The unfortunate issues of the patriarch.
Factory Media Centre, Hamilton ON, 2014
HIT THE NAIL ON ITS HEAD
Essay by Logan MacDonald
You have likely been hit over the head with a hammer if you miss the tongue in cheek nature of this exhibition. I use the term hammer endearingly, as to reference the steel town of Hamilton.
If Hamilton has in fact smacked you upside the head, then I would like to apologize - as you are unlikely to never hear such an apology from artists Thea Jones and Michael James Robinson; due to the fact that the hammer has probably damaged your hearing. With their début collaborative exhibition ‘the unfortunate issues of the Patriarchy’, which is both a portraiture and a knee jerk reaction to the post-industrial pastorals of Hamilton there is little audible from this ode anyway- aside from the sounds of an endless pile of white t-shirts being ripped off a fit young man (Robinson) that symbolically represent that machismo skin the Patriarch attaches to every young man – but let’s face it, symbolism can be silent.
When I think about the Patriarchy I think about you - and how silly you must feel for letting it get this far.
When you think of the Patriarch, are you capable of thinking about any other definition than that old-school perspective where a male-dominated control is underscored all over the world? I hope that’s what you are thinking about. Is that not the kernel of Patriarchy by definition? Is it not the concept we recognize where men have enforced invisible (sometimes physical) systems that keep themselves in power? You can feel the weight of it all around you at all times…squashing our aspirations, our dreams, our future. Or you may feel nothing, you may feel normal. The patriarch would want that. They maintain this control by keeping all the machines running: those monetary, social, historical, professional and machismo ones - and those invisible ones that are so ubiquitous they are impossible to locate for many of us. Even men seem unable to grasp the magnitude of the Patriarch they perform under. They claim it is an elusive force that has been systemically ingrained into the mechanics of our culture(s) for millennia which dare not be challenged or changed; else we will all deal with tremendous corporeal consequences. And those who seek to apologize, rectify and defy it are left defeated in its wake – as this force is omnipresent and cloaked. Ask yourself: Are you masc enough? Strong enough? Cause you can’t change the way I am. Are you strong enough to be my man? My man…Sheryl Crow clearly has considered the very same sentiments against the human condition. Even in writing this essay, it has been a challenge, against the forces of nature, with sudden impositions and dire circumstances – where it seems the universe does not want these “counter-intuitive” ideas to be articulated – might an anvil fall on my head. Yet I seem to prevail onward. Feel free to message me with your postulations- but keep your complaints to a minimum – as this really isn’t about you.
I do jest when I say that Jones and Robinson are likely to never apologize – well, for starters, there is no real need for them to do so. These are what I consider by no means offensive works, contrary to what the title might suggest. The artworks reflect their own experiences. They have assembled a series of thoughtful installations and video poems or chapters within a visual novel where Hamilton is positioned as a main character as well as the backdrop. Jones and Robinson present their lyrical examination of the city – as well as their own comedic manifestations meant to engage and provoke Hamilton. As they find beauty in those minute idiosyncrasies the city offers, they also explore residual gender divides. They explore the tensions and rigid masculinity commonly associated with gendered labour, and those manifestations that apply within a city that has been industrialized by steel production, it doesn’t get more masculine than that ladies and gentlemen. Does that seem perverse? Look hard and you can see that they tackle these critiques with their tongues jammed so hard against their cheeks they are probably bleeding.
But there is still a critique to be had – even if humorously provided. There is value in undergoing such a critique. There is still a conversation to be had. Complain all you want (just not to me), but there are still gender inequalities to unravel – and yes, this may seem like beating a dead horse, but Jones and Robinson consider more than those simple binaries of those between a man and woman. They extend the conversation into an examination of gender fluidity within what appears as a banal hetero-narrative and consider the performance of location. They elect to twist that stale narrative into something more generous with an open expression: flipping those male/female gazes around and around, defying our expectations of what a critique on the Patriarch should even look like. They hoist our gendered bodies into all sorts of complex spaces that face the Patriarch with unabashed comedy and boundless behaviour, hoping to find the collective experience to share. Can you even handle this insight? Probably not.
Like this work, I dare you. I dare you to reflect on where you are, what you are doing, and what could be different. Take a moment to consider the alternatives. What better way to symbolically dissect those unfortunate issues of the Patriarch, I ask you. That should be no more perverse than the struggles of a young woman (Jones) trying to topple-over an enormous statue of a regal horse or that of a man in fancy green leather shoes lightly dancing down the sidewalk. Jones and Robinson honour Hamilton for its beauty and curiousness – but also dare to engage the farce of gender stereotypes that are commonly ascribed to any and every suburban city. Rest assured this is not about you. Although I will continue to think about you as we wander through this Patriarch together. Some parting words of wisdom: When you hear the hammer hit the ground – you should probably leave.
I’m done patronizing you.
