It’s nearly show time at the Cobalt and Valynne Vile is “bloody nervous.”

This will be her first time performing in drag, ever.

Performing is a scary thought. There’s a saying in Vancouver that when a drag queen screws up, you don’t hear an awkward silence – you hear gunshots being fired.

Not only is Valynne performing on stage for the first time, she is also competing against 13 other drag kings and queens in the second annual Mr. or Miss Cobalt Drag Competition in this preliminary round.

Valynne smooths down the ends of her long silver hair over and over.

“I’m really excited just to show everybody my character and who I really am.”

In everyday life, Valynne’s real name is Ryan Stewart, and he works as a quality-assurance lead in the video-game industry. After a lengthy break from drag, he showed up at the Cobalt dressed as Valynne last month and was invited to take part in the competition. He promptly said yes.

But as much as Valynne is focused on her own performance, she is actually carrying out a more important role by showing up at the Cobalt at this mid-March first round of competition.

Drag queens have been central to the identity of the lesbian-gay-bisexual-transgered-queer community: as visible, flamboyant characters, as social convenors, as leaders who test the limits of acceptance.

In the past few years, spaces for queens to perform have become increasingly scarce in Vancouver as clubs have closed.

But the Cobalt, on Vancouver’s east side, has recently turned into a new mainstay of the city’s drag scene, and shows like “Apocalypstick” are creating opportunities for newcomers like Valynne.

Tonight’s competition kicks off three rounds that end Easter Sunday with the crowning of a new king or queen.

To start it, one of the hosts, Peach Cobblah (the drag persona of Dave Deveau, the event’s creator), sashays on stage.

Her attitude is even sassier than her red sequinned dress and over-the-top hair.

“Hello, darlings, we’re gonna’ start the competition very soon, so let’s make this place hot and juicy together, all right?”

The crowd roars back. Valynne Vile’s heart pounds.

It’s show time.

The Queens of Vancouver 

Drag isn’t just about pageant hair and outrageous makeup.

The Junction on Davie Street hosts two weekly shows. On this Saturday night, Daniel McGraw is waiting in an hour-long line to get in the night club.

“I think the historical role is often completely under-emphasized and often times completely ignored. Low-income, trans, people of colour and drag queens were the people who created Stonewall,” says McGraw, referring to the legendary New York bar that is seen as Ground Zero of the gay liberation movement.

McGraw’s friend Bard Suen chimes in.

“I think that drag queens represent a symbol for pushing the boundaries in the community so although I’m not brave enough to challenge those sort of norms – I feel really glad that there’s someone out there doing something like that.”

While McGraw and Suen are waiting outside, inside The Junction, Carlotta Gurl, one of the most well-known drag queens in Vancouver, is getting ready for her weekly show.

She headlines “Dragulous” on Saturday nights and has been performing for 20 years.

“I remember a time when I was doing drag for a living. I had four or five shows a week at different bars.”

Back then, the money was good and gigs were constant.

Today, a guest queen will take home between $100 to $150 to perform two numbers. Hosts like Carlotta Gurl make more, though not enough any more to support herself only with those gigs.

When fewer people started showing up and the bars began to close, things changed. “I realized I had to get myself a regular job in order to survive. I’m a manager at IGA.”

An Odyssey ends but the journey continues

The declining audiences had been a slow trend. But then Vancouver’s drag scene was hit hard by the closure of The Odyssey nightclub in 2010.

“The scene went through a bit of a hump after The Odyssey closed. They had drag almost every night of the week and were employing a lot of the community,” says Deveau.

“For a period of time, we were the only weekly drag show, which is crazy, but now there are three weeklies happening on Davie Street, so that’s promising as far as people getting work and people being able to enjoy drag,” said Deveau.

In keeping with the creation of inclusive, communal queer gathering spaces, the Cobalt also acts as a venue for the city’s only regular drag king show, “Man Up” which celebrated its fifth anniversary recently.

May the best king or queen win

Tonight’s drag competition is heating up.

The queens and kings compete for a $500 cash prize, three booked performances and the title of being crowned Mr. or Ms. Cobalt 2013. 

“We used to have a segment [of Apocalypstick] called Mean Keen Queen where we had a new performer trying out a number every week because we know our audiences are great,” said Deveau.

The hosts actually warn the audience not to insult performers or they risk being escorted out.

But the judge’s themselves don’t hold back. One queen is chastised because her tuck, the method performers use to conceal their genitalia, is visible through her black leather leotard. A king is docked points for not having enough facial hair.

No wonder Valynne, who is still waiting to perform, is nervous. She doesn’t know what to expect.

“I’m kind of sexy, kind of slutty, kind of weird and evil at the same time. I’m performing a Korean pop song but an English version of it. I wanted to grab something that nobody had done before.”

Valynne’s mom, Tracy Stewart, stands in the crowd. This is the first time she has seen Valynne perform. It’s also the first drag show she’s ever been to. (It won’t be the last performance. Valynne didn’t win the competition — TranApus Rex did — but she make it to the final round on Easter Sunday.)

The audience is also a mixed bunch: families, friends, gay, straight, lesbian, transgendered and everything in between.

“I love that people’s families come out, I think it’s encouraging and it feels nice that the space we’ve created feels like somewhere you would want your family to come and support you,” says Deveau.

Showtime

At 10.30 p.m., Valynne finally steps on stage.

As the heavy beats of her Korean pop song blare through the speakers, her nerves seem to disappear. She struts forward confidently, pumping her hands in the air and shimmying her shoulders provocatively.

Her mom and sister smile and cheer. Even the judges applaud.

“I got good feedback. It was very constructive.”

But most importantly she had fun.

“I was shocked because there’s this stigma with drag queens that they’re all bitches. And so far the Cobalt queens have been super nice.”

But maybe the niceness is not so surprising as both the old-timers and the newcomers recognize that they’re not in competition — they’re actually creating a community.
Correction: April 18, 2013.

An earlier version of this article incorrectly stated Valynne Vile’s mother’s name. Her name is Tracy, not Sandy.
The authors regret the error.

They’re Vancouver artists desperate to find affordable, intimate places to present their work. Vancouver has the highest number of artists per capita in Canada. But these performers say there aren’t enough suitable spaces to showcase their talents.

The China Cloud is an underground arts venue in East Vancouver.

Some artists have taken matters in their own hands and created their own performances spaces tucked away in the city’s nooks and crannies, flouting local bylaws. According to the City of Vancouver, there are 250 to 500 such illicit events per year.

But the people running makeshift venues now have a way to go legit. Vancouver city council approved a pilot program March 12 that will allow cultural events in spaces like warehouses, art galleries and stores.

Bringing underground arts venues into the fold

The city hopes the program will resolve the need for more performance spaces and possibly kindle an outburst of creative activity.

“It has long been recognized that it is difficult to find places for live performance in Vancouver,” says Coun. Heather Deal. “As a result, many events happen ‘underground’ and therefore are in constant threat of being shut down due to complaints.”

But although many artists applaud the new effort from the city, they say that it is only a baby step. They’re still hobbled by two other significant barriers.

The city’s pilot program for small-venue licensing is an experiment that will run for up to two years.

The program is trying to encourage people who run the city’s off-grid spaces — quirky operations with names like the Dental Lab, 1067, China Cloud or the Emergency Room, frequently on the city’s east side –  to do two things. First, apply for a licence and, secondly, abide by the city’s new, modified bylaws. During that time, performance organizers will have access to a much cheaper and more simplified licensing system.

Event organizers can now submit a single application for a licence for as little as $25. In the past, they had to apply separately to the fire, engineering, and police departments and spend nearly $1,000 in the process.

They’ll still have to comply with some safety requirements, but a list that’s lower than the one for the Orpheum or the Queen Elizabeth Theatre.

City staff will collect information, while doing random checks at the venues, to evaluate the program.

City’s ‘baby steps’ fall short of demand 

Colin Cowan runs the China Cloud, an underground arts venue in east Vancouver.

One of the spaces that will be trying to work with the new rules is China Cloud. The artist-run space is currently licensed as artist studios and an art gallery. On weekends, though, it hosts intimate performances by some of Vancouver’s and Canada’s best musicians. Its operators try to keep the location quiet.

Originally a cockroach-infested dive, the China Cloud has blossomed. The walls showcase hand-carved, wood-based art. Kitschy decorations adorn the tables. Comfortable couches surround the stage. The main room has a warm, welcoming feel to it.

The self-professed “Mr. Mother Goose” of the China Cloud is Colin Cowan.

Smiling readily under a mop of thinning red hair, Cowan sees the change as “a good start.” But like many artists who spoke at the council meeting, he was disappointed by the pilot program’s ceiling of two events a month.

“It’s nice to have a baby step,” he says, “but you want to make sure it’s at least a worthwhile baby step.”

City staff recommended a cap of two events a month per location so they could cope with the influx of applications. The venues will need to have concrete flooring and be at street level.

Like other underground venues, Cowan is hesitant to give out too much information about the China Cloud for fear of being shut down. The space doesn’t have a website or a Facebook page. Events are rarely advertised. People hear about shows by word of mouth.

Despite his reservations, Cowan is planning to apply for a licence for his two bigger monthly events.

But that still leaves another six unlicensed shows a month — one of the difficulties the new city program hasn’t addressed. Those shows will just stay under the radar, as they always have been. Many of them barely meet the minimum 25-person threshold that requires a licence in the first place.

Cowan doesn’t want to skirt the law. He’d like to see the program expand to eight events a month so that he could host musicians and other art without the constant fear of getting shut down.

“What would change is that we could legitimately put on shows and get licensing,” he says. “We could confidently run a business the way we want.”

The city estimates that it will receive up to 336 applications a year. If its assessment that there are up to 500 such events annually is correct, that leaves a shortfall of almost 14 events a month that will remain underground.

The two-events-a-month limit happens to coincide with the rules around another major issue in the underground arts scene: liquor.

Mixing arts, alcohol and business

Andrew Volk (bottom left) is working on a new underground arts space in Vancouver.

The reason the city limited events to two, in part, is that it’s only possible for event organizers to get two temporary “special-occasion” liquor licences a month. The B.C. liquor control control and licensing branch rarely distributes “liquor primary” licences, which allow venues to operate more like a club.

Although selling alcohol isn’t the primary objective of these underground venues, many see liquor and the arts as a natural combination.

Patrons get to have a drink. Proceeds from the bar help subsidize the cost of hosting a show.

City officials recognize this. In the policy report they presented to council, they warned that events with alcohol can pose safety risks. But they recognized that “alcohol is also an integral part of many arts events” and that “audiences at arts and culture performances do not typically have problems with binge drinking or troublemaking.”

But it still kept the limit to two.

The bigger-picture restrictions around liquor-primary licences are what Andrew Volk believes is keeping Vancouver from its potential as a creative city.

An energetic guy with pale skin and crystal blue eyes, Volk has been running unlicensed parties and events for over a decade. He is working on a new space in east Vancouver. It will house artist studios, a printing press for a monthly arts and culture magazine, a recording studio, and an open room with a stage. So far, he has invested almost $10,000 into the space.

Volk looks to Berlin, where he lived for six months, as a model for innovation. “In Berlin, you can have the hippest shit going on,” he says. “You’ve got kids owning clubs and then making huge amazing things.”

For Volk, the regulations, costs and red tape associated with primary liquor licenses means that only well-established, middle-of-the-road businesses can pursue them. “It means that nobody young and cool is going to open anything,” he says.

Supporting the arts vs. stifling creativity

Vancouver’s underground arts scene has been around for a long time. While some artists are knowingly defying the rules, many more may not even be aware of them in the first place.

Jess Hill is a singer-songwriter who recently performed at a haberdashery in Yaletown.

Jess Hill is one such artist. A local singer-songwriter, Hill had no idea she needed a licence for her last event. For the release party for her latest CD, she packed just over 70 people in her living room in east Vancouver. Hill has also performed in art galleries, tattoo shops, and grocery stores. Recently, she even performed in a haberdashery in Yaletown.

For Hill, performing in her home was as much about creating a memorable performance as it was convenient and cost-effective. “When you make an experience that’s more sharable and that people feel more connected to,” she says, “then the word of mouth builds for the next thing.”

Events in residential areas are not included in the city’s new licensing program. But events like house concerts have long been popular across Canada. Home Routes is a Winnipeg-based organization that organizes cross-country house concert tours. Old Crow in North Vancouver hosts monthly home-based events. And artists often use house concerts as fodder for fundraising their next album with IndieGoGo.

When Hill found out about the new licensing program, her first thought was concern that it might stifle the city’s creativity. “There’s such a burgeoning vibrancy that’s already here and it could go one way or the other,” she says.

“I feel like we’re at that fork in the road where it could continue to thrive and grow or it could get killed by the paper trail.”

John Brennan’s music struck a discordant note in his hometown of Goderich. The Ontario town of 8,000 on the banks of Lake Huron boasts famously beautiful sunsets and proudly calls itself “Canada’s prettiest town.”

When Brennan and his high-school friend detuned their guitars and walked onstage at an old local theatre, the sound that came out of the speakers jarred with the picture postcard foliage.

“We had a bunch of drinks before,” said Brennan, a lean, T-shirt-clad musician now in his 30s. “Then we spent, I think, 15 minutes standing in front of our amplifiers doing feedback and pressing on the pickups making weird clicking sounds.”

A sizeable chunk of the audience got up and left. Nobody clapped. When they were finished, nobody said anything. “I think one person said something, but it wasn’t good,” recalled Brennan. “It wasn’t a positive thing.”

The 1997 gig is a distant memory for Brennan, who now plays to more receptive crowds in Vancouver. The city is home to a small but enthusiastic audience for “noise:” music made with purposefully dissonant, harsh sounds.

Noise artists make music with everything from computers and effects pedals to chains and trash cans. It is intentionally inaccessible. But fans pack into noise shows in Vancouver and sit in rapt attention as one sonic torpedo after another crashes into their eardrums.

Some members of Vancouver’s noise scene have become internationally known. Brennan has toured Canada, Europe and Japan, playing noise. Sam McKinlay, a.k.a. “The Rita,” has produced a vast discography of harsh noise records.

In any other genre, artists of this stature might have a chance at supporting themselves with their music, like Vancouver’s top jazz musicians do. But noise plays to such a small audience that even its top echelon can’t swing a full-time music career.

Paying the bills

Artists like Brennan have to deal with the reality that their art is as uncommercial as music gets. Making noise won’t pay the stratospheric rent in Vancouver. But artists spend several hours a day making it anyway.

Brennan has been making music since age three, and started making noise in high school.

“I think 99.9 per cent of noise musicians in town all have other jobs” no matter how prestigious their reputation, said Brennan. “I can’t think of one artist in town that just does that.”

The jobs that support Vancouver’s noise artists range from sound-design contracts to working at safe-injection sites.

The safe-injection site jobs are “intense,” said Brennan, but they allow artists to take three or four days off every week. “A lot of people in the scene are really working as little as possible,” Brennan explains, so they can dedicate the bulk of their time to their art.

Brennan considers himself lucky that his job lets him be creative and make money at the same time. He works at Vivo Media Arts, where he curates a noise concerts series called Destroy Vancouver and organizes workshops in noise techniques like improvisation and circuit-bending.

He works part-time, which has an impact on his financial situation. “I am scraping by,” said Brennan. “But for me, I would rather work less, have less money and have more time to work on my art.”

The DIY philosophy

One element of noise that takes up a lot of noise musicians’ time is a technique called “circuit-bending,” in which he or she manually alters the circuitry in electronic devices, like toys and tape decks, to produce new and unheard sounds.

According to Jonathan Adams, a DJ and UBC graduate student in ethnomusicology, the DIY philosophy of circuit-bending and noise stems from strong anti-capitalist and anti-corporate sentiments.

“I think the fact that they don’t buy the tools from these huge, transnational corporations that are building the equipment and the software and so forth is actually a political statement,” he said. “I definitely think there’s a punk element.”

Graham Christofferson, known to Vancouver noise fans as “Worker,” definitely brings together the DIY approach and the political ethos of punk. He got involved in noise three years ago at a punk bar where everyone could play, Christofferson explained, “as long as they were doing something weird.”

Listen: Worker on the rebellious ethos of noise music (2’05″)

Christofferson’s “Worker” persona doesn’t do punk, but his roots show through in the aggressiveness of his sounds. Lately, he has adopted an angle grinder and a trash-can lid as instruments. In the middle of his performance, he starts grinding holes into the lid, producing sounds more commonly heard on construction sites while showering the audience with sparks.

Christofferson considers his music starkly political. In naming himself “Worker” and making aggressive music with homemade instruments and everyday objects, he hopes to use his art to communicate everything he hates about the capitalist system “and why you should destroy it.”

The Art of Noise

Noise actually dates back to at least 60 years before the birth of punk. In 1913, the composer Luigi Russolo wrote a manifesto called “The Art of Noise.” In it, he claimed that the human ear had become used to the speed, energy and noise of the urban industrial landscape and that music should incorporate similar sounds.

Since then, the major influences in noise have ranged from the avant-garde composer John Cage to the post-punk band Sonic Youth. Japan has produced a number of noise artists, like Hanatarash and Merzbow, whose influence is felt around the world.

Today, noise, similar to other music genres, encompasses a wide range of sounds. Even a single Vancouver noise concert can feature everything from abrasive industrial sounds to minimalist drones.

For Brennan, it’s about combining elements of noise with avant-garde jazz. He has been playing music since age three and studied jazz drums and guitar at Concordia before switching to electro-acoustics.

It has never been Brennan’s goal “to be a superstar or to get a million hits on YouTube,” he said. “I am just playing for myself and for the 13 people who really enjoy this, or whatever.”

Clayton puts finishing touches on a velvet top from his upcoming fashion show during a break at work.

Evan Clayton returns home after an eight-hour day selling clothes at Topshop. He relaxes for a bit, then surveys the list on his wall and chooses his next task.

“I think I’m probably nuts for doing this, but I honestly, now that I’m doing it, I can’t picture myself doing anything else. I’ve never been happier than I am now designing.”

Clayton’s designs are avant-garde and dramatic compared to the mass-market, trendy styles that make Topshop a worldwide success.

He is one of about 50 designers showing off their work at Vancouver Fashion Week, March 20-24, using the occasion to practice their skills and show off their ideas to others in Vancouver’s small fashion world.

In order for Clayton to pursue his passion for design, he juggles multiples jobs to pay his rent. He is not alone in having to multi-task to make an appearance at this event.

It’s the first time Clayton is showing his collection of high-fashion garments. Since graduating from Blanche Macdonald Centre in 2011, he has continued to design and kept in touch with fashion-industry professionals he met at school.

Mel Watts is the fashion department career director at Blanche Macdonald. She says Clayton’s combination of talent and passion will help him find success in this tough industry. And it’s what is required.

“He’s really talented and he wants it…When it comes to design, you can’t not live and breathe it, or else you just won’t succeed.”

Dressing Lady Gaga

Clayton says he is “in a constant state of inspiration” and completely immersed in a life of fashion. His quaint South Granville apartment is strewn with sewing needles and mannequins wearing his couture. He tattooed a song title from his fashion icon, Lady Gaga, on his forearm, more evidence of his determination.

Clayton’s list of finishing touches for every runway look hangs on his apartment kitchen wall.

Watts says this focus paid off recently when one of Clayton’s designs made it to his dream client.

“He made a dress for Lady Gaga and he got it to her…that’s Evan. He’s just committed, 100 per cent of the time. He’ll work at Topshop, he’ll do his thing, but he then goes home and is working on his collection.”

Sleep has become a foreign concept for Clayton. Along with his job at Topshop, he also works part-time as a busboy in a downtown restaurant. But he manages to take advantage of every spare moment.

“These past couple weeks, I’ve been bringing a couple pieces to work with me. And just on my breaks I’ll be doing little detail things, like sewing on buttons, or sewing on hooks and eyes, or closing a lining or whatever.”

At fashion week, he has 15 minutes to make his mark with 14 distinct outfits. This has been a project months in the making. A show producer invited him to display his work, and he began the process of selecting a theme. ‘The Fall of Joan’ is Clayton’s take on the decay of the modern superstar. Putting his name on a clothing presentation sets the stage for what he hopes will be a successful career someday.

“I went through probably through three or four collection ideas, because my first show needs to be extra special. So, pretty much since September, I’ve been sewing my cute little butt off.”

International flavour

This year, Clayton has a chance of having his work seen by more than the usual local crowd. Designers are descending on Vancouver from all over the world in much higher numbers than in previous years. Over half of the labels are based outside of Canada. Past shows featured up-and-coming local designers. Adding a global element this year means more competition. But also more people who understand the demands of trying to break in.

Clayton’s love for Lady Gaga is evident on his forearm.

Israeli-born, London-based designer Gita Sidikman is one of those designers. She turned her sewing machine off long enough to describe the stress she faces, days before presenting her line, Gita Omri.

“You research other subjects for inspiration, but at the end, it’s something that’s coming personally from you. A lot of people say well it’s not personal. But when people don’t like it it’s very personal it’s like they don’t like you in a way…I believe anything you work hard on, is personal. Even business.”

Sidikman family’s fully supports her career in fashion. Her grandfather paid for her tuition at the Art Institute of New York. Now, as she works on designing, she is back at school studying fashion prints. Her apartment in London doubles as a classroom to help her pay her bills.

“I tutor fashion and design and pattern-making and painting, and whatever else you can think of, I teach. It’s hard. It’s not a lot of sleep and very long days.”

The path to success

Even established designers like Christopher Bates know a thing or two about long hours. He designs tailored menswear and showed his work at Vancouver Fashion Week in 2008. This year, he presented at Toronto Fashion Week alongside brands like Joe Fresh. Bates says the lead-up to his fashion shows is chaotic – something that Vancouver’s shows helped him train for.

“It’s frantic. You know, there’s really a million things to do with the collection and accessorizing, and your guest list, and you’re still running a business as well and dealing with all types of inquiries. As a small-business owner, you’re still doing accounting and production stuff. It’s just never really ending.”

Before studying fashion design in Milan, Bates earned a marketing degree from BCIT and put his business savvy to use building his company. Now, he works mainly on his namesake brand. He supplements his income with modeling, acting, and graphic design jobs.

Clayton combines fabrics to come up with high-fashion garments

Bates says the path to success for designers is a long one. It also means dealing with much more than design. Accounting, creating guest lists and marketing the brand are all part of the job.

“You really have to be hell-bent on being successful. I think that you have to believe in yourself and that you will be successful – and you have to know that its not an overnight type of thing.”

Bates is experiencing some success, but he’s not there yet. He’ll know he’s made it when his designs are consistently selling at the best retailers in the world.

Clayton, who is at the stage in his life that Bates was five years ago, is focused on getting his first show on the runway. He knows success is a long way off, and he has no interest in looking beyond it.

“I have no idea if anyone’s gonna be interested in purchasing the samples, but I do know for certain that I’ll be showing in other seasons…Vancouver to me is a stepping stone. I love the city but, ultimately, my goal is to branch out further than Vancouver and even Canada. I’d love to dip my feet into London or Paris.”

London is particularly significant for Clayton. He is inspired by designers like the late Alexander McQueen, who was renowned for making his clothes transcend fashion and stand alone as art. The label continues and Clayton hopes to one day get to his still-operational studio in London.

“The only design job that I ever wanted in school was to work at Alexander McQueen. And that’s still something I’m working towards. I won’t be happy until I’ve worked just one day there.”

Cail Judy is one of a young generation of poets looking to their day jobs to sustain and inform their artistic practice.

Cail Judy was 19 when he started working the night shift at the Maple Leaf slaughterhouse in Brandon, Man.

After the daytime workers had all gone home, Judy would show up to clean the mess left behind.

“I had to clean the de-hairing machine,” Judy recalls, “which was a three-storey-tall machine with this giant auger in the bottom, and it would slap the hair off pigs when they came through the chute.”

“So my job when I got in was to take a pitchfork and firehose, and I’d have to basically unfur it, and [the fur] would come out in these huge clumps, like giant bricks.”

It was this experience that in part made Judy turn to writing as a creative outlet.

“That was one of the worst experiences of my life. It was something that really stuck with me and seared into my brain. So when I got back into writing, that was the first thing I really sat down to write about.”

Since then, Judy has worked throughout Canada and abroad, including stints as a tour guide in Alaska and a high-school teacher in the United Kingdom.

Judy, now 28, has since settled in Vancouver. Besides working as a residential-care worker, camp counsellor for at-risk youth, and account manager, he is trying to develop a name for himself as a local poet.

He is part of a long list of writers who have joined the work force, from desk jobs to the service industry, in order survive as poets in the most expensive city in North America.

Listen: Judy reads his poem “Blackout Pact”

Working within the confines

Beyond sheer survival, though, many poets of Cail’s generation have turned the necessity of work into a virtue by allowing their day jobs to inform their artistic voice.

Mariner Janes, manager of the Downtown Eastside’s mobile needle-exchange program, will see his first major publication, The Monument Cycles, come out next month with Vancouver’s Talonbooks press.

His job, which includes distributing harm-reduction materials throughout the neighbourhood, hasn’t simply allowed Janes to get by while developing his writing on the side.

The emotionally taxing work has played a major role in framing Janes’ artistic explorations of history and memory in the city.

“A lot of the stuff that I’m writing about is about struggles against gentrification, struggles against displacement, struggles around trying to help people with mental illness and addiction and trying to come to some understanding of what they’re going through.”

Janes did feel conflicted, though, about appropriating the voices of the community for his own artistic ends.

“It’s a complicated question. If I was to talk about somebody’s life story in some way, would that be ripping the words out of their mouth, or worse, doing the colonial thing, where you’re speaking for them or you’re saying: ‘Well, you know, this guy can’t speak for himself, so I’ll tell his story’?” Janes said.

“I struggled with writing about it for a long time and the kind of exploitative element of what I was doing.”

Although he’s been working in the Downtown Eastside for about six years, Janes has only now come to terms with the ways his job has seeped into his artistic project over the years.

“It’s always been a big part of my writing, whether I liked it or not. I fought it for a long time, and now I don’t anymore.”

Listen: Janes reads his poem “The Ambassador”  

Mariner Janes has used his job as a social-service worker in some of Vancouver’s most troubled neighbourhoods to inform his poetry.

The weight of tradition

Poets have been weaving their work on Canada’s West Coast into their writing for a long time. Writers like Robert Swanson, Brian Fawcett and Peter Trower all incorporated their work in the forest industry as part of their individual poetic identities.

Resource-industry jobs have been declining in B.C. That’s why more local writers are turning to new kinds of work to pay the bills: teaching, social-service work, bartending.

Rhea Tregebov, assistant professor in the creative writing department at UBC, sees this trend reflected in the kind of jobs her students get, both before and after graduating, in order to supplement their writing careers.

“In terms of strict blue-collar work, I don’t know many students that would be working in the old-fashioned industrial or skilled trades,” Tregebov remarked.

Kate Braid is one contemporary writer, however, who’s managed to make her career out of blurring the distinction between craft and traditional labour. The veteran poet spent her working years during the 1980s in lumber and construction, eventually becoming one of the few female journey carpenters in the city.

Surrounded by often lukewarm if not outright antagonistic colleagues, Braid turned to writing to deflect the feelings of isolation she had while working in this male-dominated industry.

For her, writing was an act of “desperation.”

“I had no one to talk to, no other way to make sense of construction [and] male culture. I was keeping detailed journals after every day… but I came home exhausted after eight to 10 hour days of doing heavy labour, sometimes six days a week, so my lines got shorter until finally I realized I was writing poetry.”

Initially a creative outlet to help find her voice in construction, poetry eventually came to define part of Braid’s identity until the act of construction and the act of creation became difficult to separate.

“I was passionate first about construction, using poetry as a way to comfort myself, keep myself going. Slowly, I became passionate about the poetry as an end in itself.”

“They felt integral, each fed the other,” she explained. “I loved both. I needed both.”

Braid eventually left the construction industry altogether in 1991 to devote herself to writing full-time, publishing her first collection, Covering Fresh Ground, the same year.

Braid has since established herself as one of the pre-eminent voices in Vancouver poetry and has published multiple volumes devoted to her experiences as a female carpenter, including a recently published memoir called Journeywoman: Swinging a Hammer in a Man’s World.

Listen: Braid reads her poem “Nails” (with permission of Kate Braid and Clyde Reed, first published in Turning Left to the Ladies [Palimpsest Press, 2009])

Then and now

Braid finds the current prospects of younger poets who are trying to sustain themselves while carving a space within the local scene, like Janes and Judy, considerably more bleak than when she started publishing in the early ’90s.

“The average sales for a poetry book used to be around 400 [copies]. I’m sure the number of sales is lower now. With e-books, it’s even worse. So it’s all about the day job.”

In addition to teaching poetry to both undergrad and masters students at UBC, Tregebov has an extensive publishing record herself, and she’s observed a similar decrease in the opportunities available to poets who try to make it in the local scene.

“I find Vancouver doesn’t have much of an infrastructure. I lived in Toronto, and the Toronto Arts Council is very, very healthy, versus zero here. You can apply for funding to the B.C. Arts Council, which is dreadfully underfunded. And federal [funding] is the most competitive you can imagine.”

Tregebov has noticed some of the ways this financial strain has crept into the work of not only her students, but local poets in general.

“You’ll often see the sense of marginalization that people get from being somewhat trapped economically by what they love. And also writing about work… there’s often an ironic, wry wisp at being on the other side of the counter.”

Toughing it out

Judy’s day job is more important to the kind of poetry he writes than just the paycheque it brings.

Judy is slightly more optimistic. He finds that the mentality that comes from having an occupation is just as important as the paycheque it brings.

“It’s that 20 minutes when you get home from work after you have a shower, where you sit down at your desk and you’ve just got time to yourself and you try to make something happen,” Judy says.

“I find that those tend to be a lot more productive than if you just have too much time, because too much time can be crippling too. The thing is, you still want to be hungry to write, but it’s nice to not actually be physically hungry.”

Judy is part of a writing collective called Wolf Mountain, which bases its artistic principals on this blue-collar work ethic.

The motto of Wolf Mountain is “making poetry tough again.”

“You’re working hard all day, we’re working hard as well,” Judy explains. “Not for your dime necessarily, but for your attention.”

“So our aesthetic is, we’re going to put on our work shirt, our old blue jeans, and we’re going to work our asses off to make something that you’re going to engage with.”

“That’s the idea,” he remarked. “That’s the ideal.”

A massive expansion is about to provide the UBC Bookstore with much more room for shopping, eating, and studying – but not for books.

First proposed to UBC’s board of governors in April, the 5,500-square-foot expansion includes increased store space, a larger café, and a convenience store, as well as bringing the store’s entrance up to street level. Construction is expected to begin in early 2013 and be completed by September.

But the specifics of the expansion reflect the struggles the store has been having with book sales for years.

It has also ignited a debate about the function of a bookstore on a university campus. Some view it as an important intellectual institution, while others believe it should change with the times — and make some money.

Debbie Harvie, the bookstore’s managing director, is passionate about books, but has accepted the non-book-centric expansion as an inevitability.

“It’s like a death by a thousand cuts watching the book business change,” Harvie said. “Trade books, especially. Textbooks, a bit slower, but digital is coming.”

Extra, extra… read all about it?

Harvie acknowledged that, although the bookstore expansion is partly designed to enhance campus life, it’s also about confronting a new financial reality in a changing industry.

“General book sales in the store have been going down between 10 and 15 per cent annually for the last five years,” she said. “For me, flat is the new up. That part of our business is very challenged.”

The digital era has brought with it a myriad of challenges for bookstores, including competition from e-books and online sellers like Amazon. An October 2012 report from non-profit industry group BookNet Canada found that only a third of books are bought at bookstores, with the rest bought online or at big-box stores. 

With book sales dropping, the UBC Bookstore has changed its focus to retail goods such as branded clothing, which provide higher profit margins and are the bookstore’s fastest-growing sellers, according to Harvie.

A model of the bookstore expansion, displayed to the UBC community at a November 14 open house. (Photo: Garrett Hinchey)

The bookstore is also hoping to become a “hub of campus activity,” said Harvie, by adding a full café and second floor study space, both designed to enhance university life and secure repeat visitors.

Refocusing the priorities of the bookstore away from print books may be the reality for a changing industry, but many people within UBC are opposed to such a shift.

“I’m wary about any expansion that eliminates the bookstore, either in name or space,” said Kim Snowden, professor of women’s and gender studies at UBC. “More space for the bookstore in general is great, and I fully support that.

“But it still needs to be – and be called – a bookstore.”

Snowden is referring to 2011 plans to rename the store “UBC Central,” an idea that was eventually scrapped after backlash from the university community, including an online petition that amassed nearly 900 signatures, including many faculty members.

Even though book sales are dropping, the bookstore’s position as a pillar of university culture is a principle that many at UBC still support, according to Snowden.

“Intellectually and culturally, it’s important to a university campus. I did notice that the bookstore put up a public board for customers to comment on what they would like to see in the expansion,” she said. “Most of them said: ‘More books!’”

Feeling the pull

The bookstore may be the latest battleground between academic and financial motivations at UBC, but changing fiscal realities could see this tension take even greater prominence in the coming years.

Faced with increasing costs due to student financial assistance and maintenance charges, as well as mandated wage increases, UBC is feeling the strain of fixed funding from the B.C. government.

According to UBC’s latest budget presentation, this current model is “unsustainable,” and after 2014 “it is difficult to forsee what efficiency gains would be left in the system short of cutting student services.”

Further cost-cutting “is of grave concern to UBC,” said Andrew Glynn, director of management reporting and budgeting for UBC. “We do not want this to affect the kind of experience our students have. There are some options on the revenue side, and we continue to advocate for a stronger commitment from our governments to post-secondary education.”

Barring this stronger commitment, though, revenue-generating moves like the bookstore’s retail expansion are likely to take greater precedence in the future.

For Harvie, though, the expansion is “a dream,” no matter the circumstances.

“It’s always been our dream to go up to street level. The architects have done a great job, and I think it’s a new chapter for the bookstore.

“I’m really excited.”

In her basement studio in east Vancouver, Morgan Green pulls out a few pieces of handcrafted jewelry she’s been keeping under wraps.

An intricate gold and silver butterfly pendant and Raven ring emerge from a drawer beneath her desk.

The curving artwork is instantly recognizable as classic Northwest Coast formline – Tsimshian to be precise.

But Green has done something different. She’s taken that style and re-interpreted it with traditional European jewelry-making techniques.

This fusion is partly why she was recognized with a prestigious B.C. Creative Achievement Award for First Nations’ Art on Nov. 19, 2012.

“She works on such a high level,” said Kwiaahwah Jones, a curator at the Bill Reid Gallery in Vancouver, where Green will hold her first solo exhibition next spring.

Although Green’s career is just beginning, Jones has high hopes for an artist whose promise puts her in the realm of one of Canada’s most famous artists.

“Bill Reid was, and is still today, the most expensive jeweler per gram of gold anywhere in Canada and I think Morgan’s work is so well done – in my hope and in my mind – she’s going to achieve that level. She, like Bill, is going to reach an international market and really make a name for her nation.”

Morgan Green models one of her hollow-cut pendants and rings. (Photo: Morgan Green)

Fusing art forms

That’s high praise for a 28-year-old.

Green is Tsimshian from Lax Kw’alaams – also known as Port Simpson – in northern B.C., the daughter of Tsimshian master carver Henry Green and a Scottish and French mother, also an artist.

The entire Skeena River region was once a hub of Northwest Coast art until the potlatch ban of 1884 outlawed many of the historic cultural practices and artifacts of the Tsimshian and neighbouring nations.

Reclaiming what was lost has been a long and difficult process.

“A lot of the art represents laws and documents and histories from our potlatch culture that have a deeper context. Our totem poles were documents already. They said who lives here and who owns what and that’s not something that’s ever recognized. I think a lot of our nations struggle with that. Everything was just taken away.”

Green’s art draws on this enormous history.

“I’m inspired by the old masters of both European and Northwest Coast culture,” she says.

So Green spent the last decade learning about Tsimshian and Northwest Coast art anywhere she could – in books, stories, museums and galleries around the world and apprenticed under master artists like Rick Adkins, her father, Jordan Seward and goldsmith Gerold Mueller.

The result has been a fusion of Northwest Coast and European styles, expressed through drawings, paintings, fashion, woodcarvings, bronze casts and jewelry.

“Working with classic Northwest Coast styles and then learning new techniques for interpreting, I think that’s what’s really special about her,” says Bill McLennan, a curator at the Museum of Anthropology at UBC who has worked with Northwest Coast artists including Bill Reid for nearly 40 years.

Retelling old stories

‘Mouse Woman’ watches over the children of Skeena River. (Photo: Morgan Green)

McLennan is quick to point out another of Green’s attributes.

“She’s generous in teaching and working with other people,” he says. “I see the role of all artists as teachers: producing work that’s coming into the broader society… you look at the number of people who wear Northwest Coast jewelry now and inevitably someone will ask them: ‘What’s that?’ It’s a very subtle way of informing but people are recognizing that.”

Green embraces this role wholeheartedly.

“All my pieces have their own story. I like to name them all in Sm’álgyax and make sure I research everything,” she said.

She holds out a silver pendant. Large protruding eyes stare from a grinning, mouse-like face.

In the old stories of the Northwest Coast, the same eyes have watched over the youth of the Skeena River for thousands of years.

“Mouse Woman is awesome. She’s like the smallest supernatural creature. She’s the little spirit, the little helper, especially of young people … so I like to put her into everything.”

“Strengthening our youth”

However, there’s more to it than retelling old stories.

“There’s really a deeper meaning to doing this. It basically means cultural repatriation of our art: our land, our space and our art, right?”

Green’s passion shines through in her earnest way of talking about her role as an artist.

“I think what my role is – and maybe this is why I love Mouse Woman – is because I feel the same way as her. The youth is the most important thing. Sometimes we have so many problems in our communities so I think that strengthening our youth and making them see what their culture really is – that’s really important. I had to leave home to get educated, I had to leave home to do everything that I wanted to do and that sucks.”

Having said that, Green knows that she has been lucky in the way her career has developed – using the Internet, a clientele of First Nations buyers, and art grants to support herself instead of relying solely on large galleries and art stores for exposure.

“I think it’s important because our art wasn’t invented to be sold, necessarily,” said Green.

Green hopes that someday she will be able to help bring lost Tsimshian masterworks home and re-carve and raise the totems that once stood proudly in Lax Kw’alaams.

“It’s just all about being home for me. It’s all about explaining to people that this is an extension of me sitting on the river back home. It’s all one thing to me.”

Rebecca Bayer is a member of Ten Fifteen Maple, the artist collective that will work out of the Hadden Park field house. (Photo: Emma Smith)

Artist Suzy Birstein needs to think creatively about space because every inch counts in her pantry-sized studio. In one corner, there’s a desk sprinkled with her students’ creations: misshapen cats and princesses moulded by tiny fingers. In the other, a massive kiln is covered in fine dust.

Birstein, a Vancouver sculptor and painter, has used different rooms in her Kitsilano home for studio space since the ‘70s. When her son was born, the studio moved to the ground floor.

“I make this space versatile,” says Birstein. “Sometimes it changes three times in a day, from teaching kids to doing pottery to painting. I’m trying to do everything in this little, weensy space.”

Suzy Birstein teaches pottery and works out of her home studio. (Photo: Emma Smith)

This is common for Kitsilano artists who have to deal with rising housing costs and limited space.

But a city program that turns old park caretaker houses into studios has expanded this fall, opening up prime Kitsilano real estate without the hefty price-tag.

“That’s awesome,” says Birstein. “It’s nice that the city is starting to think about that.”

In October, the Vancouver park board turned seven more field houses into free studio space, including one in Kitsilano’s Hadden Park. Now, nine parks — two hosted pilots in earlier years — will house more than 30 artists for the next two and a half years.

This program is especially important for Kitsilano because there is limited working studio space in this area, says Scott Watson, acting head of UBC’s art history, visual art and theory department.

Open studio warehouses, like 1000 Parker St. in east Vancouver, don’t exist here. This meant many artists worked in other neighbourhoods — until now.

Hadden Park field house, a bit “rough”

On the tip of Kits Point, the Hadden Park field house feels like it’s surrounded by sea. It’s a one-bedroom bungalow with windows that stretch from wall to wall.

The house was built about 50 years ago. It’s been empty since the long-time caretaker left last year, and it’s a bit of a fixer-upper. There’s no toilet. There’s asbestos under the floors.

But that’s why architect and sculptor Rebecca Bayer likes it. She’s one of the five artists who beat out more than 100 applicants to use the space.

“I was really drawn to it initially,” says Bayer. “I mean, I know it’s rough. I find that kind of exciting that this space has something in it already.”

While the house is under renovation and won’t be officially open until January, Bayer and the other artists are brainstorming projects that will explore local history.

Hadden Park field house is second in line for renovations and will be open in January. (Photo: Emma Smith)

Before they were awarded the space, most of the artists were working out of their homes. Bayer says this new space encourages collaboration, and it will also affect her creative process.

“For years, I worked just at a desk in my apartment, but for me this means the work produced is limited in scale and is a bit insular,” says Bayer.

In exchange for space, the artists are responsible for 350 public hours annually to create free art that interacts with the neighbourhood, says Marie Lopes, an arts programmer with the city.

“It’s more of an in-kind exchange than it is a financial exchange,” say Lopes.

Artists priced out of areas they’ve helped create

While Vancouver has one of the highest concentrations of artists in Canada, they only make around $27,100 a year. An average rental in Kitsilano costs $1,041 a month, according to 2010 figures. An artist trying to buy a condo on Vancouver’s west side would have to have an income of $112,000, compared to the $86,000 needed on the east side.

Kitsilano wasn’t always this way. Back in the ‘60s, artists flocked to the area for the low rent and hippy vibe. But while artists find communities and create culture within them, this in turn attracts developers with deep pockets.

“Artists are often the avant-garde of gentrification,” says Watson.

Communal studio space connects artists

But while Vancouver’s field house experiment generates some praise, it’s nowhere near enough, say artists.

“It’s a good idea and it’s a beautiful location, but it needs to be a bigger space,” says Birstein.

While the city plans to further expand the field house program, she says there needs to be an emphasis on bigger, communal arts spaces in Kitsilano.

She wants to see a warehouse-type space made available, an area where artists can gather, collaborate and share their art with the community. Without it, she says many artists don’t have the chance to connect with one another, and this is vital to the creative process.

“We all want to interact with one another and need feedback and need support, and that’s what that kind of environment does. It’s inspiring.”

Related:

Park cabins a hidden refuge for artists : Meet Jack Darcus an artist and caretaker who has lived in a park for over 20 years.

The Olympic village cultural space (concept drawing shown) will be the future home of three theatre companies
(Illustration: GBL Architects)

At the base of the enormous Wall Centre development near Vancouver’s booming Olympic Village neighbourhood is a 260-seat theatre space first intended for the Vancouver Playhouse.

When the Playhouse closed this past March, it was unclear what would happen to the space.

That question was answered recently when the city of Vancouver conditionally accepted a proposal from the Pacific Theatre, the Arts Club Theatre Company and Bard on the Beach.

This will allow Pacific Theatre to move out of the church basement where it co-exists with Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, give Bard on the Beach its first real home, and provide adequate rehearsal space for the cramped Arts Club. Not to mention the immeasurable community solidarity and cultural appeal for Olympic village.

This past summer the city asked for applications from local non-profit arts organizations and attracted the interest of Ballet B.C. and Goh Ballet among others.

But only the theatre companies proposed to use the entire 44,000-square-foot space, putting them at the top of the list. According to Frank Nickel, production and business manager for Pacific Theatre, the theatre companies’ successful application stood out for its comprehensive plan and collective approach.

Nickel says the move will be a significant upgrade for Pacific Theatre and give audiences a premium theatre experience.

“While our art is truly outstanding and Jessie Award-winning, our facilities are not…so being in that new space would be a big game-changer for us.”

Hurdles ahead

Wall Financial Corporation is still building the cultural space. When it is finished, it will be transferred to the city. The city then plans to lease the space rent-free, according to the city’s cultural services office.

Operating costs and lease agreements are still unconfirmed and the $12-million construction price tag to outfit the unfinished space will be the first challenge for the three theatre groups to overcome.

With the death of the Playhouse and the recent announcement that MusicFest Vancouver 2013 has been cancelled, the project is coming at a difficult time for the arts in Vancouver. All three companies are working on extensive fundraising and feasibility studies that Nickel says are vital to prevent another loss for the city’s cultural community.

“After the collapse of the Playhouse Theatre Company, the city has to be really cautious that they don’t set people up for failure, especially arts organizations.”

Community impact

Wall Financial, which has helped restore several other theatres in the city including the Stanley and the York,  built the theatre space as a community amenity contribution valued at $7.7 million.

Nickel says the value of a theatre in Olympic village is potentially exponential, particularly when Pacific Theatre also plans to rent out space to other arts associations.

“Performing arts organizations or performance places for theatre, music, that kind of stuff really can anchor a neighbourhood and provide spinoff benefits for restaurants, bars and after-hours activities.”

Howard Jang, executive director of the Arts Club, says the diverse range of residents in Olympic Village gives theatre companies a whole new opportunity for public engagement. He is excited about the possibility of operating in that neighbourhood.

“It’s one thing to have a London Drugs down there but…[the cultural space] could very easily be a microcosm for what a community is built around.”

Olympic village’s new cultural space will house Pacific Theatre productions such as The Spitfire Grill. (Photo: Francesca Albertazzi)

Kaylee Johnston, a Vancouver-born musician, is looking forward to the arts community moving into her neighbourhood.

“I think that’s amazing. Right now, a lot of the arts stuff is happening downtown and in Mount Pleasant but not in the specific area of the Olympic Village. There’s actually nothing going on.”

Christopher Gaze, artistic director for Bard on the Beach, also anticipates a thriving cultural centre, and said in an email that the assortment of people and liveliness associated with culture spaces carries a strong energy.

“Imagine all the actors, stage management, cutters, sewers, administration, artisans all pouring in and out of the area – and a theatre to boot! We can be a hub of artistic activity in a new and vibrant community. It has thrilling potential and I hope with all my heart that we achieve our dream.”

Participants gather outside UGM headquarters for the tour. Photo: Andrew Taran, courtesy of UGM

An experiment in having local residents of Vancouver’s famous Downtown Eastside give guided walking tours generated enthusiastic response from guides and tour members. But the unusual tours also drew criticism from those who were unhappy that they had been put on display with no notice.

Organized by the Union Gospel Mission for Homelessness Action Week in the second week of October, the two-hour walking tours made 26 stops throughout the historic neighbourhood including Strathcona, Gastown, Chinatown, the Hastings Corridor, and the Oppenheimer Park area.

The idea was to create public awareness, help Vancouverites learn and understand Downtown Eastside’s community, and offer dignified employment to community members in an area too frequently known for its poverty, drug trade, and population of mentally ill and homeless people.

The tours proved to be a valuable learning experience for Vancouver residents and a good opportunity for tour guides to share an inside look at the neighbourhood.

However, some residents felt left out.

Long-time neighbours like Cassandra Eastman expected better communication from UGM. She’s concerned about Vancouverites getting the wrong impression.

“UGM may have done a good thing but we didn’t get to know details [about the project] or their justification for coming into our neighbourhood and not announcing themselves.”

Crab Park was one of the 26 stops. Photo: Carlos Tello

Many community members were surprised to see the groups walking around their neighbourhood. Some grew curious and lingered close to them so they could hear the tour guide’s explanations. Others turned away and kept about their business. One man approached the group and suggested: “Why don’t you go home?”

The UGM’s Keela Keeping expected mixed reactions. “If you walk down [in the Downtown Eastside], you are going to get someone encouraging and high-fiving you and someone else that’s not so excited about you being there. That’s just the way it is,” said Keeping, who is the mission’s senior public-relations specialist.

Keeping said UGM did try to get the word out.

“Before tours started, we contacted a lot of [community] service providers and we put up posters [explaining] what [the project] was about, what was going on and encouraging [community members] to welcome people to their community.”

She also said the tours ran only during Homelessness Action Week to further minimize discomfort for residents.

Participants wrote their highlight after the tour. Photo: Carlos Tello

Tour participants, on the other hand, say they enjoyed getting to know Downtown Eastside. Nicole Swinden lives in Vancouver but, before the tour, she did not know much about the neighbourhood.

“I loved [the tour], it was very informative. I learned a lot about Vancouver’s history and got to go to areas I normally wouldn’t. (…) I also learned about all the different organizations that help Downtown Eastside’s population and it’s nice to see that everyone is connected with a common goal.”

The guides loved the experience, too.

Geoff Milson led tours for the first time in his life. He struggled to get his megaphone working but pressed on.“[My work as a tour guide] was a labour of love. I was in a bad situation so now I’m trying to help, and hopefully get others to help, people in the same situation I was in before.”

Milson went through a UGM drug recovery program to get clean and went on to learn job skills at Mission Possible after having a heart attack he blames on his former addictions. He believes now it’s time to give back to his community.

“Hopefully [this] will help more people see Downtown Eastside is a good place,” he said.

UGM is already thinking about next year. So is Milson. He´s already talked to his employer about taking time off from his regular job so that he can guide again.

Eastman, on the other hand, wants better communication if there is a next time.

“We need to know, too, so there are not any hard feelings. We all share the same neighbourhood,” she said.