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• 1 2016-07-27T14:13:41-07:00 Subversive? - Brief Histories of the DTES and Woodward's 11 plain 2016-08-09T14:16:58-07:00 I was very surprised, I was actually waiting for someone to—I was kind of disappointed that nobody was upset about this project, about this idea. I thought I was being very subversive, and no one’s complaining. What the hell’s going on? 
  
  Stan Douglas (Kamping-Carder)
  
  
              In this section I will analyse Abbott & Cordova attempting to address some of the questions I have regarding the positioning of this work, by Douglas himself, as subversive or activist, and whether or not the work achieves the goals it set out to accomplish. I will contextualise my arguments by exploring the place the work is situated in, giving a brief summary of the contentious nature of the space it occupies and the neighbourhood it purports to represent as well as continuing to look at the content and formal arrangement of Abbott & Cordova and attempt to identify what, who and how it is meant to signify.
              As we can see from the above quote, Douglas makes the claim that Abbott & Cordova is meant to be a subversive work of art. The massive publicly displayed photograph is located at the new Woodward's II development in the DTES. The new Woodward's building is built on the site of the original Woodward's department​ store that occupied the location from 1905. It closed in 1993 and was largely demolished in the early 2000's to make way for the highly contested new residential development. As mentioned earlier, the mural depicts a clash between police and "hippies" that took place on 7 August, 1971. Douglas frames the work as a metaphor, or symbol, of the history of protests that have taken place in the DTES since 1919. By recreating the event the way he has Douglas claims that he has "produced an image of something that could easily be forgotten; it consolidates hearsay into a picture that will hopefully produce more hearsay and a conversation about history" (Alberro 20). The "something" that Douglas is referring to is the clash between police and protesters that took place in the DTES. The event was a relatively minor one when considered against the history of protest and activism that has occurred in the neighbourhood since the early part of the twentieth century. This event mainly involved middle-class "hippie" protesters advocating for the legalisation of marijuana, and the Vancouver Police. In this way, the event remembered by Douglas differs significantly from the class based struggles for workers' rights, treatment of war veterans and affordable and safe housing that has been the basis for much of the activism that has occurred over the years in the DTES. Douglas also says of his photograph "that rather than fetishizing a historical moment, this photograph condenses it" (Alberro 20). Douglas says that his goal of creating the large public photomural was to foster a dialogue among viewers. He feels that he has accomplished his aim as he says he has "seen the image prompt many people at the site to ask others what they are looking at. They want to know when and why the historical events depicted took place" (Alberro 20). Why does Douglas choose the events of 7 August, 1971 over the other examples of more significant, and violent, class based events? Do the conversations inspired by his image lead to further discussion about the history of protest and activism that continue to this day in the neighbourhood? Do the claims made by Douglas establish Abbott & Cordova as a subversive work of art? To help answer this final question we will now look at some of the criteria Herbert Marcuse lays out in his theories regarding the subversive and art.
               Marcuse, says Carol Becker, states that "art is a location - a designated imaginative space where freedom is experienced" (Becker 117). He elaborates on this concept further by saying that "art is a psychic location - a place in the mind where one allows for a recombination of experiences... [art] challenges the monopoly of the established reality" (Becker 117 from Marcuse 66).  We should also consider the subversive claim of Douglas regarding Abbott & Cordova in relation to Marcuse's argument that "the radical qualities of art, that is to say, its indictment of the established reality and its invocation of the beautiful image...are grounded precisely in the dimensions where art transcends its social determination" (Marcuse 6). Does Abbott & Cordova transcend its social determination? I would argue that it does not. Abbott & Cordova does nothing to "emancipate itself from the given universe of discourse and behaviour" (Marcuse 6).
              Much of the critical reception of, and discourse surrounding, Abbott & Cordova has been positive. The work is seen as continuing the tradition of activism and protest that has long been associated with the DTES. Jesse Proudfoot, among others, represents the opposite opinion. The response to, and critical reception of, the work seems to be divided along class lines. The social and cultural elite seem to love the work and are unanimous in their praise. Marginalised people and groups and those that represent them seem opposed. The work fits certain promoted or privileged narratives by the dominant classes but does not go far enough to address the concerns and political positioning of the lower classes. Abbott & Cordova occupies that sanitised middle ground. To the privileged - developers and condo owners -  it is edgy and subversive while to others it is glamorised, romanticised and gentrifying. I argue that the work is safe, non-threatening and non-subversive while at worst it is an artwork that has allowed itself to be far too easily co-opted as a tool of late-capitalist ideology employed in the re-marketing and gentrification of an historically contested neighbourhood.
              The location of Abbott & Cordova in the highly contested Woodward's site contributes to the controversy and should be more widely included in the debate over the ongoing gentrification of the neighbourhood. The site was the centre of an intense battle over social issues such as homelessness, social housing, access to services such as healthcare and mental health issues. The debate over these issues between DTES advocates and activists and the provincial and civic governments eventually came to be symbolised by the Woodsquat action in 2002​​ when the old Woodward's building was occupied by protesters, activists and the homeless. Eventually the activists were evicted, the building was demolished and the new development was completed. Abbott & Cordova occupies the new location in the so called "public" atrium of the new complex. The piece was supposed to be in a public space but now the space is semi-private. It is no longer patrolled by the police force depicted in the mural  but by private security companies.
              Douglas states that the piece is meant to occupy its current location. He says it is to be non-didactic and is supposed to generate dialogue and conversation regarding the history of the neighbourhood and is to do so in a public setting outside of the institution of the museum or gallery. The fact that the space is now semi-private undermines this framework.  Other criticisms levelled at the work suggest it is a tool of gentrification. Jesse Proudfoot formulates the question by asking, "could we argue that Abbott & Cordova functions as a sort of gentrification of the political history of the Downtown Eastside? Could we even suggest that it somehow apologizes for the gentrification of Woodward’s by providing an image of middle-class protest for the gentrifiers to identify with, thereby legitimizing their presence in the neighbourhood" (Proudfoot 91). I agree with Proudfoot and argue that Abbott & Cordova fails in its stated objectives because the image is too aestheticised, too clean, sanitised of its messy roots, romanticised, nostalgic and condescending in the rhetoric that surrounds and supports it. It, in Marcuse's words, is not challenging enough. Marcuse says that "the function of art is not to be politely absorbed but rather to challenge and disrupt" (Becker 127). Abbott & Cordova does not jar the viewer into an awareness of any social problem. It is a backdrop, decorative and too easily digested or completely overlooked by most people. To add perspective to my claims, Marcuse says that "attempts to conscientiously tailor the art to the audience can too readily assimilate the work and defeat the necessary tension that allows it to be subversive" (Becker 126).
              The problem I allude to when I say it is too aestheticised relates to the formal realisation of the content. The production values of the image too closely mirror reality. The people in the image all appear to be from the middle-class, the hyper focus of the entire image is too clean, perhaps even overly "realistic." For these reasons, it fails to navigate that important space between "everyday truth and reality" and the subversive imaginative space that allows for other possibilities. Marcuse might agree with me as he states that "the strength of art lies in its Otherness, its incapacity for ready assimilation. If art comes too close to reality, if it strives too hard to be comprehensible, accessible across all boundaries, it runs the risk of becoming mundane" (Becker 119).
              Another criticism of Abbott & Cordova centres around its connection to the developers and the co-option of the neighbourhood's historical grittiness and counter-cultural reputation used in the marketing of the new Woodward's II as edgy. Condo developer Bob Rennie exploited the narrative of the cool, counter-culture vibe of the area.  Proudfoot again criticises this position. He points out that it "is precisely this sort of middle-class, counter-cultural identification that condo marketer Bob Rennie was aiming at when he enjoined prospective Woodward’s buyers to 'be bold, or move to suburbia'” (Proudfoot 91 from Rennie). Douglas' mural, it can be argued, has been co-opted by the dominant capitalist ideology and employed in the marketing of condos​ and the gentrification of the area as well as the continued marginalisation of the area's traditional residents. Proudfoot has more to say on this theme and adds a comment regarding the concept of the "public space" of the Woodward's building:  
  
  The necessity of such analyses is made clear by another representation offered by the developers of Woodward’s. In a didactic panel (located on the Hastings side of the building) discussing the history of Woodward’s, they appear to argue that the Woodward’s development represents the successful culmination of the 2002 Woodsquat occupation of the Woodward’s building by activists and homeless people. Given that many activists view Woodward’s as the complete failure of their struggle against gentrification, this argument should be read as an attempt at ideological recuperation whereby a history of opposition is co-opted by the victors. With respect to my claim that the developers are not interested in fostering political discussion, it is also worth noting that the Woodward’s building has repeatedly refused Simon Fraser University students—who attend school in the building—the right to hold protests on campus.
                                                                                                                             (Proudfoot 91) 
  
  So does Abbott & Cordova  actually help foster any sort of social or political dialogue? What do we make of this positioning of the work as functioning in a public space? I would argue that the mural occupies a location that is part of a massive social failure.
              Marcuse argues that much of art's subversive power resides in the formal choices employed by the artist. Innovations in form can contribute to the otherness of art and increase its dissociative power. Douglas does not employ any innovative formal concepts or arrangements in Abbott & Cordova. Without spending too much more time analysing the formal devices I will make a brief comment regarding some of the formal strategies and content of the mural. Douglas has left an empty space in the centre of the image and most of the action takes place around the edges. The people depicted in the photograph, police, hippies and bystanders, all seem to belong to the middle-classes. You could argue that some of the bystanders represent the traditional resource based working class of the neighbourhood but that is another discussion. If all of the people in the photograph represent the middle-class and they are placed in the margins of the picture, where are the truly marginalised residents of the DTES? They have been pushed completely out of the frame. This reading of the image might be a more accurate metaphor for what is really happening in the neighbourhood. In all of the interviews and writings Douglas has given and produced regarding Abbott & Cordova, he never once states this as a theme of the mural.
              Historically, the DTES was a working class neighbourhood but now that many of the people of the resource industry, people who were the residents of the area's many rooms of single occupancy, have long been gone, they have been replaced by a more marginalised populace. The neighbourhood is now "worse". Who are the new residents? Who is absent from the margins of Abbott & Cordova? Who are the people being further pushed out of the frame by gentrification of the DTES? Marx and Engels use the term lumpenproletariat to refer to the social class below the traditional proletariat. They refer to this unemployed, property-less group as “vagabonds, discharged soldiers, discharged convicts … swindlers, charlatans, pickpockets … rag-pickers, beggars” (Marx 46). Proudfoot has taken this concept and applied it to the current situation. "In the contemporary Downtown Eastside, I use the term lumpen to refer to those radically excluded from traditional working class citizenship: drug users, panhandlers, prostitutes, and petty drug dealers; in short, the same groups stigmatized with the designation of the 'undeserving poor'” (Proudfoot 99). Are any of these people present in the photograph? I would have to say no. This is the socio-economic group that makes up a large number of DTES residents and is possibly the most visible group. They are completely overlooked in the photograph, in historical discussions and in re-historicising the neighbourhood as cool. Douglas has omitted them from Abbott & Cordova  and they remain unheard.
              If we apply the ideas of Marcuse and the subversive value of art to Stan Douglas and Abbott & Cordova, 7 August 1971 we have to regard the work as a failure in regards to the goals it set out to accomplish. Douglas does nothing to represent the entire issue of the DTES. By using the example of protest that he did he diminishes the ability of his mural to truly generate legitimate dialogue addressing many, if any at all, of the historical and contemporary struggles, battles, debates and issues that are focused in the DTES and on Woodward's. The content is not of a sufficient weight or scope to occupy the contentious site that Woodward's II is. The mural is not formally radical in any way. Looking at the mural could not possibly germinate this deep of a discussion among viewers and passers-by. If anything Abbott & Cordova is guilty of missing the opportunity. What we are left with is too sterile and too easy. Abbott & Cordova cannot be called subversive or politically engaged and what is worse is the fact that, by not being challenging enough, it has allowed itself to be co-opted and used as a tool of gentrification and condo marketing.