October 5, 2019 - Described Art Walk

Against a blue sky streaked and splotched with white clouds, a massive sparrow's head, purportedly 50 times larger than life, loomed 18 feet above the cobblestones and green spaces of Vancouver's Olympic Village. Three feet below, his female counterpart – no less regal – appeared oblivious to his avid gaze. Their bodies curved sinuously downward, textured wings, shadowed underbelly, to bronze-cast legs and feet.

How many times had the average Vancouverite strolled past these familiar yet unique sculptures without a second glance? How many have registered a response of exaggerated horror, fascinated incredulity or even bored disinterest?

'Oh, look. Another fifteen-foot sculpture of birds. Moving on…'

One may not even think to point it out to a companion.

Thing is, if you're a person with vision loss, this means you have no clue such sculptures exist. You are simply not afforded the repertoire of reactions.

'There's some sort of sculpture,' you might think. Or, as is more often the case, 'What the heck is this unmoveable obstacle in my path?'

So what? Lots of people dwell in ignorance and go about their lives.

Want to know about art installations in Vancouver? Google it.

With so many examples of self-expression plastered on walls, screens, roofs and sidewalks, who's to say what's art and what's not? Who needs to 'experience' art anyway?

As a person with vision loss, I say experience is everything. Even with tunnel vision in my right eye and light perception in my left, I do not 'experience' a piece of artwork or a sculpture as a sighted person would. I do not have the luxury of discarding something on visual merit alone.

Imagine if you could, seeing the sparrows described above only three square inches at a time.

Who knows? I could have come upon 'The Birds' - as the two sparrows are collectively titled - more than once.

When I am walking, I use my vision to detect objects ahead while my white cane compensates for my lack of depth perception. From this perspective, the most I would see of the sculpture on approach would be the pedestal on which the birds are mounted and, perhaps, a bronze talon. I would have to back up and trace – three inches at a time – a curve my brain may not immediately translate as the underside of a bird. Chances are my eyes would get tired, or I would lose interest, long before I recognized the obstacle in my path as an art installation.

So the idea of a described art walk intrigued me.

If it turned out not to be my thing, I reasoned, who could resist a walk along Vancouver's waterfront?

The sound of ocean waves, boats, seagulls, bike bells, multilingual conversation. The smell of salt and leaves turning colour.

It was October 5, 2019. The overcast skies had relented in favour of sunshine. The brisk wind gave me pause as our group gathered outside the Olympic Village Skytrain Station but, five kilometres of walking later, I was wishing I'd worn less layers.

Earpieces in place so we could hear the guided commentary, we set off led by Steph Kirkland, Executive Director of Vocaleye Descriptive Arts. This was the first art walk of its kind in Canada, a guided tour of public art installations in Vancouver, specifically geared toward the blind and low vision community.

The frequent change of terrain at the start of the walk rattled my nerves a little. Six months into physiotherapy after cervical spine surgery, I wasn't too confident on fragmented concrete, grassy stretches that veered into gravel connectors, sidewalks that rose and fell. Thank goodness for patient sighted guides and the unhurried pace!

The first 'art installation' we stopped at looked like a large, rusty house to me. Why in the world was it called 'The Accoustic Anvil'? My boyfriend Shawn, savant of all things electronic, technical and construction, was all too willing to educate this city girl. The structure was indeed a massive anvil, not a house. The stylized 'F-hole' cut into one of the walls stymied him, though. Curiously, he pressed an ear to it.

And here was what I meant when I said that I, and others with vision loss, do not 'experience' art in the same way as sighted people do.

I have some vision and, admittedly, am a sheltered girly-girl. I won't readily reach out to touch a piece of art. In a museum, it's because I know it's forbidden. Here in the great outdoors, I'm wondering who or what else has touched this public artwork.

Shawn, and others in our group with less vision than I, automatically reach out to touch. Some accept the gloves Steph offered. Others, like Shawn, just reached out.

How else can one who is blind 'see' an art piece?

It's simple to describe, "This sculpture is called the Acoustic Anvil and it looks just like its name."

Or, "There's this sculpture of two birds. They are sparrows."

If you've never seen a sparrow, or a bird for that matter, how are you to truly know what the describer means? You've heard that a bird has toes but how are you to know that bird toes are different from human toes? And what the heck is an anvil?

Even for someone with my level of vision, being able to touch the parts of the bird is fascinating. I can read descriptions, I can even see a bird in flight if the contrast is just right. But getting this up close and personal gives me detail I could only dream of seeing.

And to stand in an artist's rendition of an anvil - actually in it – to hear the way voices bounced and echoed within its steel walls, gave me a whole new understanding of its massive size.

We visited four art installations in all during this described art walk but the anvil and the sparrows are the two imprinted on my memory. Perhaps because they were the most dramatic, perhaps because my leisurely pace separated me far enough away from the head of the group that I fell out of receiver range.

One thing is for certain – I would definitely do a described art walk again.