An apple tree blooms next to cut willow branches at the Means of Production Community Garden in East Vancouver.

Artists require a steady supply of art supplies to be creative.  Many are also increasingly concerned about the environmental impact and safety hazards of the materials they use.

That’s true at the Means of Production Community Garden in East Vancouver. Located on a narrow strip of land near Clark Drive, the garden is managed by artists who believe that every material used in their work should be produced without generating toxic residues or hazardous waste.

Originally developed by artist Oliver Kelhammer and the Community Arts Council of Vancouver, the garden is a partnership between the Environmental Youth Alliance and a local art collective, with support from the City of Vancouver and the Vancouver Parks Board.

Growing a community

Artist Sharon Kallis points out a patch of stinging nettle used for a textile project.

Vancouver artist Sharon Kallis is an active member of the garden and manages the day-to-day operations. She toured the garden last week and pointed out plants of interest.

“For us, this place is almost like an artist-run centre,” said Kallis. “You see the plants growing, and then you see what’s being made with the materials, and there’s a direct connection between what’s coming out of the ground to the finished product.”

Even in early spring, the garden was bursting with new growth. Apple trees decorated with white blossoms stood near piles of cut willow branches used for making garden borders and woven baskets. Clover and lavender plants were lush with leaves in the “bee garden” next to a wooden beehive. New buds covered the branches of hazel trees, trimmed last season to encourage new growth.

“It’s a wonderful example of transforming land that is marginal and making it common ground,” said Lori Weidenhammer, a local artist. “The garden is like a prototype, encouraging people to be interested in using natural materials.”

Jody Macdonald lives near the garden and volunteers at many events, including last year’s popular series of outdoor “tea parties” which attracted many local residents. As a practicing artist, Macdonald appreciates the garden’s mandate.

“I love the whole concept,” said Macdonald. “It’s great that you can volunteer in the garden and then have access to the materials.”

Sustainable urban agriculture

Cut hazel branches are bent and woven to form a "commons gate" at the boundary of the garden.

In the garden, plants are grown without chemical fertilizers or toxic pesticides. Jodi Peters, a sustainable agriculture specialist working with Environmental Youth Alliance’s Backyard Bounty Project, supports the garden’s decision to avoid conventional farming practices.

“Because we’re so dependent on industrialized agriculture, urban agriculture is often considered just a hobby and not taken seriously,” said Peters. “But gardening, even on a small scale, helps people become aware of their local environment.”

Dr. Arthur Bomke agrees that urban agriculture can have significant ecological and social benefits. An associate  professor of agroecology from the University of British Columbia’s Faculty of Land and Food Systems, Bomke applauds the City of Vancouver’s recent initiative to create more community gardens.

“I think a lot of people are saying that they want to know about how things grow,” said Bomke. “Just because we live in the city, we shouldn’t be cut off from that.”

Hazards for artists

Sprouting willow branches form part of a "living fence" .

Despite increased interest in sustainable art practices, products like paint, solvents and glue are still used by many artists and often contain hazardous toxic compounds.

Landon Mackenzie, an assistant dean at Emily Carr University, understands these hazards very well. She suffered from serious side effects after years of working with toxic chemicals in art studios, print shops and photography darkrooms.

“In the mid-80s, there were open vats of turpentine in every classroom,” said Mackenzie. “Back then, even if you’ve adjusted your own art practice to make it safer, you were surrounded by 200 art students who were working with cheaper materials.”

After many years as a successful painter, Mackenzie experienced a serious health breakdown. Lab tests confirmed that she had been exposed to extremely high levels of mercury, cadmium and cobalt, linked to the paints and other chemicals used in her art practice.

Other artists have discussed the hazards related to their work. Painter Robert Bateman volunteered to participate in a 2005 study that analyzed the level of contaminants in a group of Canadian adults. The study found that Bateman had 48 chemicals present in his body, including 32 known carcinogens. He also had a concentration of heavy metals that was almost double the average sample.

Many art institutions take steps to minimize health hazards. Roxanne Toronto from Emily Carr University noted that the school has developed a number of protocols to reduce the use of harsh chemicals and volatile substances in studios and classrooms. The school also offers safety workshops and provides information packages for students and staff.

Locally owned art supplier Opus Framing also tries to encourages awareness about safety issues in their stores. Company representative Ruth Griffiths noted that Opus offers many products that are voluntarily tested for acceptable levels of hazardous materials. The company also offers in-store product demonstrations and tags certain items to ensure that sales staff inform customers about any health risks at the checkout.

Designed to inspire

Artist Sharon Kallis examines bamboo growing in the garden.

In contrast, materials harvested at the Means of Production garden require no safety protocols to use. Local musician David Gowman appreciates this simple approach.

“It’s amazing to work with natural materials that have a lifespan,” said Gowman, who plans to hold a community workshop at the garden this year to make flutes out of cut bamboo.

Despite support from local residents and artists, there’s a limit to what can be produced in such a small garden.

“I think that it’s obvious that this garden can’t yield enough material for every artist in the city, and not every artist would want to use these materials,” said Pamela McKeown, a nearby resident. “I think the garden is more useful as an empowering illustration for artists who are inspired by this model.”

“This garden isn’t supposed to be Home Depot – you can’t just take what you need and leave,” said Sharon Kallis. “One of the original intentions for the garden was that it would give artists an opportunity to recognize the footprint that’s required for their own art practice.”

By Jes Abeita and Sarah Buell

Piper McKenzie is a full-time street performer whose stunts often have him balanced precariously on a ladder or juggling lighted torches in the name of entertainment. The occasional bruises and burns are just part of the job.

More Granville Island stories:

• Making art out of glass
• Escape artist’s breakout performance
• Market busker strumming to his own beat

By Daniel Hallen and Yvonne Robertson

Larissa Blockhuis uses her Saturday glass flower-making classes at New-Small & Sterling Studio Glass to introduce people to the art of glassblowing. Blockhuis studied glassblowing at the Alberta College for Art and Design. For the time she puts into giving flower-making classes, Blockhuis receives time in the studio for her own work.

More Granville Island stories:

• Knife juggling, fire eating are all in a day’s work
• Escape artist’s breakout performance
• Market busker strumming to his own beat

By Lara Howsam and Lewis Kelly

Vancouver street performer Byron Bertram reveals a few tricks of the trade, including how he escapes from a “chain tuxedo” and why he affects a British accent while performing. Bertram is one of the many entertainers who perform at Granville Island on weekends. He spoke with The Thunderbird after one such performance.

More Granville Island stories:

• Knife juggling, fire eating are all in a day’s work
• Making art out of glass
• Market busker strumming to his own beat

By Hilary Atkinson and Evan Duggan

Ron Jones is one of the many unique artists and performers sharing their talent with visitors to Vancouver’s Granville Island. For decades, Jones has shared his love of music with those around him. Now retired, Jones spends his days on Granville Island speaking to audiences through the strings of his guitar and the universal language of music.

More Granville Island stories:

• Knife juggling, fire eating are all in a day’s work
• Making art out of glass
• Escape artist’s breakout performance

Soila Hill talks to freinds at the Kla-how-eya Youth Drop-in Centre.

Krystal Bell and Soila Hill surf the web on side-by-side desktop PCs. It’s a typical Tuesday evening at the Kla-how-ya Youth Drop-in Centre in Surrey.

Led Zeppelin, New Order and others flowed out of the radio, mixing with the sounds of teens talking and laughing as they spent time together.

“I wasn’t very social before Kla-how-eya opened up,” said Bell, 15. If the drop-in center were not there, Bell said, she most likely would be doing “nothing at all, not video games, not homework. I’d just go to sleep pretty early.”

A few weeks ago, Bell was uncertain if she and the other youth at Kla-how-ya in Metro Vancouver would have a place to gather much longer. Funds for the drop-in centre come from a grant from the Urban Multipurpose Youth Centres Initiative, which was set to end in March.

She and other Aboriginal youth who benefit from programs funded by the initiative did not just wait around and hope for the best when faced with the potential loss. Program leaders, youth and supporters launched a petition drive and they took their message to the Minister of Canadian Heritage, James Moore.

The result: the renewal of the program for six more years.

“I am very pleased to announce this extension, ” said Moore. “Our government is committed to providing Aboriginal young people with culturally focused programming that helps tomorrow’s leaders build strong communities and families.”

Story continues after the slideshow:

Helping families

Consistency is key when working with youth, said Tanya McKenzie, youth initiatives director for the British Columbia Association of Aboriginal Friendship Centres.

Youth programs suffer when they face funding gaps like the one that could have been caused by delaying renewal of the initiative.

McKenzie said the legacy of colonialism can be seen in many of the issues faced by Aboriginal youth. “People should see these programs as a way to restore what was broken down by the Canadian government,” she said.

The drop-in centre can keep Aboriginal youth out of trouble. Boredom and difficulties at home can lead to minor criminal offenses, starting Aboriginal youth down a destructive path, according to the Canadian Criminal Justice Association website.

Aboriginal youth face high rates of depression and acute stress. Other family members who would ordinarily help youth deal with their problems can be caught up in their own stresses, leaving youth with few places to go for support.

If left unattended to, youth under acute stress are more likely to consider suicide, according to information from Health Canada.

Risk factors faced by Aboriginal youth can be countered to some degree by participation in youth development programming. For youth who are not experiencing difficulties, those same programs can give them an even brighter future, according to research from Family and Community Support Services, Calgary.

The number of Aboriginal children in care in comparison to non-Aboriginal children in Canada offers a stark reminder of the effects of colonization and assimilation efforts have had on Aboriginal families.

Even though Aboriginal people make up just 3 per cent of the Canadian population, Aboriginal children make up 40 per cent of the number of children in-care.

Centres of support

Krystal Bell works on a computer at the Kla-how-eya Youth Drop-in Centre.

Bell said her mother found the program in the hope of helping Bell connect with her peers. She said the centre helped her become more social by providing volunteer opportunities and a chance to be seen as a leader by younger program participants.

“At Kla-how eya they help you form the person you want to be” she said.

When Kla-how-ya threw a block party, Bell pitched in to help by emceeing the event. “My public speaking has really improved,” she said.

Hill, 16, became aware of the program at Kla-how-eya when youth workers came to her school. Her voice is soft, yet sure as she talks about how the center has changed her weekday evening routine.

“Just being there…having warm people welcome me and not judging me,” has helped her stay out of trouble, Hill said.

“If it wasn’t for the Youth Centre I would probably be hanging out in the streets and doing whatever,” she said.

The initiative, now named Cultural Connections for Aboriginal Youth represents an investment of $150-million aimed at providing culturally relevant programs to the Aboriginal youth of Canada, according to information provided by Moore’s office.

Programs funded by the initiative also help communities deal with hard economic times, McKenzie said.

“It’s a response to poverty. It’s a response to homelessness. It’s a response to school drop-outs and addictions and teen pregnancies. That’s what happens in bad economic times,” she said.

Live drumming signals the start of a new exercise in Edmond Kilpatrick’s boys-only dance class.

The group of 13 six- and seven-year-old boys wear uniforms of black stretch pants and white shirts, and anxiously wait for instructions. Kilpatrick, a former Ballet BC principal dancer, calls out, “pliez,” and 13 pairs of knees immediately bend.

Theo Duff-Grant, 13, dances at Goh Ballet. Photo courtesy Goh Ballet.

This program at Arts Umbrella, a well-known arts centre in Vancouver, is one of a rising number of classes catering to boys in the city. Five years ago there were few boys in dance classes – now there’s a waiting list.

“In the beginning … we really had to hustle to get the word out there so the boys would come in,” said Kilpatrick, who has been teaching for more than 20 years and started his boys-only program a decade ago.

Popular reality television shows, such as So You Think You Can Dance, America’s Best Dance Crew and Battle of the Blades, which show men dancing and figure skating, are part of the push.

These competitive shows bring male dancers into the mainstream and provide role models for boys interested in dance. Battle of the Blades shows Canada’s ultimate male role model, the hockey player, in the less traditionally masculine sport of figure skating.

Listen interview with Theo Duff-Grant discussing life as a male dancer:

Michelle Hersey, owner of D’Hercy Dance Co., a company that provides kids dance classes at community centres around Vancouver, said the shows are helping parents to accept their sons’ interest in dance.

More parents are open to enrolling their boys in dance classes – but usually only at the younger ages, Kilpatrick added.

“I think there are more and more parents who are enlightened,” he said. “It’s safe for the kids, in terms of sexuality because none of that’s come in yet – but I think it’s also safe for the parents.”

Just for boys

Kilpatrick said the dance studio environment is also changing from girls-only colours and themes. Kilpatrick wanted to create a neutral space where boys could dance and have a male dancer as a role model, so he started his boys-only program.

Edmond Kilpatrick, a former Ballet BC dancer, started a boys-only dance program. Photo courtesy Arts Umbrella.

“It dawned on me right away that a lot of these places where I was teaching were these pink studios with pictures of babies in tutus everywhere,” he said.

“What they [boys] needed was a neutral environment, not necessarily an environment with blue walls and pictures of trucks on the walls, just a very neutral environment where they could be in a room with seven to 10 other boys just like themselves.”

Kilpatrick’s boys-only classes are held in a converted church in East Vancouver. The dance studio has high ceilings, one mirrored wall, and a large black rubber-matted area for dancing.

Plain language is used to describe movement. Instead of “fly like a butterfly,” it is “circle the room.” “Hop like a bunny” becomes “sauté,” the French word for jump, which is used in ballet.

Michelle Hersey has also adapted her teaching style since more boys have joined her classes in the last two years. She said she includes more “boy-oriented” imagery such as bears, machines and dinosaurs instead of fairies, mermaids and butterflies.

A tougher, more masculine style

Although more boys are joining dance classes, there is still a division in the styles of dance they sign up for, with hip hop more popular than ballet.

“Hip hop [is] something that is modeled on television by men and young boys that is popular and cool and has social links to dominance and aggression, which are safe images for males to portray,” Hersey said.

Kilpatrick said boys will take hip hop even if they’re more interested in classical styles such as ballet or contemporary dance because hip hop is considered a tougher, more masculine style.

So You Think You Can and Battle of the Blades help to break down cultural stereotypes about masculinity, which say dance and figure skating are too “girly” for men and boys.

But only a certain kind of masculinity is shown on these programs, said Mary Louise Adams, a sports sociologist at Queen’s University, and the most popular men are usually hip hop dancers. She added shows such as Battle of the Blades strengthen the idea that heterosexual masculinity is the norm.

Related: Male role models not enough on TV dance shows

On Battle of the Blades, a hockey player is paired with a female figure skater and they compete in ice dancing challenges. The hockey player is doing a “girly” sport, but the audience understands it is temporary and he will go back to being a hockey player when the show is over.

But some boys aren’t afraid to do ballet.

At 13, Theo Duff-Grant is a rising star at Vancouver-based Goh Ballet and said he plans to dance for life. He hopes to one day have a career at the Royal Ballet in London. Duff-Grant said boys should just go ahead and take classes if they’re interested in dance.

“I’d say just do what you want and don’t care what they think.”

The sounds of feet shuffling, coins clinking and people chatting drown out all other sounds every morning in Granville Station.

After the rush dies down, the dim SkyTrain station transforms into a modest concert hall. Paul Neufeld, a classical guitarist, fiddles with guitar strings to play Spanish Romance. Jimmy Jackman serenades commuters with Dream a Little Dream of Me, using his ukulele, kazoo and his voice.

Jackman also sings in 12 different languages

“When people walk around the corner, they’re not expecting to be entertained,” said Jackman. “Then there I am, entertaining them, taking them out of themselves and hopefully putting a smile on their faces.”

The livelihood of TransLink buskers such as Neufeld and Jackman is under threat. TransLink is involved in a licencing dispute with SOCAN, which administers performing rights. This issue could push TransLink to downsize or shut down the TransLink Musician Program entirely.

SOCAN, a private organization, said that buskers must pay to perform copyrighted music in public.

“We contact every business that uses music,” said Marie-Josée Dupré, SOCAN’s director of business development. “Whether it comes from Canada or elsewhere, as soon as copyrighted music is played, our society tries to inform people of their legal obligations.”

The Translink Musician Program started in Vancouver 23 years ago. It allows buskers to purchase a permit for $75 a year to perform in SkyTrain stations.

“It’s just a nice thing to do, and our customers appreciate it,” said Bill Knight, the community relations officer at TransLink.

Rosa Paredes, who commutes from Surrey to downtown five days a week, shows her appreciation for buskers by offering spare change.

“Artists make life more interesting, exciting and wonderful,” she said. “They choose this life in spite of hardship, so I just like to make a small contribution and hope they make it.”

“Life would be so lame without artists. We depend on them for creativity and innovation. I encounter them everyday. It makes my day.”

Struggle for free self-expression

Paul Neufeld is one performer willing to put up with the hand-to-mouth lifestyle of a full-time busker to work at his craft.

Neufeld also plays classical pieces by J.S Bach and Johann Anton

“It’s never fun when you go through a dry spell and you’re not getting tipped,” he said. “Sometimes you get the feeling that people don’t respect what you do. But I like the freedom of busking. It’s low-key and it exposes you to different people.”

SOCAN informed TransLink last year that its buskers are infringing upon performance rights that protect artists who create original music.

As the instigator, Translink is required to pay licencing fees for every busker who performs at every station. For the existing SkyTrain locations, TransLink will have to pay between $32,000 to $40,000 a year to SOCAN.

Toronto has allowed buskers to perform in subway stations since 1980. SOCAN could not comment on its involvement due to privacy issues, but Mary Cuckovic, the special events supervisor at the Toronto Transit Commission, said SOCAN approached the TTC in 2003.

“We were under their radar all these years. All of a sudden, they found out about our musician program,” she said.

TTC buskers pay $150 for permits, she said, while the transit body covers the $22,000 required by SOCAN.

TransLink argues it does not have the money to pay SOCAN.

“We don’t actually have a budget for the musician program,” said Knight. “We could use taxpayers’ money to subsidize it, but it wouldn’t work.”

“Our options now are either to pass on the fees to musicians, to scale down the program, or to limit it to only three stations downtown.”

Weighing the options

TransLink wants to settle this issue with SOCAN by the end of the year. If it passes on the fees to performers, Knight said, permits could increase to as much as $1500. If the program is downsized, the only locations available for performers who prefer to busk indoors would be Granville, Burrard and Waterfront.

For those buskers who already live on the fringe, raising the price of permits and facing greater competition for performance space could have dire consequences.

“It can’t work out well, no matter what happens,” said Angie Inglis, a musician who used to busk at TransLink locations for a living and continues to do so sporadically. She wrote a letter to SOCAN (PDF) in November.

“Greater competition will make people who busk for a living more desperate, angry and aggressive about their space and time,” she said. “It’s going to discourage people who don’t usually do it, which will take away the variety presented to the public.”

Inglis, whose busking career allowed her to launch her first CD in 2001 and to perform internationally, said that the survival of the TransLink Musician Program has less to do with buskers than it does with the public.

“We’re moving further away from a feeling of humanity and togetherness,” she said. “When you’re sitting on the train, nobody talks or looks at each other because they all have their phones and iPods.”

“But when you step out of the noisy, ugly, SkyTrain station, and you hear music, it changes your perspective. It jars you out of your own head and your own little world. It transforms your whole day.”

Open door policy

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The staff at the Crafthouse keeps its door open, welcoming those who stumble across the gallery.

A few months ago this task was reserved for a separate staff with proper material, and she attended to working with artists, inventorying artwork and rearranging the gallery.

Darts is also working for a reduced salary because turning her back on the Crafthouse was not an option. At the gallery, she devotes herself to promoting craft and creativity.

“If you start killing creativity in people, then you start appealing to the lowest common denominator,” said Darts.

“If you lose your creativity or the means to do it, what are you going to do? Is everyone going to end up like little zombies sitting behind machines?”

Tough decisions

When the provincial government cut nearly half of the funding for the arts sector, the staff of the Crafthouse sacrificed its pay and volunteered part-time. Keeping the business open was more important than full-time pay and the artists depended on it.

This Granville Island gallery lost all its gaming funds during the provincial government’s recent funding cuts, after receiving $30,000 annually for the past 16 years.

The company had already begun spending its yearly budget. These cuts resulted in a staggering debt.

“The economic crisis has forced governments to make tough decisions,” said Minister of Tourism, Arts and Culture Kevin Krueger. “We had to provide services that are critical for British Columbians such as health care and education.”

Darts said that closing down the Crafthouse means that approximately 125 artists who showcase their work there would lose a venue to sell their pieces.

“There are lots of different repercussions,” said Darts. “It’s like a domino effect.”

Few places like the Crafthouse exist in Vancouver. The gallery emphasizes handmade, three-dimensional craft, such as sculpture, unlike paintings or photographs in other galleries.

“We want to elevate the perception of craft to something equivalent to any other work of art out there,” said Bonnie-Jean Gale, another part-time volunteer.

Like Darts, Gale went from full-time employee to part-time volunteer at the Crafthouse. They both believe in the importance of educating the public about craft art. To them, cutting back their pay outweighed cutting back the hours of operation.

A staple of the island

The staff constantly rearranges the pieces to maintain a fresh look.

Warm lighting, glazed pottery and brightly coloured ornaments entice people into the Crafthouse. Inside customers tend to run their hands along a sea of one-of-a-kind pieces that include knitted textiles and smooth wood designs.

Once people accidentally stumble across the gallery with the red awning, they keep going back.

School groups pass through its open door to learn about techniques such as still life drawing or sculpture making. They get the chance to learn about art forms they may not have otherwise.

“It’s been helpful for us and gives us exposure,” said Ron Lotan. He manages the sales of his wife, Lilach, who exhibits at the gallery.

The Lotans used to exhibit at other galleries on the island, but decided to sell solely at the Crafthouse. They were the most successful there. Other artists said the gallery also gives them exposure and keeps them connected to the craft community.

“It certainly maintains a standard,” said Tina Farmilo, a customer at the gallery. “It’s not your usual run-of-the-mill work. If you’re looking for well-crafted work, you come here.”

Cultural history

The provincial government’s decision to cut arts funding sparked anger and protests at the lack of laws or protection for the region’s culture.

On the Alliance for Arts and Culture website, Jane Danzo of the British Columbia Arts Council wrote, “The arts community is looking for a more positive attitude and increased visible support from the government.”

Arts organizations like the Crafthouse bear the brunt of the cuts on Granville Island, indirectly affecting independent artists as well.

“There are so many seasons that are getting cancelled,” said Gaelan Beatty, a performer. “So many theatre companies that are potential employers for me are going under. I understand that the cuts have to come somewhere, but I just don’t agree with cutting one whole section of society.”

The British Columbia Arts Council strives to create an understanding about the value of art, according to the minutes of it’s last meeting on Nov. 16. They want to advocate for the arts sector on the community level instead of relying on the government.

Darts said people underestimate the value of art and what they can learn from it. The staff believes in its gallery and takes action to keep it open.

“Somebody once said that today’s craft is tomorrow’s heirloom or archeological find where you’ll see what previous cultures have made,” said Darts.

Popular reality television shows are providing male role models for boys who are interested in dance. But some feminist scholars say this isn’t enough.

• Mary Louise Adams, a sports sociologist, said these shows strengthen traditional masculinity and do nothing to produce a liberated form of femininity.
• For example, female figure skaters are an accessory to their masculine companions on Battle of the Blades. Their presence assures the audience that the ice dancing hockey players are heterosexual, and they will return to being ‘real men’ when the show is over.
• Doug Risner, a dance scholar, says that heterosexism and homophobia in Western culture contribute to the lack of boys in dance. Boys who do want to dance have only one acceptable, masculine option – hip hop.
• On shows like So You Think You Can Dance, masculine dancers are celebrated and others are told to dance “more like men.”

Related: More Vancouver boys leap into dance