Untitled Reflections | Max Keene

Response to Disparate Meander by Ryland Fortie

Years ago I had a conversation with a friend that lives in the UK and told them I was studying in Edmonton. He asked me “is that the city with the mall?” It’s always a bit jarring when you come in contact with someone that doesn’t know anything about Edmonton other than the fact that it’s home to what was formerly the world's largest mall. West Edmonton Mall isn’t really a place locals go. It’s ostentatious, it’s too far away, it’s always crowded and takes forever to find anything in. All of this being said, the spectre of the mall looms over Edmonton and I see its influence on the visual culture of the city as being key to what makes Ryland Fortie an “artist from here”. West Edmonton Mall is a spectacle that isn’t really like anything else. I used to kill a lot of time walking around the mall, particularly taking interest in the decorative elements that help to define the different regions. There are sculptures all over Galaxyland, Bourbon Street and the mini golf courses. While they are almost never “good” art, they are often striking and technically proficient. Some people are drawn to spending time at West Ed because of a lack of other public space and it’s easy to imagine that the sculptures had been made by people that might have loved making art but were constrained by their circumstances in a similar way. The outlet they were given to execute a creative impulse was to sculpt large cartoon aliens or hand sanitizer dispensers, and the best of these sculptors had a passion for what they did that could shine the plasticky form of what they made. It’s these sculptures that Ryland Fortie’s work calls to mind for me, and I see his practice as having a continuous focus on breathing life into materials that are deeply synthetic.

At a passing glance, Disparate Meander could exist somewhere in West Ed without drawing too much attention. I swear I’ve seen that painted sky motif somewhere in Galaxyland. The miniature sensibility of the well has the same inorganic craftsmanship that could feel at home in one of the mini golf courses. It’s under a bit more of a sustained viewing, things start falling apart. What’s that on the wall? It looks like it used to be something else, maybe a mask, that has since melted or fallen apart. You start to wonder what the utility of these objects really is.

People used to throw coins into the water around the pirate ship in West Ed. The old superstition of throwing a coin down a well, but so far removed from its original source that now it has become the idea that it might be lucky to throw a coin in the large indoor lake inside the formerly largest mall in the world. I wonder if you could make a wish on the well in Disparate Meander, as if it has become so artificial and far removed that it has flipped back over to being lucky. Ryland is playing the telephone game in a big circle, what happens if we push these synthetic forms as far as they can go? Do they become real things again? If we take the visual language of these unappealing, decorate sculptures and remove their utility, are we granted permission to enjoy something that might otherwise repulse us? For me, I think part of the appeal of walking around the mall came from wanting to feel at home in the city I lived in. What better way to feel at home in your environment than to take ownership of the visual language that surrounds you to produce something rich and compelling?