riverMOUTH

46 ECHOES

Location: Toronto, Ontario, Canada

Urbanvessel
Urbanvessel

Circling through time and space, sound transports us from the whispering of bulrushes to the rush of a saxophone blast, from the racket of a passing train to a groove drummed on a fallen log.

Wander the Humber / Cobechenonk river valley as you listen to over 40 tracks — from plant medicine, ecology and architecture, to soundscape and song.

riverMOUTH is inspired by water and our desire to nurture sustainable, life- giving connection to the planet.

Look & Listen Be aware of your surroundings. Cyclists travel at high speeds along the paved recreational trail. Walking paths may be steep, slippery or uneven. Beware of poison ivy and cow parsnip. If you come into contact, wash with soap and water and cover the area. Once home, check yourself for ticks and follow City of Toronto health guidelines.

Credits:
Andrew Adridge, baritone and spoken word artist
Mingjia Chen, singer & composer
Christine Duncan, vocalist and improviser
Sharada Eswar, singer, writer and storyteller
Gail Fraser, avian ecologist
Clement Kent, biologist
Andrea Kuzmich, vocalist and body percussionist
Jean Martin, audio producer
Karen Ng, saxophonist and composer
Juliet Palmer, composer and artistic director
Christie Pearson, architect, artist and writer
Joseph Pitawanakwat, plant medicine, Anishinaabe learner and educator
Alex Samaras, singer and composer
Andrea Thompson, poet and spoken word artist

Photos and videos from our summer of live programming can be enjoyed on our website: www.urbanvessel.com

Urbanvessel is based in Tkaronto, the traditional territory of the Mississaugas of the Credit, the Anishnabek, the Chippewa, the Haudenosaunee and the Wendat peoples. The territory is governed by Treaty 13 and is subject to the Dish with One Spoon Wampum Covenant, an agreement between the Haudenosaunee and Anishinaabek Confederacies and allies to peaceably share and care for the lands and waters around the Great Lakes.

Breath

BreathAndrew Adridge

I’m already out of breath
The constriction of the tight shirt against my bare chest
Has a mind of its own as it weaves its way around my being
Seeing, the insurmountable peak I liken to Everest or Fuji
A mountain in my own mind, the air passing right through me, like a knife
Cold and deliberate as I and I alone confer with the trees and the leaves beneath my feet
A walk like any other to reach the peak of my own life’s journey, a sudden aside
As I long for the feeling of caressing the sky, joining the birds that fly high, circling
But me, with no understanding of their inner workings, I climb

A thought occurs, I scrape the depths of my soul to understand why I find this so difficult
Able-bodied, able of mind, able, what is able? Is that a thought I’ve designed
Through an unhealthy understanding of what makes one whole.
The crunch of the leaves, the far glimpse of my goal is all that I have to keep me motivated to reach the top
I stop, to catch my…

Stop, catch your breath, remember to breathe, etc.

The dirt trodden path on a fall day cannot keep me inline
I find, that as I walk I wind my feet around themselves to make a hard task silly
Where will the will be if I can’t see the beauty of the simplicity of my reality
In a moment where I thought I could be truly free to gather my own thoughts
Work the land, with my feet, I’m almost caught in a time freeze
I stand again, I stare at the trees

Stand, witness…

Waiting for them to reveal to me some great mystery
They close in
Surrounding me and blocking the wind that once sought to do me harm
The path becomes clearer
Tempting me with its gentle, indistinguishable curve to the unknown
Just over the ridge, I approach, like I child coming home
To the outstretched arms of solace in the embrace of a mother
The prize of all prizes, there is no other greater than the knowledge of a journey complete

The gift for my eyes after accomplishing my feat
As the man-made water crashes like a wave in the sea
A stone the size of me
I remember, at that moment, to breathe.

1 sound

The Oculus (1958)

The Oculus (1958)

Architect: Alan Crossley
Engineer: Laurence Cazaly
Landscape architects: Dunnington-Grubb and Stensson

From an architectural walk led by Christie Pearson for Urbanvessel and riverMOUTH

So what was the experience when you arrived here in 1958? So we're talking about coming up from the Lakeshore in your car, parking your car next to the sewage treatment plant, walking around the sewage treatment plant and seeing how powerful and modern it was. And then there were no trails.

There were no paved pathways and all of this as we've come down here, all of this was rolling green. And to imagine this pavilion within a massive lawn is a bit hard right now because it's so dense, but you could see the river and you might want to take a little walk around behind — the river's quite close, but you can't tell it's so close here.

All of this hillside was a sculpted green lawn and the pavilion was very much a high modern vision of the perfect object in the landscape. Alan Crossley is the architect. The engineer is Laurence Cazaly, who was a highly innovative cutting-edge reinforced concrete engineer.

I'm going to pass around as I'm talking one of the architectural drawings because it's so lovely. Where you can see something that is hard to perceive from down here, which is the exquisite folded shape of the roof. The asymmetry of what we have in here. This is a very dynamic and asymmetrical composition.

The paving is part of the project — everything, as in a good modern building, is pulled out so that we can see the structural elements, separate the functions. What is holding up the roof are these elegant steel thin columns. The paving is its own element. The roof itself almost defies gravity — the amount of cantilever, especially on this side. And it's only structurally possible by a profound fold at the top in the slab and a lot of steel in the slab as well. And then this part here behind you, as part of the composition contained a men's and women's bathroom and then a janitor's room. The program for this [building] was a comfort station, a space for comfort and refuge: toilets, and then to get out of the rain.

I always call this my favorite building in Toronto. And it's my favorite building in a way, because of its elegant purposeful purposelessness. It has a function, but what you could do here is unscripted.

The landscape architecture is essential to understanding this building too. And it's the landscape architects' work here on this vast park that is now very much invisible. Without that landscaping, this piece is an oddity you see on your bike ride as you're racing up the Humber. It's like, what is that thing? Why is it here? How am I supposed to make sense of it?

The washrooms haven't worked for 40 years or something. The city doesn't maintain it. We have this embarrassingly underfunded parks and recreation department here, which is part of that. But then also a little bit of willful neglect. I think that last summer they touched up the rebar that was starting to get exposed. They touched up the concrete. They said they were going to recreate the washrooms, make them functional again, but never got around to it or ran out of money. All they really did is clean up the paving, remove some graffiti and then did repair on the roof. And I think that's a shame for something that's so notable as this.

To put it in context, Toronto Island is dotted with similar era pavilions. Which are these folded concrete roof pavilions which are built at around the same time as this. And were part of this explosion of excitement about architecture and modern architecture in Toronto. Then [in 1958], the competition for the Toronto city hall is about to happen.

A lot of things are going on here, but this is a really exquisite and rare example of a pure modern pavilion that we can see here in the city. It's a shame that it's neglected and not really known.

Since the 1980s, as the conservation authorities started to get rolling, ecological conservation started to become more on the menu. And it's in the 1980s where we get the reforestation of this park as a project — lawns are now out. The, the other significant part of this landscaping was a donation of 76,000 tulip bulbs. And there was a slope down there which was completely planted in tulips. You've never seem a tulip here? I think that you can imagine in your mind the view. There's big trees, but mostly it's a pavilion set in a green and it's meant to be circled around. And part of the reason it's safe is that it can be circled around.

So if you walk around the back now you can see how different [it is], [it's become] the ad hoc bathroom. We're incredibly close to the river and it's the naturalization that we want, but it's also a derelict space that invites vandalism, which is the main problem and why these bathrooms never get open. I think that's a poor excuse.

[The pavilion] They cleaned it up a lot. But I wish they did the functional wash room, you know, that'd be so great...It's a very short trip to the river... Do you wanna go? Yeah. Okay. Let's go!

1 sound

I: Summer at the Oculus

I: Summer at the Oculus

It’s the last day of summer
autumn equinox will greet us
with a new season tomorrow.

And we walk …

me and my mystic sister
the South-Indian, Carnatic
singer /storyteller.

Grasshoppers chant
their electric songs
and I am entranced.

Miniature daisies wave to me
tell me I’m home.

Red sumac dangles
a crimson temptation
asking to be made into a brew
of delicious, tangy, ruby tea.

We walk …

And I find my people
in a plant that my singer-sister hands me –

when I touch it, the tendrils recoil
it’s called Touch-Me-Not, she says
I understand. Nod silently.

As we walk towards the Oculus
a mythology of concrete architecture
unfolds itself like an origami folktale:

A circular portal, a travelling sundial
a nomadic wanderer who shifts
its perspective as the day passes
a migrant who relocates, changes shape
according to the seasonal dictates.

Seven columns represent seven generations
pillars that taunt our linear minds in defiance, shake us
lose from our addiction to meaning and control –
symmetrical patterns hold their secrets close.

The moment we think we understand
the oculus shifts – alluding our left-brain insistence
the space unfolds, unpacking its meaning inside us – offering
solace, like medicine, offering sound and reverberation and always
an escape – into the sky above us all.

Inside the oculus my sister /singer unfurls into song
her voice caresses the curve of cement, the sound
a celestial escape into a beauty of euphony
exquisite, elevated, ethereal gift
so precious, so unexpected –

that I am lost in it
submerged, transported, transformed –
and comforted.

God resounds all around us now, her voice
is ripe and rich with exaltation, with transcendence
and grace and halleluiah
and amen –

From "If We Were All Rivers" by Andrea Thompson
Commissioned by Urbanvessel for riverMOUTH
Vocals: Sharada Eswar
Song: Aaj Jaane Ki Zid Na Karo
Written by: Fayyaz Hashmi
Composer: Sohail Rana
Raga: Yaman Kalyan

1 sound

Aasai Mugam Marandhu Pochae | Tree Being

Aasai Mugam Marandhu Pochae

Vocals: Sharada Eswar
Written by Subramania Bharathi
Raagam (Melody): Jaunpuri
Taalam (Rhythmic Beat): Aadi

Aasai Mugam Marandhu Pochae is poem written by Subramania Bharathi, fondly referred to as Bharathi or formally with as "Maha Kavi" Bharathiyar. So many of his poems are written with a passion for Kannan, an interesting term used in the Thamizh culture. While it is a direct reference to Lord Krishna, who is affectionately called Kannan, the term equally applies to that special someone or something in your life that you love or are fond of. This poem laments the loss of a picture of his mother, however the poet plays with words, specially using the term Kannan to allow dual references thus, allowing the listener to apply the meaning appropriately. For me, as an immigrant and a guest on Treaty 19, the poem holds the memory of a near-lost land, its waters, its culture and language.

Tree Being

Aug 27-28 and Sept 10-11: 4:00-5:30pm
Dance installation by Julia Aplin performed by Terrill Maguire (Aug 27 & 28), and Mai Duong and Suzanne Barnes (Sept 10 & 11).

This moving installation, is a collaboration with a beautiful Basswood Tree whose heart shaped leaves, zig-zag twigs and expansive canopy seem to create an experiential haven from the urban landscape. In opposition to anthropomorphizing, a dancer takes on the invitation to treethropomorphize; to be more grounded, to move more slowly, to feel space more expansively and to patiently witness all kinds of wild and domesticated visitors.

“Paying attention is a form of reciprocity with the living world, receiving the gifts with open eyes and open heart.”
Robin Wall Kimmerer

“ Humans are just one way of being a person.”
Gavin Van Horn

1 sound

The Gardiner & The Humber Archway Bridge

From an architectural walk led by Christie Pearson for Urbanvessel and riverMOUTH

You can imagine that moment of the Gardiner coming through and dominating this landscape — such a wide swath — when you walk underneath it. To be under the train lines and under the expressway — it was a beautiful restoration of the underside of the Gardiner here, which actually makes it feel semi-recreational in a weird sort of way.

But this would've been the end of the shoreline. The land that we have here is more landfill, but it also was a sort of a natural beach. There were a lot of natural beaches and estuaries. Older maps that I've seen of this show a smattering of islands and wetlands that come and go depending on the year and the season.

The Gardiner expressway in 1955 is a very bold intrusion into the landscape of Toronto and the death of these beautiful beaches — recreational spaces that headed in both directions from the Harbor. If you continue on the trail there's a monument to the Palace Pier and its ambition to be like the great amusement piers in the UK from the early from the 1910s and twenties.

But then we have this other kind of vision of Toronto: this bridge here, the Humber Archway bridge by Montgomery Sisam and a whole team of artists and designers and engineers and with the Indigenous art consultant Ahmoo Angeconeb. A lot of the features of the design of this bridge, as a pure recreational bridge, were trying to connect to Indigenous culture, especially in the Anishinabe motifs that you see like the Thunderbird. If you go down there and you stand underneath, you can see that Thunderbird motif is in the steel structure itself in a moving and graphically satisfying expression of steel engineering. And then if you go around the base of the bridge, you'll see motifs of the snake and the turtle and salmon and the many species that made this massive estuary, their home — and, of course, a lot less so today. But we still have them. So next time you're on that bridge look around for these design details that are thoughtful and beautifully done.

The price of the bridge is something shockingly low. I thought that was worth noticing — it's something like four or four and a half million dollars. We can't seem to build anything in Toronto now - the subway extension goes on and on — but in the fifties, there was the rapid construction of the subways. And then even here in 1996, they were able to build this elegant bridge with a competition and a lot of design excellence.

I think it's a nice counterpoint to thinking about the design of the Oculus that we just looked at. There is a relation in terms of the expression of a steel structure in a more contemporary way and then the suspension.

Learning a little bit about the history makes you look at it in a different way — these spaces that we're zipping by on our bikes all the time. And also to think there's a process to all this stuff: politics, finance, and a lot of designers that work on these places. Knowing a bit about the history we can think about the future and how we could do things more consciously of where we're coming from and where we want to head towards.

1 sound

IV: Winter at the Lake Mouth

IV: Winter at the Lake Mouth

Geese fly in formation
bare branches reveal the places
where hidden nests shelter nestlings
hawks perhaps or even squirrels.
I marvel at the enduring architecture
of these airborne homes.

The crisp air refreshes my lungs
cold, dried berries still hold
like a shell, a skeleton, clinging
to spindly winter branches.

The reeds of the marsh have been flattened
into patterns, shaped into swirls like crop circles –
maybe it’s us who are the aliens now.

Moving on from the marsh
the river begins to open up
– wind blows hard off the lake
water flows, so cold it becomes thick
becomes slush churning in the current.

On the side of the Gardiner bridge
someone has written, in huge lettering
(how did they get up there?):
Steam Deas? Wars! After Hours!?

I wonder if this is slang for something
I’m too unhip to understand.

To get to the lake I must pass under the bridge
I am afraid to enter further into this baffling
ominous, cacophonous human syntax, but
the open expanse of lake ahead
is a twinkling, frigid beacon, beckoning me
towards the unfrozen liquid horizon.

A train roars overhead.
The traffic grumbles on.

Yet, waves and water cheer me forward –
and just when I reach the darkest, most
claustrophobic spot of this murky, foreboding
underbridge world

I am greeted by images of children
massive portraits grace a series of grey cement pillars
heads and shoulders of somber, haunted – almost alien
monochromatic, post-apocalyptic progeny hold up this bridge.

They all look so sad and eerie and beautiful and spooky –
the solo boy and twin girls with their blunt, bobbed haircuts.

The middle girl faces forward – though her eyes are closed
she is the brave one. Her companions look down
shadowed with hopelessness.

I continue on –
the lake expanse beckons
and I evacuate the overpass cave.

Looking back at the bridges
steel icicles like teeth, point down
as if marking a gate, as if I have outmaneuvered
the sharp fanged jaws of some cunning, snarling dragon.

I turn and look forward
toward the alabaster arch
of the footbridge ahead of me
it glows with a solid, enduring beauty
and the sparse, simple architecture
of indestructible optimism.

The omnipotent God of the
transcendent, singing Oculus
has triumphed – once again.

To the left, the city spreads
glittering and glistening with light
and hope off on the water’s edge.

The CN tower says YES
points towards the sky
like an exclamation mark

and as I cross the bridge and head for home
the river performs like an orchestra of water
like a chorus of broken, syncopated ice and slush
returning all of us to a rushing unstoppable flow
out into the invigorating vastness
of lake Ontario.

From "If We Were All Rivers" by Andrea Thompson
Commissioned by Urbanvessel for riverMOUTH

1 sound

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