PATRICK TRAER: "don’t tell me your dreams," June 19 to September 13, 2009, Mendel Art Gallery, Saskatoon

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"star-shapes, the felicitous fulfillment of distance"

Patrick Traer, "star-shapes, the felicitous fulfillment of distance," installation view, Mendel Art Gallery. Photo: Ben Tucker.

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"spills and disappearance"

Patrick Traer, "spills and disappearance," installation view, Mendel Art Gallery. Photo: Ben Tucker.

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"whistling above the imperative of analysis"

Patrick Traer, "whistling above the imperative of analysis," installation view, Mendel Art Gallery. Photo: Ben Tucker.

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"star-shapes, the felicitous fulfillment of distance"

Patrick Traer, "star-shapes, the felicitous fulfillment of distance," installation view, Mendel Art Gallery. Photo: Ben Tucker.

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"whistling above the imperative of analysis (left), one ought to sink to the bottom of the sea and live alone with ones’ words (centre), star-shapes, the felicitous fulfillment of distance (right)"

Patrick Traer, "whistling above the imperative of analysis (left), one ought to sink to the bottom of the sea and live alone with ones’ words (centre), star-shapes, the felicitous fulfillment of distance (right)," installation view, Mendel Art Gallery. Photo: Ben Tucker.

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PATRICK TRAER: "don’t tell me your dreams"

June 19 to September 13, 2009

Mendel Art Gallery, Saskatoon

By Patricia Dawn Robertson

Montreal-based artist Patrick Traer is akin to that Goth baby-sitter who told you spooky bedtime stories and then turned out the bedroom light, marched down the hall and blissfully watched Elvira on TV while you experienced night terrors.

don’t tell me your dreams is a mixed media show that evokes drama, terror, psychological baggage and mystery. Like any conceptual exhibition, it makes the onlooker think deeply about the subject matter – leaving a disturbing after-burn. I didn’t find the recited dreams of some of the world’s most notorious neurotics off-putting, but the way Traer put together words and images left me feeling unsettled.

Visitors to the gallery are first greeted by sounds from Traer’s installation whistling above the imperative analysis. He narrates his and other people’s dreams in a monotone whisper, deftly underscored by the soft whistling of generic tunes from our collective memory banks – not unlike an elevator or theme park ride. I’m reminded of the time I whistled in the dark to stave off fear on an unlit road on my way home from a pre-teen viewing of The Exorcist.

Cuddle up, tuck the covers under your chin and listen to the dreams of Joseph Conrad, Ida Bowers (as transcribed by Freud), Ralph Ellison and Fyodor Dostoevsky, Jimi Hendrix, Helen Keller and H.P. Lovecraft, Frankenstein author Mary Shelley and John Ruskin.

Their dreams include stories of being stuck immovably in train stations, disturbing tales of disconnection and homelessness, muffled and subdued sobs, the mournful sounds of grief, night terrors, psychic disturbances and one amazing tale of female sexual slavery in the backroom of a pizzeria. I stood transfixed next to the speakers until the whole loop of dreams had played out.

Directly across from the speakers is a set of drawings on paper dubbed star-shapes, the felicitous fulfillment of distance. These images reminded me of textbook illustrations from a Victorian set of children’s books, but they could just as easily pass as ink-blot tests.

At the end of the gallery, a series of brilliantly-rendered colour digital prints called spills and disappearances are obscure night shots of abandoned construction materials dumped in natural settings. They appear like images of a secret garden of psychic disturbances. The tangled brush and the nighttime setting all combine to make viewers feel like lurkers. The detritus, mottled concrete, is digitally highlighted in a Rodin-like alabaster white, giving it a sculptural quality.

The prints are muffled by the looming presence of a massive black taffeta and cotton embroidery piece, one ought to sink to the bottom of the sea and live alone with ones’ words. It seems to absorb all of the pain and psychic disturbance Traer has assembled in the installation. In don’t tell me your dreams Traer has skillfully combined our fear of the nightscape and our recurrent dreams in a unique response to the terrifying side of human experience.