Tara Bryan: an exacting sense of play

March 2022

“When you hold one of Tara Bryan’s books in your hands, immediately you sense a remarkable intelligence at work. For Tara, books were never just simple objects—they were journeys, they were puzzles, they were possibilities.Trained at the University of Wisconsin by Walter Hamady, one of the 20th century’s premier typographers, Tara was a remarkable printer and book artist. Her books are elegant, playful, inventive, inspiring: an accordion book a foot tall that folds out like part of the Great Wall of China; a book that comes with a small homemade short-wave radio; another that lights up upon opening; books that expanded out as tunnels you could read through; one that sprang out of a box (Jack!!). Her books were brought to life by an exacting sense of play; they are thoughtful and thought-provoking and surprising. So it’s no surprise that it was for her book work that she was inducted into the Royal Canadian Academy of Arts; that she won awards and commendations for that work; and that last year her book Making Bread Not Bombs was included in the British Library’s Artist Book gallery.”
Excerpted from Tara Bryan RCA (1953 – 2020), by Marnie Parsons https://billiemag.ca/tara-bryan-rca-1953-2020/
Images: Purple Haze (oil on linen, 24 x 72, 2010); Fissures (oil on linen, 30 x 24, 2017), courtesy Christina Parker Gallery

Red & Blue

BY Terry Doyle

“We should really go to the Beaumont Hamel ceremony. A hundred years,” Jill said. “Where is it?” “The Rooms.” “But it’s Canada Day,” Tyler said. “It’s Memorial Day. Until noon…

NORTHERN DETACHMENT

BY Clancy Margaret

The wind was still, but the cold was biting all the same. Stepping outside made her sinuses burn and her eyes water. She brushed the snow off the seat of her snowmobile—a mid-nineties Ski-Doo, always giving her trouble. She surveyed the town as she waited for the engine to warm up. It’s squat vinyl sided homes glowed amidst the dim winter daytime. Snowmobile tracks crisscrossed on the road but not a person was in sight. She checked her handheld GPS. The coordinates lined up with somewhere northwest, about a forty-five minute ride under the blanket of dark. There were no stars today. It was always cloudy.