{"id":67077,"date":"2023-05-04T08:19:01","date_gmt":"2023-05-04T12:19:01","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/spacing.ca\/toronto\/?p=67077"},"modified":"2023-05-04T08:19:01","modified_gmt":"2023-05-04T12:19:01","slug":"space-for-grief-a-public-space-model-for-community-connection-and-healing","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/spacing.ca\/toronto\/2023\/05\/04\/space-for-grief-a-public-space-model-for-community-connection-and-healing\/","title":{"rendered":"Space for Grief: A public space model for community connection and healing"},"content":{"rendered":"

Tucked behind shelves holding books on suicide, financial literacy, and farming, on the third floor of the Toronto Reference Library, I see an arch. A piece of moss (yes, real moss) rounds its corner, connecting the worn red carpet to a V-shaped path that cuts through the groundcover. On the wall above is a QR code, leading to \u201cA Soundtrack for Your Memories\u201d \u2013 four ambient songs for the journey ahead.<\/p>\n

I walk on into what feels like a comforting darkness, needing only a few steps to escape the bright yellow lights of the library. Earthy scents now fill the air, which is noticeably cooler the deeper I go. Above me is a webbed canopy of dried Spanish moss and darker ferns, in the centre of which hang the fuzzy buds of green amaranthus flowers. About ten steps in, where the two sides of the path meet, is a stone bench big enough for two. Blue and pink lights sit behind it, reflecting off the sea-green tulle that drapes the walls.<\/p>\n

Though I was hesitant in experiencing this journey within an institutional space such as the library, my doubts were quick to pass. Arriving at the bench, I feel compelled to stay awhile.<\/p>\n

As someone who has spent the past five years researching how city-building can respond to the loneliness epidemic \u2013 an emotional state that is deeply entangled with grief \u2013 I was thrilled when I came across \u201cSpace for Grief.\u201d Comprised of two experiential \u201cnooks,\u201d this interactive and immersive public art installation looks to understand how we can destigmatize and heal from grief as individuals, local communities, and a society. Given how much I wished for public spaces like this during difficult moments in my past, I knew immediately that I would connect with the themes and intents of the exhibit. But I didn\u2019t expect to be as moved by the physical space as I was.<\/p>\n

Sitting down, I face a stone birdbath filled with that same Spanish moss and notice another bench on the other side of it amongst a thin bed of soil \u2013 cold stones surrounded by soft matter that offer a space to just be. I sit and listen to the soundtrack repeat, twice, until a group of teenage girls walks in and brings me out of thought. Walking toward a second archway back toward the bookshelves, a ray of light catches my eye. It peeks through the canopy, illuminating the longest strands of moss just as the sun would in a dense forest. I\u2019m reminded of a line from Leonard Cohen\u2019s \u201cAnthem,\u201d which is inspired by Sufi philosopher and poet Rumi\u2019s saying, \u201cThe wound is the place where the Light enters you\u201d.<\/p>\n

I take this thought with me through the second archway, which lines up with a third on the other side of the library \u2013 about 40 steps apart. An aisle leads me there through the bookshelves, with little clue about what I\u2019m walking toward except for the faint outline of branches, their shadow magnified on the wall behind them by a magenta and chartreuse hue light.<\/p>\n

\"Archway<\/a><\/p>\n

I arrive at a moss-lined room, bare branches extruding from the mounds. In it awaits a fire made of orange and red tulle that draws up to the black fabric ceiling. The fire is illuminated by lights from within and flickers the way a flame would. Two wooden benches create a semi-circle around it, an invitation to sit in the company of others. Though alone, memories of the countless nights I\u2019ve spent around a fire with loved ones, under the watch of a starry sky, come to mind. With nothing else to do but sit, observe, and be with one another, conversations around the fire tend to take a different, more intimate, shape.<\/p>\n

When it\u2019s time to leave, a final arch frames my departure. A sign suggests I write a note to my grief on a bird-shaped cut-out, which is to hang amongst the notes of other visitors from a metal frame crowned with a cloud made of baby breath flowers. Being one of the first to walk the exhibit, these birds hang with no writing on them, which leaves me both eager and nervous to see how they are filled (and honestly, to see if they are even filled) in the week ahead.<\/p>\n

Let\u2019s face it, grief has become taboo. Especially within Western culture.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s an emotion we are often only comfortable expressing behind closed doors and feel the need to conceal otherwise. However, by doing so, not only are we hiding a part of our experience of daily life from the world \u2013 one that is universal for all living beings \u2013 but we are also losing touch with how we can be there for our loved ones and communities during these times.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve all been the person googling what to write in a sympathy card,\u201d shared Fran Quintero Rawlings, an artist, researcher, and facilitator with Method Collective \u2013 \u00a0trio of OCAD alum who work with clients to explore the way humans behave and interact with systems, environments, technology, and each other. I talked with her, Ziyan Hossain, and Calla Lee (the other members of the Collective) to discuss how the installation came to be.<\/p>\n

\"Method<\/a>
Method Collective members Fran Quintero Rawlings (left), Ziyan Hossain (centre), and Calla Lee (right) stand in front of the first nook within the Space for Grief installation.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

It was in part inspired by Fran\u2019s graduate thesis, as well as the Collective\u2019s work with health-based organizations such as the National Initiative for Care for the Elderly, the Institute for Life Course & Aging, and the Health Commons Solutions Lab. But another source of inspiration came from their experiences at Burning Man \u2013 a temporary city that\u2019s built up for a week each year in Nevada\u2019s Black Rock Desert. Dedicated to community, art, and self-expression, this metropolis comes with a set of values that shape the experiences and spaces that are created for it. The space most inspiring for the Collective is a nondenominational temple located centrally, which is treated as a solemn and special place by all.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat would that look like if we brought it to Toronto?\u201d Fran thought. \u201cA city so multicultural, where we all come from different backgrounds with their own customs and practices around grief. In light of this, how can we help each other through difficult times? There\u2019s no discourse on that, anywhere.\u201d<\/p>\n

So, the Collective decided to ignite the discourse themselves, bringing together an interdisciplinary team \u2013 including a floral artist, a sound designer, construction and fabrication experts, and more \u2013 to build a dedicated public space in support of the conversation. Using art as a conduit, the goal was to develop a collective vernacular around grief, healing, and wellbeing. And just as Burning Man is driven by a set of values, so too were the artistic choices in this installation.<\/p>\n

Some included:<\/p>\n