Shift

I was strolling around Yorkville on a bright Sunday afternoon, looking for inspiration. The most popular store in this affluent neighbourhood was an ice cream shop decorated with artificial tropical plants. People gathered around while trying to maintain social distance. Navigating using the ArtworxTO map, I walked away from the busy crowd and made a few turns before finding Shift (2009), a public artwork by the Torontonian artist, Carl Taçon.

As its title indicates, Shift has an in-betweenness that complicates its presence in Toronto’s University-Rosedale Ward. The entire sculpture spans over 40 metres, yet, despite its scale, Shift is surprisingly hard to spot. One of my friends who studied Art History at the University of Toronto confessed that she had little recollection of such a large-scale sculpture near campus.

In appearance, Shift resembles a colossal marble ribbon cut into 20 unequal rectangular sections. More than a decade of rain and snow have left visible water stains beneath its ivory bulges. However, time has only heightened the details of Shift and cultivated in it a sense of belonging to Toronto, a foreign city far away from the marbles’s original location in the mountains of Vermont. To help Shift coalesce with its site, Taçon used textile imagery that resonates with the neighbouring condominium’s architectural details. Through crosshatch cuts, the artist was able to reproduce the woven patterns of softly draped fabric out of the hard marble. Integrating elements from drapery and marble, Shift feels rough and cold to touch at first but obtains and preserves warmth in time.

The contrast of softness and hardness is not the only in-betweenness Shift presents. The division within Shift also speaks to the disconnection in its context. As Taçon remarks, Shift traces the property line of the magnificent One St. Thomas Residences. In other words, the public artwork Shift functions as part of the wall that encloses the property and physically isolates it from the public. Indeed, a security guard kindly warned us that we could be trespassing for approaching this public artwork. Meanwhile, with consideration for higher perspectives from the surrounding townhouses and condominiums, the artist had specified Shift’s surface to be carved at a particular angle. The Percent for Public Art Program that Shift belongs to also requires it to “be clearly visible at all times from publicly accessible areas.” Nonetheless, the public can only appreciate Shift at an awkward angle, from afar.

It then begs the question: What constitutes access to public art? If the purpose of public art is to extend access to art beyond gallery walls, should Shift still be considered a public artwork while being guarded by security behind “No Entry” signs on private land? The duality of Shift that I experienced, including its contrast of softness and hardness, makes its presence unique.

Hopefully, as life slowly returns to normal and the city celebrates its public art collection this year, more people will visit public artworks like Shift and explore their own definition of public art.