Not here, of course. I’m referring to the other side of the Seawall. Come with me!

The unthinkable has happened: against every odd outlined in my last grumble-fest regarding this particular time of year, I have leaned into summer. Yes, indeed. And I have not just accepted where I live (the West End), but I have actually embraced it.

How do these things happen?  Mine is not to question.  Mine is to simply roll with it and solemnly embrace what’s being shoved in my direction.  Perhaps it’s some sort of survival mechanism of my lizard brain that is finally kicking in after a decade of living in this frenetic neighbourhood and raging against the fates that be for my misfortune in having to endure this seasonal environment on an irreversibly-overheating planet. Perhaps it’s a mysterious intergalactic spiritual entity that wove its particular brand of cosmic voodoo into my disquieted mind, seizing the roots of my misery and transforming them into the seeds of obeisance, gratitude, and positivity–an inexplicable, supernatural miracle that I would love to stuff into glass bottles, seal with screw caps, and sell to the masses for a hundred thousand a pop.  I have no idea.  All I know is that, all of a sudden, I’ve taken on a new perspective, one that is characterized by appreciation, admiration, and amusement.

…of course, this doesn’t mean I have any fondness for downtown Vancouver.  God, no. That place can continue to get bent. I’m only referring to my particular area, the West End, a place adjacent to the city centre that is generally reserved for ubiquitous locals such as myself who almost never leave this small grid of streets, and of course, for curious and enthusiastic tourists.  Other Vancouverites don’t really come out this way to spend the day or visit here unless there’s a specific place or community event they’re seeking out–or, you know, an ex-girlfriend that they’re stalking–but summertime seems to be a magnet for the throngs.  Tomorrow will be no exception; it’s the gay pride parade, something I don’t care about whatsoever (and I happen to live at Ground Zero for everything gay in the city), but at least it’s harmless and safe and, aside from some distasteful hypersexuality on display, the whole concept revolves around having a good time and spreading positivity.  Who couldn’t use some of that right now?  Give me a bunch of rainbow-clad suburbanites flocking down here to dance in the streets any day over what awaits Vancouver next year, which is the hooligan-attracting, elitist, corrupt FIFA World Cup. 

I’ve been getting up quite early every morning–not that I have a choice, given the fact that the sun appears to be ready for action before six o’clock a.m.–and there’s something almost decadent about being awake before almost everyone else appears to be.  I glug a bottle of water, I feed Annie her breakfast, and then I get myself sorted out to hit the Seawall in order to set the tone for my day, whether that be a short walk between Sunset Beach and English Bay, the entirety of the Stanley Park wall, or the False Creek part of the wall that loops around the former grounds of our beloved Expo 86, a months-long event that was one of the most enjoyable of my childhood.  Doesn’t matter which direction I go, or for how long I feel like strolling; that time of the morning, when the only people moving about outside are myself, avid joggers, and dedicated dog owners who join their pups in the water, is nothing short of invigorating and magical, when local humanity is at its best before the world around us becomes unstoppably chaotic. 

This is around 7:00 in the morning at Sunset Beach, my favourite place in the entire city.  You would never, ever guess it’s a mere few blocks away from exhausting, exhaust-filled downtown Vancouver.  

I’ve been taking steps to be more mindful of my surroundings at that time, often listening to guided meditations on my earbuds or simply gulp down lungfuls of sea air as I absorb my priceless surroundings.  I’ve been paying close attention to the flora and fauna and vegetation all around me, never noticing before that we have all sorts of jaw-dropping beauty and species growing wild at this time of year, including magnolia trees punctuating the West End here and there, fragrant wonders of nature that I thought were native to the southern states of the USA only. Again: I have no idea what has come over me.

I’ve been throwing out both silent and spoken gratitude to the universe (or, as I call it, “God”) for putting me in an atmosphere of such tranquility, organic perfection, solitude, and safety, my spiritual and physical health intact, twelve pounds lighter than I was six months ago, and as sober as the unbearably gross Gene Simmons during shabbat.  

But I’ve also been taking semi-horrified mental notes on the public art that’s on display around the Seawall, knowing that it has existed for quite some time, but never really paying very close mind to how…well, how completely, head-scratchingly, undeniably awful most of it is. Accompanying this is my plotting just how I can leap onto the eyesore bandwagon for a generous government arts grant, emphatically convincing both the public and civic representatives that my shabby output holds great merit and meaning.  

…because this stuff has to really be seen up close to be believed.  Now. Since many of you aren’t able to stare disbelievingly at it in person, I took the liberty of doing a grand photoshoot a few days ago in the hopes of capturing some of the aesthetic monstrosities on display around what is otherwise one of the most objectively striking wonders of the country, if not the continent.  

Let’s start at Science World, which is at the very tip of False Creek, and begin working our way west towards English Bay and Stanley Park, shall we?

Sheesh.

As you walk by the old Plaza of Nations, where over twenty-five million people entered the world of Expo 86 several decades ago, you’ll eventually pass beneath Cambie Bridge.  And immediately to your left, nearly propped up against the Seawall itself, is that thing.  It appears as though it’s been there for quite some time; in fact, the helpful plaque embedded into the Seawall right before it explains its name, its origins, and its age.

“Commissioned by Concord Pacific” essentially tells you everything you need to know about Vancouver’s devotion to public art: this enormous group of developers is responsible for several of the eyesores we’re about to encounter on our walk along False Creek.  After all, these guys helped to develop many of the generic high-rises and faceless residences in that neck of the woods, so it stands to reason that a huge corporation consisting of obscenely-wealthy builders knows everything there is to know about visual appeal, originality, innovation, taste, and complex nuance in the name of art, right?

When I first really noticed this thing (about ten years ago while crossing Cambie Bridge and looking down on an otherwise heart-fluttering vista), I had no idea what I was gawking at.  Was this some kind of postmodern boat anchor that had somehow washed ashore yet was left in peace?  Was it some relic from Expo 86s UFO-H20 waterpark (can’t find specific footage of this) and left as a gentle reminder of past humble glories before Vancouver morphed into whatever it is now?  Was it–and this only struck me in the last couple of years as I grew more fixated on this form of architecture and design–some laughable, amateurish attempt at Brutalist sculpture, right down to the faded, flaking turquoise paint and the lack of angles and rigidity?

I may never know.  Apparently, it’s a “Time Top.”  Anyone have any idea why?  And why it’s there, sullying an otherwise lovely seaside location?  And if its designer, one Jerry Pethick, was performing unspeakable sexual favours for some higher-up at Concord Pacific?

After shaking off that visual embarrassment, we walk further down the False Creek seawall, admiring the older West Side architecture to our left across the water, and the various green spaces and dog parks to our right.  Ahead, we can make out the Granville Street Bridge, but there’s still quite a ways to go.  And then, suddenly, as if stumbling into some kind of pylon, we unwittingly trip over a most perplexing bit of public art that was also commissioned by Concord Pacific, although there is no plaque or explanation as to what it is. 

A tiny Frank Stanzl building to its left, quietly, heroically mitigating this disaster.

Flipping through the website I linked to above, I saw that this childish little construct is called “Khenko,” designed by the generically-named Doug Taylor, and is also dated to 2006.  I was living on Vancouver Island at the time, so sadly, I wasn’t around to bear witness to the unveiling of such Tinker-Toy extravaganzas, but here I am, two decades later and I can’t seem to avoid them no matter how much I try to look away.

Slightly bigger Frank Stanzl building to the extreme left, also propping up this scenery-chewing blight.

Tinker Toys and high-chair infant distractions appear to set the tone for the False Creek Seawall public art, as 1998 saw the Concord-commissioned “Brush With Illumination,” seen above plonked into the water, which is apparently the work of someone who called himself Buster Simpson.  There is no way that’s someone’s actual name; this sounds to me as though, perhaps, a legitimate sculptor or artist were forced to create something based on the cocktail-napkin sketch of an inebriated financial advisor at Concord in the late 90s, and in order to preserve what was left of his or her dignity, hastily created a pseudonym for themselves based on the name of their pet schnauzer and their favourite cartoon.  It’s really quite a garish piece, and once again, adds nothing to the otherwise near-flawless atmosphere of the Seawall.  

It’s exactly what it looks like.

This is a quasi-Seawall bit of public art, not exactly at the water’s edge  As you pass beneath the Granville Bridge, if you look closely, a hundred or so yards (feet? Metres?  Look, I’m a writer, not a civic surveyor) to your right will be what is called the Spinning Chandelier.  It is exactly that, except I have never seen it spin: it’s a chandelier hanging from a bridge, above a small parking lot, directly beneath one of the seediest, most personally-adored strips of downtown Vancouver.  I wrote about this last year when I was slumming it at contributing to a very dumb Toronto-based site that attempted to stiff me on quite a bit of pay, and I can’t tell you which of those hooray-for-Vancouver articles it’s mentioned in, but I do remember that the chandelier found its way to where it lives now around 2019, baffling residents with its audacious, utterly nonsensical concept.  In fact, it’s such a completely bizarre, subversive choice for a conservative city that lacks taste in public art, that I hesitate to call it “questionable.”  I guess I’ll just say that you can find this thing when you’re walking along the False Creek Seawall if you make a tiny effort to really look.  

As you continue walking, eventually, you’ll pass beneath the Art Deco glory of the Burrard Street Bridge and find yourself where I always want to find myself, which is, again, at my prized Sunset Beach.  I’ve stated it on this blog several times: I am one lucky lady to live just a scant few blocks on the hill above this paradise.  It’s almost like a private beach no matter when you choose to spend time down here, and I do, as often as possible.  Another photo, because I can:

Can I make money off this pic?  If you don’t ask, you don’t receive, so here we go: Any fetishists out there, if you like what you see, my PayPal is @NadyaVera27 and boy howdy, there’s plenty more where this came from!

Walk a little bit further, and right there in the sand to your left is something that looks a little like an industrial-revolution mutation of a crab, but as you approach it and the explanatory plaque accompanying it, you realize that nobody actually knows what it is, least of all the artist himself, some Frenchman named Bernar Venet who, cackling, managed to snag what I imagine are several thousand Canadian Francs from our municipal government.

It’s not actually that terrible for a piece of public beach art, loitering child notwithstanding.

What is terrible, however, is the name of this thing, and the fact that it managed to get made without a single concept in mind.  (Apologies for the bad pic, the sun was at the sort of position in the morning sky that made it impossible to take a decent photo without either bright light or shadows.)   

Hopefully you managed to read that haphazard explanation without too much difficulty.  Spectators have to think about what this might be?  “Locals insist” that it’s reminiscent of a whalebone ribcage and something-something global warming?  Bernar Venet pulled such a fast one on the city, he couldn’t even come up with a concise name for his rusty, bent girders.  When you want to see a piece of artwork, you generally throw out the name of the piece, or at least a succinct description.  I can’t imagine anyone saying to a visiting guest, “You simply must check out two-seventeen-point-five-arc-times-thirteen down at the beach!” or “Do you wanna maybe sit by those corroded, bent pieces of steel with no precise artistic vision behind them?”  The sheer indifference to clarity and creativity towards his own piece of public art does not convey an artist of mystery and intrigue; it instead reveals a con man who snootily believes Vagueness Equals Depth.  Which, I can assure you based on my own dating experiences with the opposite sex, it most certainly does not.  

Shuffling further along, getting closer to English Bay, if we glance up the grassy hill to our right, we will see–set back among a few trees, right below Beach Avenue–one of the most excruciatingly tacky, cheap-looking installations of our entire walk, and that’s saying quite a bit.  

Halp!

This particular atrocity is called “Engagement,” and if you don’t make the effort to read the sheepish-sounding writeup on its explanatory plaque, there is no way you could discern that this eye-watering assembly of plastic parts is supposed to represent two engagement rings.  Ever.  It took me years of hurrying past it–because I felt itchy just being within its vicinity–to finally stop and actually figure out what this was supposed to be.  To my surprise, it wasn’t a couple of curved, broken lampposts, nor was it two bottom-barrel birdhouses that even the most desperate of sparrows would avoid.  

Sure thing, Dennis…sure thing.

Dennis Oppenheim, a now-unwelcome American, thought he was really making us think by describing how this bottom-shelf effort “celebrates new beginnings and the uniting of two people in matrimony.  Or does it?  Notice how each object leans away from the other at odd angles, perhaps moving apart more than coming together.”  

Deep!  Dimensional!  Complicated!  Jaw-dropping!  Too real for me! And of course, not at all the end result of an amateur who strenuously bent a couple of pieces of plastic in half, plonked some discarded set decorations from an elementary-school theatrical performance atop them, and proceeded to persuade Vancouver that it was some cryptic statement about the sanctity of matrimonial commitment.  

There’s more made-up hogwash in the write-up about the legalization of gay marriage, and Vancouverites in love taking their pictures beside this wretched piece, but suffice it to say, this thing belongs far away from the beach, and perhaps even further than it is right now, where a few passing cars can give it the final touch it deserves.

At this point in your walk, in dazed disbelief, you might be absolutely certain that this electric-vehicle charging station is a piece of Seawall public art.  I know I sure was.

Around the bend you’ll see English Bay, and this is where we conclude our chunk of the Seawall with one of the most-photographed public art pieces in the entire city.

I’ve never been a fan of these things.  They were put into place around 2010, a time during which I was teaching and travelling in Latin America, so once again, I missed the proud public unveiling of some Seawall public art.  I guess I understand the photo-op appeal of these statues for tourists and visitors, but then again, having typed that out, I really don’t.  

Decidedly un-cute.

I also don’t understand why they were given the name that they were: A-Maze-Ing Laughter. 

Listen up, Yue Minjun: just because it can make a pun, doesn’t mean you have to use it erroneously.

Is it supposed to be a maze?  It’s not a maze.  It’s a series of sculptures that are apparently supposed to represent the artist himself, and people invariably pose with each one in the exact same manner that each statue is shown.    

Thus concludes our False Creek Seawall observations.  It’s almost as though the city needed to provide a series of severe visual vulgarities in order to, I dunno, neutralize such a sublime outdoor presence, for reasons that would make no sense to me, but I’ve also never understood what our city’s decision-makers do at any given time.  

HONOURABLE MENTIONS

Across from Sunset Beach is Kitsilano, an area of Vancouver that feels like an entirely different city altogether; it’s calm, largely affluent, safe, and used to be the sort of unofficial Haight Ashbury-esque headquarters of the 60s.  One could realistically swim across the short body of water if one wanted to, but a) The Coast Guard is stationed right there and would most likely fine you half a million dollars for even attempting such a thing, and b) I have a feeling that the channel between the two beaches is far more dangerous than it appears to be.  At any rate, somewhere between the rusted-out supposed whale ribcage thing and the egregious engagement rings, if you look across the water, you’ll see something fairly intriguing.  Well, it’s intriguing to me, and it’s technically located on the Kits part of the Seawall.

Look closely. Wot’s that? I have to know!

I know my city very well, but up until a few days ago, I had no idea what I was looking at.  What’s a curious gal to do?  March across the Burrard Bridge, of course, and go find that thing.  

I wove my way around the seaside streets (and the retro appeal of the space-age Brutalism of the Vancouver Planetarium) until I finally arrived to my destination: an utterly inexplicable, unquestionably creepy sculpture whose plaque gave absolutely no indication of why it was there, who commissioned it, what it was called, when it was erected, or how it was even remotely related to Captain Vancouver.

What does this have to do with…with anything I’m looking at? Was it delivered to the wrong place?

It’s a lot more unsettling in person.  It’s set back from the walkway on a small field of dried-out grass: somewhat imposing, somehow foreboding, and not symbolic of anything except, perhaps, an alien hieroglyphic, which would actually make perfect sense considering its proximity to the Planetarium.

It looks, and feels, like it’s in the middle of absolutely nowhere, doesn’t it?

I glanced from plaque to sculpture and back down to plaque again, by this point convinced that the city hastily created an unrelated, Vancouver-themed etching in order to explain away this somewhat inscrutable Kubrickian appearance of a foreign object on a Kitsilano patch of lawn.  It’s questionable public art, to be sure, but it’s also just really, really weird.  

The rear / side view of this very peculiar Martian or Venuisan or Neptunian or unknown-planetary-rock symbol.

Between the extraterrestrial installation, the white Planetarium tucked behind it, and then three new high-rises that don’t fit into the Vancouver aesthetic even slightly, this could easily be a snapshot from some parallel-universe planet Earth.  

My quick salute to the Planetarium and its famous crab fountain, just because it’s so rad. It could double as the lair of a supervillain in some 1960s movie set in The Future, but then again, it’d be probably far too obvious.

Finally, if we go back across the bridge and back to English Bay, we can walk down horribly busy Denman Street (or one of the quieter streets behind it) until we get to the Coal Harbour part of the Seawall, right before the entrance to Stanley Park.  This is the alarming section of Georgia Street where traffic starts getting deadly, since it’s also the entrance to the causeway that leads onto the Lions Gate Bridge, a beautiful, landmark span (seen in my header pic) that, during the summertime, will invariably see at least one major accident every day or two, thus closing it down and causing several-hours-long delays for all the fools who still insist on driving cars in Vancouver.

We then see this ode to fuckery:

Look at this thing. No, I mean, really. Nice checkerboard pattern on the “tail,” pal.

I guess it’s supposed to represent an airplane, which is a tremendous middle finger to the charming Harbour Sea Planes that take off and come in for a landing above it all day long.  All I see is, though, is yet another example of Tinker Toys, except this time, assembled by a child who couldn’t seem to get his last Pirate Pak meal from the gas station White Spot out of his toddler brain.

It’s all I see.  

There you have it, folks.  Enjoy your visit and I hope you enjoy the Seawall as much as I do!  Just don’t look at the “art”–I took one for the team in your honour, so you don’t have to.  

Love

Nadya