Messages

If you’re using the tactile map, we are moving from the tent’s interior entrance (C) to location (D), towards the back left corner of the tent.

Still facing the north or left side of the tent, a column of fabric shapes, just past the middle vertical tent post, is sewn. The column features a line of circles, each dotted in the centre, next to a line of half-moon circles that end in a serged or finished fabric. The canvas behind it continues and covers the rest of the wall before it stretches behind the corner post and continues across the back of the tent. Stitched to the canvas are dark fabric patches with beaded text. The scattered text works are created using tiny seed beads in different colours in bright contrast with the dark-coloured square patches. 

Teresa says the following about these works: “By way of patches, I translate text I have sent to family members that I have lost to or are currently experiencing substance use disorder. I do not personally experience substance use disorder; I am only a witness and a loved one to many who are experiencing or have experienced substance use disorder. Symbols, colours, and patterns representing my Upper Tanana, Frisian, and French families and communities are present throughout the tent and act as protection, grounding, and connection.

Some of the messages are kind of hidden, and if people need to push on the tent to read it, that’s ok. It’s like one of those hidden things where you must act to get at it.”

A red patch near the ground reads: “You got to get out of this”.

In the middle right, “Love you. Miss you lots.”

In the corner, a large patch, obscured by the vertical corner tent post, says, “I miss you every day. Your sister has passed, and I’m having so much difficulty. I can’t believe I’ve lost you both. I miss you so much. She has been missing you. I don’t think she was ever the same after you passed. I love you both so much.” 

Just past the corner, on the back wall in the upper left, it reads, “I miss you.” And the last patch in English in the back corner, a little bit over and down to the right of I Miss You, reads, “where you at? Have you seen them lately.”

[Scraping Hide]

4E. Ch’ithüh (Home-Tanned Hide)

If you’re using the tactile map, we are moving from the back left corner (D) to location (E), facing the back of the tent.

Standing in the centre of the tent and facing the back wall is a broad, white hide stretched across its width. Sections are tied with rigid, dried moose rawhide straps attached to the tent posts. The soft hide has split in places, leaving oblong holes dotted across the surface. The hide can be touched softly with clean hands.

Teresa says: This was gifted to me by my Grandma Gàan Dànihtl’įǫ Marilyn John after the moose hide we worked on for two summers had met an untimely and unfortunate end. The hide seen in the exhibition was completed by my Grandma Bessie over 24 years ago and gifted to me by my Grandma Marilyn. This was the last hide tanned in Beaver Creek.”

Dangling from the bottom edge is a fringe made of sinew spun by the artist from a tendon on a moose’s back. From each spun thread is a hard, black seed bead. Teresa says: “This is Dinǐik Tth’èe (Moose Backstrap Sinew) collected by my Mom Janet from a moose Dwayne had shot. It was processed by my Mom and me while my Grandma Marilyn taught us the method over speakerphone. And these are Donjek (Silverberry Seed Beads) gathered with my Mom Janet and Grandpa Sid van der Meer.” While these can be gently touched, take care not to pull at the threads.

A coil of rawhide used to tie up the hide is available in the tactile objects at the welcome station. A bundle of unprocessed sinew is also available, not yet spun into thread, and dried silverberry seeds before they are turned into beads.

Below the hide is another square patch, which is quite large and has a word written in Tanana. It is spelled i-h-t-s-ü-h. This patch also uses dentalium shells in the corner, one of the tactile objects at the welcome station. These thin, white, fang-like shells accent the four corners of the embroidered word.

There are a few other beaded patches on this wall, but no more with text. These use porcupine quills and colourful seed beads. A particularly intricate beadwork is placed behind the suspended hide in the upper right corner and a metre off the ground. The round beading is attached to a vertical piece of soft leather stitched into a patch, repairing the back wall. It reminds me of a sun or moon in front of which are shapes reminiscent of foliage or trees and some green starbursts that feel like bushes or small green patches of grass. The illustration is vibrant and high contrast, and the beading is dense and expertly constructed, but there is very little difference in texture, so the image is primarily accessible through sight rather than touch. Reaching the corner of the back and right wall, I will now shift to face the right or south and describe the final two sections of the tent.

[Scraping Hide]

4F. Mēet Thüh (Lake Trout Skin)

If you’re using the tactile map, we are moving from the back of the tent  (E) to location (F), in the back, right corner, facing the right wall of the tent.

I have turned 90 degrees right from the back wall and am now facing the left side of the right or south wall of the tent. While I have mostly kept to the centre of the tent, keeping my head and hair from touching the sloping canvas of the roof, I am compelled forward towards the left section of this wall to touch the oily and scaly piece of Lake Trout leather suspended from the cross beams of ABS pipe. If you are similarly compelled, please wash your hands or use the provided hand sanitizer at the welcome station, but also be aware that this is an oiled piece of fish leather. Please be gentle because it is dried fish skin, but it does have a little give. It is suspended at three corners in a letter-Y configuration by the firm, dried rawhide. The intricate and complex rows of scales are dark along the vertically positioned spine and become light towards the edges. There are a few holes where the skin has broken and separated, but the piece is mostly uniform and complete. It is large and occupies most of the wall area within the left section outlined by the plastic tent frame.

Of the fish skin, Teresa says: This is Mēet Thüh (Lake Trout Skin) caught by my Mom’s partner Dwayne Brew-ren. It was processed by myself, my Grandma Marilyn, my Mom Janet Vander Meer, Auntie Rose-mar-ee Vandermeer, and Niece Sophia Vandermeer using the oil-tan technique shared with us by Yukon artist and fish tanner Shair-el Mik-Lean. 

[Scraping Hide]

4G. Nuun Ch’oh (Porcupine Quills)

If you’re using the tactile map, we are moving from location (F) in the back, right corner, facing the right wall of the tent, to location (G) the nearest right corner left of the tent’s exit.

The southwest corner, or the corner to the left of the exit, is the last section of the tent to describe. Near the middle tent post is another column of fabric shapes, mirroring the column of dotted circles and half-moon shapes from the left wall. However, instead of ending in a finished edge, this section is lined in metal grommets through which a red-flecked cord, often used for tents or rigging, has been laced in a crisscross, lashing the fabric together. The excess rope is then coiled around the horizontal cross beam of ABS pipe, further securing the lightweight tent frame and creating an interesting visual and tactile texture one would expect inside a tent.

In the remaining square section of the canvas are three more beaded patches. One features two vertical rows of stacked, flat beads made of porcupine quills, their barbs trimmed.

Of this work, Teresa says: “The Porcupine Quills were collected with my Mom Janet off a porcupine Dwayne had killed for my Uncle Patrick Johnny. Uncle Pat was eager to eat, so we had to be as fast as possible.”

There are two more beaded text works. 

The first reads: “My brother passed away on Thursday. Please, if you get this message or call me.”

The second, beaded in porcupine quill beads, reads: “I don’t want to lose you too.”

Turning around 90 degrees, we face the tent’s exit.

[Scraping Hide]

Exiting the tent, we face the West gallery wall. Following that wall to the left, it leads us out of the gallery and into the media lab. There is a bench, a quiet space, and our C-CARE tea station. Take a break and rest here as you reflect on the work. As Teresa says – take care of yourself. If you need to chat with someone, call up – the staff area is just above the media lab, and someone will come down.

[Scraping Hide]

With that, we conclude the described tour of Nee’ Shah | Our House. Later, during the exhibition’s run, we will have a publication available for the show and an alternative text version available in plain text or text-to-speech generated audio, both on our website and through the Yoto players in the gallery.

Thank you so much for joining us on this creative access audio tour! We’d love to hear your thoughts on this experience and how we can improve it. If you carried any tactile object(s) during the tour, please return it to the welcome station! We acknowledge that we cannot be everything to everyone and respect that our creative access explorations may not serve your needs. You can reach us at access@grunt.ca or chat with any of the staff on-site with any feedback you have the capacity to provide.

Thank you again.