RAIN DANCE

The sight of low-lying clouds in the distance; the first drop of water that hits your cheek; the steady sound of a heavy downpour—rain can be welcomed or considered menacing. For instance, a soft rainfall can be cheerfully embraced when we are well equipped with a rain jacket, boots and umbrella, but it is an entirely different situation when we are caught unprepared in the midst of a storm. Regardless of our own attitude toward rain, there is no denying its fundamental significance. It is vital to our ecosystem and way of life. Without rain, our vegetation dies; too much can be equally devastating. The ebb and flow of rain operate as a cyclical dance between scarcity at one extreme and overabundance the other. When the cycle is in balance, we prosper, when it is not, we suffer. The works selected for this exhibition all illustrate moments within this perpetual cycle.

The vivid yellow sunshine that radiates across the land and sky in Sunstruck Fields (1990) by Dee Parsons De Wit calls to mind a warm sunny day, the kind that we take pleasure in until the heat becomes sweltering and the humidity unbearable. This sentiment is beautifully conveyed in the pulsating orange palette of Mitchel Smith’s abstract representation of a heat wave, Hot Spell (1995), and Matthew Spidell’s Grasses #4 (2005) shows us the aftermath. The sprawl of dry grass becomes an all too familiar sight during summer months, especially in the Prairie provinces, where drought occurs more frequently. In addition to the punishing nature of dry spells, the absence of precipitation brings the potential for another devastating force—wildfires. The hazy warm, purple-grey sky and ominous orange glow at the horizon line in Smokey Sky (1988) by Judith Zinkan indicates an approaching fire—something that the occupants of the lookout station in Diane Colwell’s colour Polaroid, Look Out (1986), would be watching for.

For that which nature has failed to provide, our civilization has adapted with bylaws and manmade devices. Fire bans are put in place, water bomber aircrafts wait in the wings, and sprinklers—like the one’s represented in Rick Bennett's and Robert Burcher’s photographs (Untitled (1977) and Sprinklers (1979) respectively)—become a common sight in suburban neighbourhoods and public spaces. In some instances, people even turn toward folklore rituals. One such example is illustrated in Janet Cardiff’s Drought 1989 From Tableau (1989) in which the figure searches for an underground water source using a dowsing stick. Widely considered a pseudoscience today, the practice had its origins during the Renaissance in 15th-century Germany. People who use this method (referred to as “dowsers”) believe that by holding a Y-shaped rod (most commonly a stick) and walking slowly over a selected area, would enable them to find water when the rod started to twitch.

The huge impact of the weather—both positive and negative—has led to an incessant need to predict it. Weather forecasts have become increasingly more accurate, but the most immediate method is to simply look at the sky. Bruce Weinhandl’s Exhibitionist Tendencies in the Cumulus Cloud (1998) illustrates a sky that, although quite dramatic in appearance, poses no immediate indication of rain. In fact, Cumulus clouds are an indication of fair weather and hold very little precipitation. The same cannot be said, however, of the clouds in Near Wardlow, Alberta (1995) by George Webber, Prairie Hills with Cloud (1980) by Takao Tanabe or Sea (2001) by Lelde Muehlenbachs. In these works, rain is imminent if not already occurring. The raincoat-clad figure in Frank Haddock’s watercolour, Waiting for the Big Rain (1987)—although doleful in her facial expression—seems well equipped to embrace the weather.

Unlike snow that collects in volume when it hits the ground, it can be difficult to determine just how much rain has fallen. Perhaps, our best indication is to look at the water level of nearby lakes, streams or rivers. We often compare the levels to previous years and become worried when it creeps up the embankment. In Jacques Rioux’s photograph Untitled (1986), the water level appears low whereas in Velma Foster’s The Water and the Wall (1973) there is a tension that undercuts the soft palette of pink, yellow and beige. The surface of the turbulent water in Foster’s work appears flush with the top of the wall and capable of surging over at any moment. A flood is imminent. While Foster’s work presents a flood about to happen, Jonathan Luckhurst’s Floodplain and Floodplain ii (2010) show the aftermath—not as a devastating force but in symbiosis with the inhabitant’s way of life. They go about their lives amid the surging water.

From heat waves, drought and forest fires to rainstorms and floods, the positive and negative consequences of rain are not unique to one individual or region. In fact, rain is one of the great equalizers. It is something that every part of the world experiences. We all depend on rain to maintain our livelihoods. This is likely why we gravitate toward the subject in a near-ritualistic way. We may not know our neighbours that well or the person working at the till in the supermarket, but we know instinctively that the rain we are experiencing is common ground. Conversely, we are quick to compare the weather in our region with that of those individuals living in a different part of the country or a different place in the world. We may not share the same hobbies or interests with the person we are making “small talk” with, but we all live under the same sky—its continuously shifting nature gives us plenty to discuss.

Rain Dance was curated by Shannon Bingeman, Manager/Curator, Alberta Society of Artists, Region 3 of the AFA Travelling Exhibition Program (TREX).