Portfolio: Patrick Thomas Canning Q&A

NQ: Where and when were you born?

PTC: I was born on a sheep farm in the tiny Hamlet of The Highlands in the Codroy Valley area of the province 30+ some odd years ago.

NQ: Where do you hang your hat today?

PTC: I’m shacked up in the Rabbittown part of old St John’s: I’m mostly a downtown rat when I’m not in my house.

NQ: Where did you study?

PTC: I got my BFA from Sir Wilfred Grenfell College awhile back now, have since found out I’m pretty good at teaching myself new techniques and computer programs; the internet has most of the answers you need.

NQ: What’s been a significant milestone of your career to date?

PTC: “Career” is a strong word, “milestone” is also loaded. The completion of my experimental film A Cagematch With Benefits was the largest most satisfying project I’ve nished to date. The surprise popularity of my illustrated Birds of Newfoundland book was also significant.

NQ: Which artists have most strongly influenced your work?

PTC: Jean-Paul Riopelle, Max Ernst, Hans Bellmer, David Lynch, Steve Reich, John Adams, Bjork, Edward Burtynsky, Matthew Barney.

NQ: What NL artist do you wish more people knew of?

PTC: Victor Lewis is the best.

NQ: Describe your artwork in three words.

PTC: Partially effective therapy.

NQ: What’s next for you?

PTC: Various commissioned pieces, an illustrated book of aquatic invertebrates of Newfoundland and Labrador, an absurdist creation myth of the universe short lm project; I’m co-founding a St John’s-based music collective; I’m releasing a couple new albums of original music, a new painting series and a few other things.

More of Canning’s work can be found in the Fall 2017 print issue of The Newfoundland Quarterly, on sale at Broken Books, Johnny Ruth, Chapters, The Travel Bug, Afterwords, and other retailers across the province.
Image by Patrick Thomas Canning, T.W.C.B, acrylic on board, 24″ x 24″, 2007

Memory

BY Florence Button

    Shining dully from the coffers of the soul Leaning hard against the heart. Mute testimony. Memories from the moulds of yesterday. A silent, siren call Glimpses of sacred…