This week, Jill and Mandy visit the Art Gallery of Alberta and expose themselves to Projections, an exhibition that challenges and distorts reality in the most wonderfully unsettling ways.

Mandy: As I entered this exhibition, I immediately became aware of how nervous the whole thing made me. I may be extra-susceptible to getting freaked out, but with all those ghostlike images fluttering around, I almost had a heart attack. But after I calmed down, I realized there were some very beautiful things happening. What was your reaction?

Jill: I can understand why you were freaked—some of it is pretty creepy, plus there were all the weird noises from multiple old-timey projection machines going all at once. In fact, that may have been my main issue with the show as a whole: I know that the noise is an integral part of any exhibition that incorporates projections and Super 8 film, but I was more distracted by them. They gave off a weird, chaotic, panicky funhouse vibe, which detracted from some of the (intended) quieter moments, such as Gar Smith’s “Notes on Light” (the one with the photographs from sunsets and sunrises from across Canada, which made me swoon a little bit). I think when these pieces were shown originally, they might have stood alone, and were better off for it.

Mandy: It did become almost ridiculous how many different layers of noise bombard you in this show. There were quite a few individual pieces, but I want to mention one that really stood out for me: Wyn Geleynse’s “An Imaginary Situation With Truthful Behavior.” The piece is a row of glass houses; the walls of the first few to the right are smashed open, while the remaining couple of houses on the left are untouched. There is a red button on the wall that, when you press it, projects the image of a nude man onto a panel inside one of the houses near the middle, where he kneels and scratches at the wall, trying to break through. This thing almost made me cry, it was so frustrating and direct. The man repeatedly looks right at you with a very accusatory stare, intensifying his digging. Once the film runs out, all that’s left is this frosted halo of his shape.

Jill: I have a hard time with pieces like the ones in this show. Obviously, part of the point of them is to be slightly off-putting and make the viewer a little bit uncomfortable in their surroundings. But I always find myself not knowing what’s going on—not knowing whether I should find a button to push, not knowing where exactly to look, not knowing how long to stay there and if the point of the piece will present itself if I leave too soon. For example, the first piece right when you walk in, the one with the book and the projection of nothing on the wall—were you supposed to do something with that? Or was that it?

Mandy: I wasn’t too sure about that one either. It’s a very slow-moving shift that is supposed to suggest sunlight through a window sliding across the wall. I think this is the kind of exhibit that warrants multiple visits. I wanted to stay all day and watch the accompanying work by Bill Viola, “The Reflecting Pool.”

Jill: I’m too impatient, I guess. But you never know! I could have just been standing there for hours waiting for something to happen! Why were you so enthralled with Viola’s work? Is it because you’ve always dreamed of having a magic pool in the middle of the forest reflecting things that don’t exist? 

Mandy: That’s pretty much what every kid wants, isn’t it? You know, it’s amazing to me how something like “The Reflecting Pool” is able to be so powerful. There is simplicity to the whole setup that allows you to be there with what’s happening. It eases you into its more unusual or surreal aspects, not just abruptly throwing them at you. You become convinced that, yes, this is a place and that man is standing there. Whatever happens following that is “real” because of that initial truthfulness.

Jill: Mandy, you are as deep as the pool itself. Congrats! 

Mandy: Why, Jill, why must you scoff?

Projections is on display at the Art Gallery of Alberta until June 8.