By Steven Dragonn
“Curating from baked in.” — Yang Xiaoyan
The Curator’s Sauna originated from a casual conversation two years ago I had with another curator also named Steven, whom I collaborated with in this project. I mentioned that my office often feels quite mysterious, as many people don’t realize it’s tucked away in a small attic within the gallery space. Once they find out, they become quite surprised and curious. Normally, I don’t allow people to visit unless they are a select few friends I deem appropriate, and in those cases, I invite them up, sometimes even for a cup of tea. When they come up, many feel like they’re standing atop a castle, observing everything happens below in the gallery. It’s a rather unique experience. Yes, that’s the feeling I wanted. It’s the feeling I fantasized about when I was a student reading Dali’s Secret Life/A Genius’s Diary. Where Dali mentioned that he built a bathroom in the tower of his house. The bathroom wasn’t large, but it had windows on all sides, with a bathtub in the middle. What he enjoyed the most was undressing and soaking in the tub, being able to see everything happening around him. His description reminded me of something I read earlier by Francis Bacon in Of Truth: “It is a pleasure to stand upon the shore, and to see ships tossed upon the sea; a pleasure to stand in the window of a castle, and to see a battle and the adventures thereof below; but no pleasure is comparable to the standing upon the vantage ground of truth (a hill not to be commanded, and where the air is always clear and serene), and to see the errors and wanderings and mists and tempests in the vale below” This is exactly what I wanted, and if I could build a large bath in my office and invite artists to join me, it would be both a crazy and ironic act, a self-mockery of curator’s discourse. Steven chuckled and said it could be possible, without any problem. I asked, “Really? Can it be done? I never considered whether the structure could bear such weight when building it.” He immediately went to the storage underneath, carefully examined the structure I had built, and then said it was completely feasible.
I met Steven Tong through a friend about seven or eight years ago when I found myself in Vancouver as new comer. He’s not well-known in the Chinese community, but he’s widely recognized in the mainstream art scene in Vancouver. The CSA Space he operates above the famous Pulp Fiction bookstore on Main Street has been running for 16 years. The door is usually locked. If you want to see his exhibitions, you have to go into the bookstore and ask the staff for the key, then go up the stairs next to the bookstore, unlock the door and turn on the lights yourself, view the exhibition, close the door when you’re done, and return the key to the bookstore. I was quite surprised at the time. Doesn’t anyone steal the artwork? But that’s Vancouver, it’s just that “magical.” For me, what’s “magical” isn’t just the CSA Space, it’s also Steven himself. Besides the label I gave him as “widely recognized,” I also admire his knowledge, which is entirely self-taught. Despite knowing that he was a disciple of Chinese artist Frank Tam, a well-known local artist, he doesn’t have any professional art training. Still, his knowledge and reading volume often surprise me. Another thing is his practical skills. I’ve seen plenty of curators who merely point and give directions with fingers. Not to boast, but I think my practical skills as a curator are well-regarded, both in mainland China and Vancouver. Whenever I encounter a problem I can’t solve, he’s the first person I think of, and there’s never a second. So when he said there was no problem, I believed there was none. Then I said, “Let’s do it together,” and he agreed. When he readily agreed, I knew this idea was on the right track.
However, after some time, I decided to call it back myself. The decision was based on several fundamental factors, including cost, water supply, safety, and more, which I won’t go into detail about here. When I explained these reasons to Steven, he thought for a moment and said, “How about we build a sauna instead?” I asked, “Can we really do that? Is it even feasible?” He replied, “It’s not exactly the same thing, but it’s close enough.” I pondered on it and thought, “Yes! It’s like conducting inside trading or behind-the-scenes operations, with a hint of meeting in the nude.” He added that many gangsters hold negotiations in saunas because being naked means they can’t sneak in weapons. I thought the idea of turning it into a sauna was fantastic, so that’s how the project got its name.
But good things take time, and this project was postponed twice. Initially, I planned to execute it in early 2022. However, in mid-2021, Canton-sardine, where I’ve been curating for three years, primarily focused on solo exhibitions. Some close friends, especially Jo-Anne Birnie-Danzker, the former CEO of the Sydney Biennale, had been following the gallery’s development and felt it was time for me to clarify my role as curator in guiding the direction of the institution. Compared to another independent project I was preparing, the sauna concept was, on one hand, a collaborative curatorial project and, on the other hand, less serious in terms of subject matter. Therefore, I decided to proceed with my independent curatorial project, Any Thing Going Away, Where Ever Remains 逝者何將已矣. Another significant reason is that this exhibition represents my contemplation on the fate of humanity. While people are still immersed in the recovery after the pandemic, I deeply feel that we are already standing on the edge of war. Hence, I consider this exhibition as my outcry regarding the external crisis. I vividly remembered discussing the possibility of a war outbreak with Alina, Steven’s wife, when installing the exhibition. She’s Ukrainian and experienced the terrifying days when missiles flew over her head, which was in her work and also part of this group exhibition. Unfortunately, the Russian invasion of Ukraine tragically happened just one week after the exhibition opening. Afterward, I planned to postpone the sauna project to early 2023, considering saunas in winter are effective. However, upon learning that Jeff Wall agreed to come have a show in Canton-sardine, I decided to give him that session he required. Consequently, I had to reschedule the sauna project once again to this summer.
Although the theme was established early on, most of the details were finalized almost at the last minute. This wasn’t my first collaboration with Steven Tong. Our first collaboration was in 2017 when he and another curator, Pongsarkon Yananissorn, co-founded “Plaza Projects” in a mall in Richmond. We curated an group show on animal rights with an interesting title, What you looking at ?! Later, I invited him and Pongsarkon to curate an exhibition for a French video artist at R Space where I was in charge of. So, I was quite familiar with how to work with him. The name “S²,” which stands for Steven x Steven, was casually suggested during a meet up last year. I asked if we should come up with a name for our collaboration : Steven x Steven？, and He came up with “S Square” with a quick tap on his fingers. I don’t remember which day it was, but that scene is still imprinted in my mind.
In my point of view, he always appears nonchalant to conceal his seriousness. especially his disdain for institutionalized operations. If I work with him with the traditional rules and regulations from the art gallery, there will certainly be no favorable outcome. On the other hand, due to the busy schedules on both side, our meetings and interactions have been limited in frequency. Even when we do meet, it’s often chat without discussing much about this project. Many friends can vouch for this: when they ask me what the next exhibition will be about, I always say, “I’m not sure about the specifics yet; we’ll see when the time comes!” It might seem like I’m making mysterious, but in reality, we truly hadn’t made any decisions. To outsiders, this might not seem like my usual approach, but deep down to my heart, sometimes I feel it’s nice to be a bit whimsical. After all, this is my space, so why can’t I do as I want? Perhaps one of the reasons I collaborated with Steven is that it gives me a reason to be a bit unconventional. Because this approach is more like him than me, haha!
Finally, on a weekend night in mid-May, I stayed at his place and hammered out the project details. Initially, I thought many people would be curious, but it was only at the closing party that someone finally asked me about the meaning behind the photos on the poster. It was that night when he lay on the floor contemplating the statement, and I recorded this casual moment with my phone (actually, there’s another photo taken with Alina’s Mamiya 7 medium format film camera with flash, I’m not sure if it has been developed yet). We discussed many, including the history of the sauna, sauna cultures from around the world, various metaphors and symbolism associated with saunas, sauna scenes in movies, and so on. We primarily wanted to incorporate certain theories but ultimately abandoned them, opting for the simplest expression in drafting the Open Call Statement. He handled the initial description, emphasizing the core idea of returning to human-to-human interaction in a specific space and reflecting on issues of who controls discourse, and so on. We didn’t limit applicants to artists and used the term “proposals” instead. I added the “game” rules, starting with the immediate Open Call instead of conventional exhibition rules, having no opening ceremony, only a closing party instead. The most confusing part is that the closing party also marks the end of the Open Call, ensuring that the entire project remains filled with uncertainty and indeterminacy from start to finish. In the gallery space, the sauna will definitely be present, but what works will appear, how they relate to each other, whether they will turn out as expected, all of that remains unknown. I also prepared for the worst case: perhaps nobody would respond, nobody would submit proposals, and in the end, it would just be the sauna and blank walls. As Jo-Anne said while encouraging my advanture, “No Gain, No Game!”
After we released the Open Call on June 9th, we gradually received inquiries and proposals. Some people found our Statement too vague, not clear enough. That was by design—looking vague but requiring interpretation or speculation about the underlying meaning. Isn’t this the artists inevitably study while facing any Open Call? If the rules were clearly defined, applicants would merely become servants of the rules to gain the project, and their independence would be constrained. When we blurred the boundaries of the rules, I can’t say it unleashed the freedom of the creators, but it certainly left more room for them to think on the so-called “rules” and institutional discourse. Breaking away from the familiar exhibition routines—no opening ceremony, the closing ceremony and the Open Call deadline are the same day—is definitely a bit disorienting. If you can understand the humor hidden in this design, you’ll surely appreciate the project’s mockery of the current exhibition and judgment systems.
In fact, most of the feedback we received from the proposals demonstrated a good understanding of the theme and rules. Many of the works had a strong sense of humor, like the piece We are Polit-Sheer-Form-Office No.3 , from the Chinese mainland artist collective formed by Song Dong, Liu Jianhua, Hong Hao, Xiao Yu, and Leng Lin in 2005. They provided one of their photographic works of founding declaration, which depicts a scene of collective conversation in a bathhouse. This image is perfect in terms of theme alignment and the humor derived from their “pursuit” of returning to collectivism under communist regime. Corresponding to this work is a woodcut print titled Steam Room by Chinese mainland artist Wang Yi, created in 2006. It shows three women who don’t conform to typical beauty standards in a sauna, all of them naked. Both images feature nudity, one in the real context of photography, the other as a reconfigured image. Together, they create a questioning of the desire of view, a questioning of the viewing modes of art history. Polit-Sheer-Form-Office employs a documentary-style approach that is purely non-professional and aims to reshape the typical imagery of collectivist social life propaganda through photography. The striking resemblance to reality, meticulous composition, and the discomfort arising from reverse gender viewing create a humorous tension. On the other hand, Wang Yi uses woodcut print as a popularized form of expression subtly softens the impact of non-aesthetic gender viewing with her shaping ability.
I place significant importance on the visual context and experience that a work creates when it enters a specific spatial environment. When we received proposals for these two works, I didn’t initially find out where they should be placed. It was only at the end of June, after we had set up the sauna room, that I thought the best place to position Wang Yi’s artwork was to attach it with thumbtacks on the sliding door panel of the sauna room. I must emphasize that before constructing the sauna room, I had drawn a rough sketch to calculate the necessary materials, but in reality, during the construction process, we made modifications based on the materials we obtained. For example, the sliding door wasn’t in the plan. So, hanging Wang Yi’s print on the door was unexpected, more or less like it was destined to be there—forming a relationship of mutual enhancement between a representation of steam room through an print and a physical one. It raises questions: is the print a tangible decoration, or is the tangible sauna a simulated container for the print? Many Business premises hang relative pictures to attract customers or create a sense of professionalism. It’s an aspect of daily life., we attempt to question the relationship between space and its occupants by displacing this stereotype.
Kachelofen: Hand Made Warmth / Slug Skin Tiles, Hannah Möller, Clay, acrylic, paper, ink, Dimensions vary, 2023
Thanks to Hannah Möller’s work Kachelofen: Hand Made Warmth / Slug Skin Tiles, the photographic work from Polit-Sheer-Form-Office has become a background of sauna room as they wish. This was what they had hoped for when they submitted their work—they wanted it to become the background of the sauna room. I had been wondering how to make it to be an appropriate background. When we received and discussed Hannah’s work, Steven Tong suggested placing her work behind the sauna room and creating a scene of a Kachelofen (a masonry stove) inside the sauna room. The idea was to open a small window on the backboard of the sauna room, like the opening of a fireplace, with the sauna room’s heat escaping through it, creating a feeling similar to a fireplace. Outside viewers could also peek into the sauna room through this window or chat with the people inside. I added that it felt a bit like a confession booth—people revealing their secrets to a priest through a small window. And this, precisely, accidentally linked to Paige Quinn’s small oil painting The prayer, not the prayer. When we decided to open this window, Polit-Sheer-Form-Office’s photography found its most suitable location—the wall which can be seen when looking through the window from the inside of the sauna room. The sauna room’s location itself is a passageway-style exhibition space leading to the second floor: viewers enter from the far right end of the main gallery space, ascend through a three-level platform, go to the second floor, and then descend through another narrow steep staircase to the main gallery space, which create a circular path. The sauna room, however, cuts across this path, forcing viewers to climb up the steep narrow staircase to the second floor to see the works in the back. Although this project sacrificed the original circulation logic, visually, this path still exists due to the act of opening the window. I joked, “When Steven closes the door, he opens a window for you!”
The Prayer, Not The Prayer, Paige Quinn, Oil on canvas, 9 x 7 inches, 2021
The Wedding, Paige Quinn, oil on canvas, 16 x 20 inches, 2021
The works we received in this project took on various forms. In our Open Call, we mentioned “preferably while in the sauna” but not necessarily directly related to the sauna. Therefore, the connection between the works and the sauna was open. What we selected emphasized the chemical reactions generated when the works were placed in this setting, specifically how the works guided viewers’ imaginations, or to opened up topics. Moreover, the interrelationship between the works intrigued me, akin to Maurizio Cattelan’s narratives between individual works in a physical space. I believe this is a crucial aspect that distinguishes physical exhibitions from narrative medium such as video, film, the internet, or even more traditional literature. In essence, the immersive experience of physical space doesn’t have to be presented solely through so-called multi-media mediums like sound, light, and projections. Conversely, several unrelated works placed strategically in a specific space can create new semantics. This relates to the theory of the French New Wave cinema regarding the continuity between shots, as well as the disjunction of sound and image (Son-image in French).
For example, No Sweat by Bagua Artists Association is an interactive installation placed in the entry space. They displayed “Good Morning” towels in the manner of everyday life, where towels are hung out to dry, particularly common during the 80s and 90s in Chinese communities, whether in mainland China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Malaysia, Singapore, or Chinese communities worldwide, though they have almost disappeared today. Seeing these towels evoked collective memories for many Chinese audiences. Viewers could also take a towel from the hanging ropes, especially when they wanted to enjoy the sauna and didn’t bring their own towels. Besides, the use of towels as the main subject is also applied to Alejandra Camacho’s piece All You See is Me, where a video shows a slightly switching forest landscape on Google Earth through a hole burned in a towel while viewing it in the sauna room. The Bagua Artists Association’s way of “towels are used to wipe sweat” also corresponds exactly to Paul Wong’s Two Uniforms – After work sauna for waitress and cook. Both are found objects from Chinatown, both are about sweat, and both are works of textiles. Additionally, Stephanie Gagne’s ready-made textile work Disappointments from my past is about flags made from two ex-boyfriends’ underwear and hung on the exhibition wall, serving as a declaration or release of private life in a humorous way. This pair of flags coincidentally correspond to Paul Wong’s pair of uniforms. Similarly, Charlotte Yao’s Two Meters Apart, which is a poem she recreated by using charcoal on two pages from a letter written by former UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson to the UK public during the Pandemic. It’s also a form of dialogue on discourse power through a declaration. Interestingly, the form of poem is also a component of Hannah Möller’s work Kachelofen: Hand Made Warmth / Slug Skin Tiles. Furthermore, as mentioned earlier, the small window on Hannah Möller’s “fireplace” connects to Paige Quinn’s The prayer, not the prayer. Paige’s another oil painting, The wedding, featuring a female figure in a shower, juxtaposed with Polit-Sheer-Form-Office’s photography, creates a confrontation between gender, and between the individuality and the collective.
No Sweat, Bagua Artist Association, Good morning towels, wash label, rope, plastic clips, clothing fork, Towel editions of 100, This work is created as part of Chinatown Recreation Mall project, 2023
On the other hand, the knot on Paul Wong’s uniform does indeed bear a striking resemblance to the imagery in Gillian Haigh’s large size painting No Reason To Say That There Was a Time. Gillian’s work expresses a perception of ambiguity in objects, both visually and in terms of perception or language. Her other piece, Lipslip, explores the humor arising from linguistic errors, which aligns with Jonathan Alfaro’s work. Jonathan’s work appears to resemble a form of calligraphy but doesn’t belong to any existing language. This state of linguistic ambiguity readily resonates with immigrant communities, marginalized groups, and LGBTQ+ communities. It’s worth noting that Jonathan’s Poesyposieposyposey was created by directly drawing on the gallery wall with pure silver sheets, a temporary graffiti technique that lends an added layer of fragility to the artwork. Co-presented with Gillian and Jonathan, Natalie Schmitt also contributed a piece, Unfold, which was also produced on-site based on the spatial environment. She cleverly leveraged the spatial relationship among her work, Gillian’s and Jonathan’s pieces to create a suspended sense of uncertainty. This “suspension” also aligns with the hanging form employed along with the Bagua Artist Association’s piece side by side.
No Reason To Say That There Was a Time, Gillian Haigh, Oil on canvas, 72 x 72 inches , 2023
Bending the Binding , Gillian Haigh, Oil on canvas, 37 x 30 in, 2023
Lipslip, Gillian Haigh, Bronze, 9 x 3 x 1 inches, 2022
Semolina Dust , Jonathan Alfaro, Oil on aluminum, 48 x 48 in, 2022
Poesyposieposyposey, Jonathan Alfaro, Fine silver metal point, Site specific, 2023
Beside these fixed display pieces, we received proposals that were non-fixed or semi-fixed, presented in the form of performance or interaction. This is precisely what we anticipated during the initial curatorial process. Concerning the so-called discourse and dialogue, this, in itself, is a form of interaction, even a kind of gain. The relationship between the artwork and the audience is not limited to a dichotomy of viewing and being viewed. However, of course, as previously mentioned, the game inherent in this curation is filled with uncertainty. We cannot predefine what kind of artwork we “need” or what forms of art we desire. This ensures that artists do not cater to the curator’s preferences. If an artist excels in painting but chooses to delve into performance art, it should not necessarily pose issues related to stands and utilitarianism. Each individual has activities they “wish to do” and those they “ought to do.” When artists genuinely pursue what they “wish to do” and it happens to align with our vision, that’s precisely what we desire, rather than creating work solely for compliance. Of course, we haven’t stipulated that someone proficient in painting cannot engage in performance art. I believe this issue has already been addressed in art history and is no longer a point of contention.
We ultimately selected 5 interactive projects, each offering a unique experience: Kristin Man’s Game of Truth: This project is a game that involves divination and walking related to Eastern ancient studies such as the I Ching and Yoga. It also combines VR for human-computer interaction. Audiences can participate freely or interact with the artist under her guidance. Ketty Haolin Zhang’s My Mom Has Always Been A Teacher is a project appropriates the folk tradition of cupping therapy and transforms it into a private health workshop held within the sauna room. Ketty’s mother conducts the cupping, and audiences can participate by making reservations after signing a wavier which shouldn’t exist in the traditional way but it usually appears in Canada for avoiding unexpected responsibilities. Bryan Mulvihill Trolley Bus’s Sauna Gambling appropriates an ancient tradition from China, Japan, and Korea—tea fighting. Participants engage in a game of tea evaluation, and the winner receives all the artworks brought by other participants. KitKit Para’s $234 Beef and Broccoli but No Beef is an interactive performance and installation deeply rooted in Hong Kong culture. It uses humor and satire related to post-pandemic inflation and diet culture. The artist utilized a government subsidy of $234, intended to counteract inflation, to cook (operated by me) 10 kilograms of broccoli with beef flavor sauce with the sauna heater, then distributing it to 30 participating audiences. Timothy Fernandes & Arti Struyansk’s techno music performance HeatTek: turned the gallery space into a night club with energetic music to the closing party.
Game of Truth , Kristin Man, Vinyl decal on floor, paper draw lots, dices, post-it paper, ball pen, paper box and virtual interaction via Artivive App, Site specific, 2023
Sauna To-Cha, Bryan Mulvihill Trolley Bus, Performance, 2023
Beef and Broccoli but No Beef ($234), KitKit Para, Broccoli, Specific sauce, Steam basket, Pot, Water etc., On site performance, 2023
Here please allow my apology for not going into detail about each project, which should have done as a qualified curator. However, to do so to attempt to replace the feeling of experiencing the projects in person is meaningless. Art has its own logic, and artists have their own reasoning. That’s why I don’t wish to delve into the theories behind the artworks or discuss their profound significance here. Without the in-person experience, all of this remains hollow. I am writing this article to clarify the project’s background, process, changes, and thoughts on my own perspective and curatorial mindset. This is all I can capture at this moment. As for how others perceive it, I have no control and no desire to interfere.
As of the time of completing this article, the most common question I’ve received is whether there will be a second edition. My answer is: yes! But it definitely won’t be at Canton-sardine. Replicating it there would serve no purpose. We hope that public art institutions will embrace this project because we want it to have broader participation. Canton-sardine, although now in its fifth year and gaining recognition, remains an underground space for artists to enjoy themselves in a basement in Chinatown, distant from the general public. To truly examine issues of discourse and dialogue in the context of broader social identities, this project should take place in a more meaningful framework and environment. Perhaps this endeavor is just an experiment within a small circle.
Completed on September 9, 2023.
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CANTON-SARDINE 