The Crow/2006 Patricia W
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U N I V E R S I T Y O F R E G I N A ■ S C H O O L O F J O U R N A L I S M ■ S P R I N G 2 0 0 6 A MAGAZINE FOR SASKATCHEWAN06 AND BEYOND To Dance What price beauty? The Window When psychiatry and art collide Canadian, Tired Low-wage world of the megastore Burnin’ Rink O’ Fire A small town rebuilds QUESTION AUTHORITY PHOTO BY PAMELA CRADOCK Study journalism at the University of Regina. Our school is dedicated to teaching journalism as a critical practice that enhances the power of public discourse. 2 THEUniversity CROW ■ SPRING of2006 Regina School of Journalism ■ www.uregina.ca/journal ■ 306.585.4420 University of Regina, School of Journalism, Spring 2006 The Crow is a publication of the School of Contents Journalism, Faculty of Arts. 4 Editorial Editor: Prof. Patricia W. Elliott by Patricia W. Elliott, Editor Editorial board: 6 After the Gulag Prof. Patricia Bell by Carle Steel Tamara Cherry 7I breathe in Jamie Kormarnicki by Nikhat Ahmed Katie Murphy Christopher Zwick 8 Empire, Hotel of Friendliness by Michael Bell Photo editors: Lab Instructor Robin Lawless 15 Valley of Tears Stephane Bonneville by Tamara Cherry Jolie Toews 16 The Prospector Trent Warner by Trent Warner Research: 20 La difference Jason Antonio by Stephane Bonneville Brad Brown 22 Out from the Shadows Design consultants: by Jolie Toews Ken Gousseau 25 To Dance Daniel Jungwirth by Erin Morrison Erin Morrison 30 Burnin’ Rink o’ Fire Distribution: by Brad Brown Kacie Andrews 31 Browsers and Hunters Donna Rae Munroe by Jamie Komarnicki School of Journalism 35 The Window AdHum 105 by Christopher Zwick University of Regina 41 Without Him 3737 Wascana Parkway by Katie Murphy Regina, Saskatchewan S4S 0A2 44 Tanks for Playing Phone: 306.585.4420 by Jason Antonio Fax: 306.585.4867 Web Page: www.uregina.ca/journal 48 Dark Hair … Brown Eyes by Donna-Rae Munroe Vol. 1 Issue 5 52 When Good Fans Go Bad ISSN 1708-1629 by Daniel Jungwirth Design & Layout: LM Publication Services Ltd. 58 Canadian, Tired Printing: PrintWest, Regina by Ken Gousseau Cover Photo: Passers-by shimmer in the heat of 60 Seeking the Light Regina’s Fire and Ice Carnival. Ryan Ellis by Kacie Andrews THE CROW ■ SPRING 2006 3 WelcomeWELCOME to The Crow/2006 Patricia W. Elliott, Editor Facts are scattershot, truth is an arrow In the 1950s, Sri Lankan journalist Tarzie Vittachi set and transformative power to anything occupying today’s out to practice a kind of journalism that transcended front pages. As Vittachi and so many other great journa- mere reportage. Before committing ink to paper, he first lists have discovered, the stories of greatest impact lie stepped back and considered his universe. His critical close to hand. eye took in the lingering influence of colonial vestiges, as If transformation is the benchmark, this year’s Crow well as the foibles of his own compatriots. line-up should serve you well. You’ll never admire a When he finally hunched over his typewriter, his ballerina’s grace with the same eyes. Nor will you look reports unfurled as more than quotes and facts strung at depression the same way, or art. A news report on a together to fill a specified number of column inches. He missing woman will take on new meaning. A rundown wrote stories that sought the truth of things and hotel will seem less threatening, a small town hockey contributed to social change. He challenged and changed rink more vital to the grand scheme of life. The madness the dominant view of the developing world and sagely of the crowd will gain context. Age and grief will become concluded: “Information without transformation is just more familiar friends. Winning will lose importance, gossip.” and store clerks will annoy you less. You will see land- In today’s information and image-saturated world, scapes through the eyes of others, and appreciate things these words remain a fine benchmark for emerging you missed. And, trust me, you’ll never, ever say “just journalists. We are surrounded by gossip, noise, browsing” again, without pausing first to reflect on your sensation and data devoid of context. More than ever, we aimless, thoughtless ways. need to explore the truth of things. Sounds mysterious? It’s not, really. The storyteller’s At the School of Journalism, we believe the journalist’s task remains the same through the centuries: absorb most essential tool is the long, thoughtful pause. We also human experience and give it voice. Crafting a story to encourage students to turn their gaze toward their imme- reveal its higher meaning is the difference between diate surroundings. Odds are the person standing right scattershot and honed arrows, between gossip and next to them has a story more than equal in relevance journalism. Read on, and prepare to be changed. 4 THE CROW ■ SPRING 2006 Tattoo PHOTO BY ANGELA HILL THE CROW ■ SPRING 2006 5 After the GulagGULAG Carle Steel hen I worked there in the late Nineties, elegant backdrop to the Board’s display of works from its Regina’s T.C. Douglas building housed an permanent collection of Saskatchewan art. Though we W odd grouping of government and arts insti- had just one plant (which died under my watch) and tutions, including the Department of Health, Commu- only the occasional child visitor, the fauna in our part of nicable Diseases, the MacKenzie Art Gallery, Vital the building was just as strange and irrepressible as the Statistics and the Saskatchewan Arts Board. Except for plants in the lobby. Each spring, hundreds of plump the bronze cows on the lawn, it looked like any other black flies would emerge from beneath the window of government building, hidden from view by trees. Seen the Executive Director’s office and begin their long walk from the back, it sat like an abandoned spaceship in a down the hallway. No one knew where they came from clearing, partly because of its architecture, but also or why they couldn’t fly. Other than the giant moths I because no one ever seemed to use the lawn. used to capture and set free, the only creature I saw Inside, though, the building teemed with life. The actually fly had beautiful striped wings. It perched for a light from the plate glass roof encouraged the growth of moment on my desk like a fairy, looked at me, and flew the giant philodendrons, birds of paradise, calla lillies away. Sow bugs paced the hallways with their many and Norfolk Island pine trees below. Presumably for legs, seemingly unbothered by the brightness of our exercise, women who worked for the Department of office and its lack of water. The colour of the spiders was Health, all decked out in business costumes and running a soft, filing-cabinet gray. shoes, stomped in circles around the lobby, or in com- The basement too had its own life forms. Employees pulsive figure eights through the plants. Herds of in the building, mostly from the Department of Health, school children were bused in to see the exhibits at the huddled in a corner of the parkade to smoke. Their area MacKenzie Art Gallery, or to trace with crayons the was corralled off by discarded cubicle dividers, and fossils embedded in the stone walls, or to play among the furnished with milk crates, broken government-issue concrete human statues in the lobby. Their keepers executive chairs and tomato juice cans for ashtrays. The would gather the children at the mouth of the building. basement people would glance up when newcomers When I went up to my office on the top floor, they would entered their nest, casually, like rats feeding, then turn stand incredulous as I was whisked up to the ceiling in back to their chit-chat and the hand to mouth business of the glass elevators, as if abducted by aliens. smoking and drinking coffee. To many of my friends, I had been. I worked at the I preferred to smoke outside. Saskatchewan Arts Board. When I arrived there in 1998, From the back of the TC Douglas building, the world the Arts Board was nearly fifty years old, and feeling its seemed empty, devoid of human habitation. I sat alone age. All its parts seemed to be ailing. It was exhausted on the steps, smoking, tracing my fingers around the pat- and starving from years of underfunding by an terns of the snails and algae and other strange creatures unsupportive government, and suffered from internal fossilized in the Tyndall stone. I contemplated the ex- blockages like union rules, a complex bureaucracy and a panse of lawn, the moonscape of winter. half-century of unpurged files. Staff members were During these brief escapes from the gulag of my job, I barely on speaking terms, and the arts community was in thought about art and culture, about how if left on their a constant, angry huff. Occasionally the Arts Board own, all human institutions — cities, universities, gov- couldn’t resist snapping at the hand that fed it, which ernments, even art forms and intellectual movements — made everything even worse. evolve into organisms in their own right. They are like The space we worked in was beautiful though, with animals, with their predictable behaviours, their vulner- windows on the northeast side of the building’s can- able bellies and complex internal structures, their mys- tilevered Tyndall stone façade, facing Albert Street and terious ways of propagating themselves. Cities bloom on overlooking the bronze cows.