Art$ Funding audio tour transcript

 

Thank you for visiting the Art Gallery of Regina to experience the exhibition Art$ Funding, curated by Sandee Moore. This exhibition includes artworks by two artists and an artists’ collective: Christopher Campbell Gardiner, who lives in Saskatchewan Beach; Glen Johnson, who lives in Winnipeg, and the collective of Milton Lim and Patrick Blenkarn. Art$ Funding is free to view and remains open until July 4, 2026.

 

We recommend using the coat rack in our welcome area or placing large bags on the floor inside the gallery doors to avoid damaging artworks. Some artworks in this exhibition are interactive, and you need to do more than just look. You need to participate in Glen Johnson’s fake government office, Artistic Licence Bureau, and Milton Lim & Patrick Blenkarn’s card game culturecapital to really experience, understand and enjoy their artworks.

The AGR’s welcome table, located to the right of the gallery entrance doors, offers helpful items and gallery information, including self-guided tour pamphlets written in plain English.

 

SENSORY TOOLS

Please help yourself to sensory tools for use the gallery from the baskets under the white table. There are earmuffs for those sensitive to sound, dark glasses for people with light sensitivity, and fidget toys for those who wish to keep their hands busy. Please return these items upon completion of your visit. And, feel free to visit during our low-sensory hours: Tuesday evenings from 5 to 7.

We also invite you to join us to play the artist-created card game culturecapital from 5:00 - 7:00 PM on Thursday nights.

Photos are permitted. If you post pictures from our exhibition, tag the Art Gallery of Regina and the artists.

 

GENERAL GALLERY LAYOUT

We have divided our gallery space with three movable walls on wheels. Please don't lean against gallery walls: they are easily marked, and we want to protect artworks from damage by being brushed against. We have soft upholstered benches in the gallery where visitors can rest.

 

Please ask the gallery staff if you would like assistance navigating our gallery, as the layout changes with each exhibition.

 

Start outside the gallery doors:

I'm Sandee Moore, Director/Curator of the Art Gallery of Regina and curator of the exhibition Art$ Funding.

 

Directly in front of the entrance doors, you'll see the exhibition's didactic panel. Didactic means intended to teach; a didactic panel includes information that helps visitors understand and learn about an exhibition. This didactic panel consists of the artists' names, the exhibition dates and title, Art$ Funding (which I deliberately spelled with a dollar sign instead of the letter S), and a short introduction I wrote for this show.

Art$ Funding brings together artworks that candidly—and humorously—expose the painful, and sometimes absurd, challenges of seeking arts funding, and that show grants are more than free money for artists. The unseen administrative and emotional labour of artists becomes subject matter and material for artists in this exhibition. Some people may believe it’s nice to be an artist and receive grant money to do something fun and easy. This exhibition reveals the hard work involved in applying for grants, the high likelihood of rejection, and the meagre funding available to artists and arts organizations.

 

While Art$ Funding offers frank appraisals of Canadian arts funding, we also recognize that artworks critical of this system are only possible because of our impartial, arms-length funding model. Unlike in other places, public funding in Canada ensures that no individual with wealth or power can impose their personal tastes and ideology on what artists create and galleries exhibit. Ultimately, Art$ Funding is a call to support, protect, and fund our arts boards and arts councils to ensure artistic freedom and voices of dissent.

 

Let’s begin this tour by going to the left.

 

OK, let’s start with Tonglen one, Tonglen two and Tonglen three by Christopher Campbell Gardiner, on the wall to the left of the entrance door. Tonglen 1-3 consists of three artworks that could be called soft sculpture on a shelf placed high up on the wall.

 

At first glance, many of Chris’s artworks in this area of the gallery appear to be non-representational abstract or colourfield paintings. However, these works are actually containers for items that cause him emotional pain and shame. What makes Tonglen 1-3 distinctive is that, unlike his other pieces, the artwork's visible exterior explicitly depicts something recognizable.

Take a closer look at these artworks. Each one is a meticulous reproduction of a letter sent to the artist from the Saskatchewan Arts Board (now SK-Arts). Notice the logo in the upper left corner and the text beginning with a date at the top. The first letter, for example, is dated May 31, 2006, and addressed to Mr. Christopher Campbell Gardiner. In each instance, the artist’s name has been crossed out and replaced with a more familiar, handwritten form of address. If you examine the letters more closely, you’ll spot telling words—“unfortunately” among them.

 

The text reveals that the Visual Arts Jury for the Individual Assistance Program considered Chris’s application and that all of these letters are, in fact, rejections: Chris applied for grants but did not receive any of the funding he requested. Later in each letter, you’ll also see a note indicating that any materials submitted in support of the application are being returned to him.

For many years, Chris’s practice has involved enclosing items that caused emotional pain or shame within his artwork. Sealing it up with excessive layers of paint, rows of stitches sewn by hand, and multiple enclosures on the inside of another, so it will never be seen again. Although I can’t say for sure, I think Tonglen 1-3 contains the materials that were returned to the artist by the Saskatchewan Arts Board, reminders of his failures to secure funding for his art practice.

 

The artwork label, to the left and mounted about three feet up the wall, lists the materials: “Mended Saskatchewan Arts Board rejection letters, reconciled/miscellaneous anxious items, medical test items, felt, canvas, cotton, polyester thread, gold cedar shelving.” This hints at what might be concealed inside Tonglen 1-3. The inclusion of “medical test items” is intentionally vague, heightening a sense of unease—what tests, and for whom?

 

Chris calls these “mended Saskatchewan Arts Board rejection letters,” deliberately choosing “mended” over “embroidered” – a word to evoke healing a wound or repairing something that’s broken. Each letter is reproduced not by printing a photographic image but painstakingly hand-embroidered, a process that contrasts sharply with the seconds it would take to print the originals.

 

The title is significant: “Tonglen” is a Tibetan meditation in which one inhales suffering and exhales healing. Chris chose to title his work using this term to shape our understanding of the work. Like meditation, hand-embroidering the rejection letters is a repetitive, mindful act—both piercing and soothing—that transforms pain into something beautiful.

 

When looking at artwork, I like to consider how each artist uses the elements of art to convey meaning. In Chris’s work, scale becomes an important tool to underscore his message. First, notice how these three artworks are installed extremely high on the wall. This is a deliberate choice by the artist. When something is placed high up, it can seem “out of reach”—perhaps reflecting how Chris perceives grants for artists.

 

We can also compare the scale of the artworks to the original items they depict. While the actual letters would have measured 5½ x 11 inches, each artwork is about three times larger. By enlarging the letters, what might Chris be expressing about his experience of rejection?

Does this larger-than-life scale highlight the importance of grants, or does it emphasize the weight of disappointment that each rejection carried for him?

 

Finally, look at the small shelf supporting the artworks. Made of cedar and thickly lacquered with gold, it carries many possible associations. I’ll return to the significance of gold when we discuss another of Chris’s pieces.

 

At the bottom of the label for Tonglen 1-3, it states that the artwork is “currently residing in the Sask Arts permanent collection, where it’s displayed in the Sask Arts boardroom.” Although Chris created this artwork to process his rejection by the Saskatchewan Arts Board (now SK-Arts), it is now part of their permanent collection and is displayed in the very room where funding decisions are made.

 

Below Tonglen 1-3, you will see another artwork by Christopher Campbell Gardiner. It’s called Enlightenment Arrives when the Wave Realizes it is the Ocean. You’ll see another square of canvas, like the canvas rectangles that form each rejection letter in Tonglen 1-3, stitched along the edges. This canvas rectangle has words stencilled in paint onto the front. They read: “Arts funding proposal for staircase, enabling a closer viewing of Tonglen 1-3.”

 

This artwork is placed directly beneath Tonglen 1-3, and the text makes it clear that the two are related. Are you someone who wishes you could get a closer look at the hand-embroidered artwork above? Maybe you wish there were a staircase that enabled closer viewing.

 

On the label, Chris described the materials as “arts funding agenda” and undeclared contents. I don’t know what is inside this artwork, but I suspect that at least some of my correspondence with the artist as curator is in here.

 

I love that Chris chose to hang Tonglen 1-3 high up because it increases the impact of his intended message. While I would love to provide a way for people to get a closer look, I also cannot allow gallery visitors to climb a ladder or engage in anything that could pose a hazard.

 

So, I had to reject this part of the artist’s proposal. It makes me wonder if rejection is actually more helpful to Chris as an artist than success, if he has something to make artwork about!

Enlightenment Arrives when the Wave Realizes it is the Ocean sits atop a gold-painted wooden structure with an ambiguous form. Some see it as a miniature drafting table, artist's easel, or lectern; others think it resembles a slanted step or an incomplete ramp—features that at once promise and prevent you from getting closer to Tonglen 1-3 above. Maybe you are someone who is reminded of an altar, low enough to kneel before, as if praying for a grant from the Saskatchewan Arts Board. The structure’s form invites multiple interpretations, each echoing themes of access, aspiration, and frustrated longing.

 

Chris has added another playful element to Enlightenment Arrives when the Wave Realizes it is the Ocean: a letter affixed to the front of the wooden structure. This letter, from me as curator of this exhibition, is written on Art Gallery of Regina letterhead and offers support for Christopher Campbell Gardiner’s future grant applications. It is attached to the sculpture with a tool.

 

The tool may be unfamiliar: it has a plastic handle and a sharp, forked end—one tine capped with a plastic ball, the other pointed with a blade down its edge. This is a stitch ripper, or seam ripper. Its presence is a deliberate provocation: if anyone wanted to see inside the artwork, they could use the seam ripper to open it and reveal its contents.

 

Chris repeatedly embeds meaning in his thoughtful choice and treatment of materials. When an artist uses familiar materials in unexpected ways, it’s always meaningful. Although Chris’s works may look like non-representational paintings, they are not paintings in the traditional sense. Yet he uses canvas—the material most associated with painting. Both Tonglen 1-3 and Enlightenment Arrives when the Wave Realizes it is the Ocean are constructed from canvas, but here the canvas is not stretched on a frame or covered edge to edge with gesso and paint.

As we move further along this wall, we encounter another of Chris’s works: Half An Art (In Advance of Whole System Collapse). This piece is also made with canvas and, at first glance, resembles a traditional painting. It features a rectangular canvas with a sharply outlined, glossy black rectangle painted on it. However, only half of the painting is visible—the other half is concealed beneath a black slipcover, suggesting the work is unfinished.

The title, Half An Art, is more than a hint: it suggests there is nothing beneath the cloth covering the left side. The piece is incomplete, in dialogue with Tonglen 1-3. We can infer that Chris created only “half an art” because he received just half of the grant money he requested. This is a common frustration—artists and organizations often receive less funding than they ask for, sometimes not enough to complete their projects.

 

The materials listed on the label include canvas and what Chris calls “a reconciled 1993 painting.” Much like his use of the word “mended” in Tonglen 1-3, “reconciled” is an intentional and unusual choice. To reconcile often means to resolve a problem or repair a relationship. Here, for Chris, the 1993 painting was unresolved—he addressed it by enclosing it within this canvas, layering it with paint, and covering part of it with a slipcover.

 

This is a large and extremely heavy piece—I can attest to its weight from helping with its installation. Once again, Chris plays with scale, exaggerating both size and weight to express emotion. The artist told me he designed this artwork to weigh the same as he did in 1993. The work is nearly equal to my height, yet it hangs lower on the wall than we would typically place such a large artwork. This positioning gives the impression that its emotional weight is dragging it down toward the floor.

 

If we circle past the emergency exit door, we will come to another artwork by Christopher Campbell Gardiner called Have No Art (Key to a Public’s Heart). I encourage you to walk around and have a look, especially at the right-hand side and the bottom of this artwork. You’ll notice that there are latches, each secured with a padlock. There are three padlocks all around this artwork.

 

This is a great opportunity to talk about colour as an element of art. The hardware that locks the padlocks and the cedar are all painted gold. We may associate gold with money or riches, we might associate it with royalty, we may associate it with sunshine and pleasant things, and we may even associate it with religious objects, those that deserve our admiration and veneration.

It’s interesting to me that Chris has constructed this item from cedar. Cedar is a valuable wood for many reasons; in part, it’s very fragrant, and it stands up to Weather very well. It doesn’t need to be stained, varnished or painted to be impervious to water. Cedar also has a special quality: its scent is repellent to insects that can damage items you may wish to keep in a cedar chest or a cedar closet, such as wool garments or fur coats. Because of its distinctive fragrance and natural durability, cedar has long been used to make ceremonial objects in many cultures. Its aromatic oils not only provide a pleasant scent but also protect against insects and decay, making it an ideal material for items meant to endure and be cherished.

 

By painting the cedar gold, Chris has enhanced its protective and spiritual powers.

 

Although I know that Have No Art (Key to a Public’s Heart) can be opened, and I’ve seen the artist open it, I myself was careful not to look inside. So I don’t know what is inside here. Chris’s material list does not give much away. I mentioned how the artwork labels are important for Chris’s work. We can understand how the materials he’s chosen to use contribute to his meaning.

 

Chris often used artwork labels to make wry jokes. At the bottom of the label, where we normally note whether a granting organization has funded the project or whether the artwork is on loan from an institution or an individual, Chris has included additional credit lines. Have No Art (Key to a Public’s Heart) is listed as “Not currently residing in the collection of the National Gallery’s Collection of Visual Arts or Canada Council Art Bank.”

 

If you turn 90 degrees, you will come to this brilliant yellow-orange artwork, which Chris called "No Longer Waiting" (previously "the long wait"). This is another artwork in which the materials, colours, and artwork label all work together to convey the artist’s intended meaning.

This brilliant colour felt, which makes up the outer layer of this artwork, is soft and inviting, unlike the utilitarian canvas or the hard, angular wood of Chris’s other artwork. It’s soft, pliable, not quite square with ripples and bumps and a slight sagging at the bottom where another padlock dangles.

 

This rich colour is like gold, but not gold. It seems more natural and richer - like fatty butter, honey or pollen.  

 

If we look at the artwork label, we’ll see that the artist describes the materials as” unsent letters to a local curator,” and the second material is “secrets.” Although these scant hints arouse our curiosity more than any other work, the artist has gone to extraordinary lengths to enclose, seal, or contain these items of which he is ashamed.  

 

By looking at the artwork label, we’ll notice cedar and glass on the materials list in addition to felt, so there is likely a cedar box  inside the felt sleeve and, inside that, maybe even a glass container. It’s almost like the way that sometimes people will play a joke by wrapping a present in multiple layers of paper so that it seems like you’ll never get to the actual gift.

 

The multiple layers of materials and methods used to contain these unsent letters and secrets reinforce how important it is that they never escape their containment. No Longer Waiting (previously the long wait) obviously contains something exceptionally difficult for the artist to acknowledge and deal with.

 

I can explain a little bit about the title of this artwork for you. No Longer Waiting (previously The Long Wait) contains a series of letters written over many years, intended for a curator. The artist had planned to give this curator a key to actually and symbolically unlock these personal messages. However, since the intended recipient is no longer a curator, the artist—and the letters themselves—are left in a state where there is nothing left to unlock. Instead of containment, does the padlock on the bottom of the work reflect a state of closure, as the artist and the correspondence are no longer waiting for the curator to unlock it and read the letters? Is the padlock a vestigial appendage now, no longer needed?

There is something both tender and funny about the excessive way the artist tries to contain, but not destroy, things, memories, and emotions that trouble him—sealing them up with multiple layers of paint, painstaking, time-consuming stitches, and sometimes even a ridiculous number of padlocks.

 

While preparing a poster for the exhibition Art$ Funding at the Art Gallery of Regina, we selected one of the photographs of Chris’s artworks that he had provided. When we showed Chris the draft poster and asked for his permission to use the image, he revealed that the artwork pictured didn’t actually exist.

 

As you leave the gallery, take a moment to look at the exhibition poster. It closely resembles Have No Art (Key to a Public’s Heart), but with a few notable differences: the cedar planks run horizontally, and the box is secured with six padlocks instead of three. This detail adds another layer of ironic humour to the exhibition, which gives artists space to playfully critique the shortcomings of public funding. In a final twist, the exhibition itself is promoted using an image of an artwork that was never realized, perhaps because the necessary funding was never received.

 

ARTISTIC LICENCE BUREAU

Now, let’s head to the back of the gallery. On the left, you’ll find Glen Johnson’s “Artistic License Bureau,” a satirical installation that parodies a government office. This kind of art is called installation art; it’s designed for visitors to physically enter and participate—its meaning unfolds through your own involvement.

 

The Artistic License Bureau mimics a government office. Just like a real government office, Glen’s installation is mostly a waiting room, complete with rows of moulded plastic chairs, a deliberately jarring blue-and-white colour scheme, and a looping video slideshow promoting the concept of artistic licence. The bureau’s branding, including its “elbows up” maple leaf logo, reinforces its resemblance to an official government office—even the desk is often intentionally left unstaffed, echoing real-world bureaucracy and its shortcomings.

 

As you take a seat, notice the walls covered with posters, inspirational quotes and racks of pamphlets. These materials offer biting, satirical advice about building a career in the arts, written in Glen’s witty style—cultivated through decades of creating video art, installations, and ‘zine publications like Persiflage.

 

One memorable poster features a pair of painter’s pants with the phrase, “Will these pants make me an artist?” with the answer below: “Only the artistic license will.” Of course, neither painters’ pants nor a license truly make someone an artist.

 

Visitors are invited to play along: you can receive a personalized “artistic license” card with your photograph. No personal information is kept, and the lengthy application form is intentionally irrelevant—a humorous critique of bureaucratic processes familiar to anyone who’s filled out unnecessary paperwork at a government office.

 

You don’t need a license to make art, and the “artistic license” is not a real credential. (Although the artist mentioned that some people have used their artistic licence cards to board an airplane or receive a senior’s discount.) Exaggeration is used for comedic effect: some pamphlets jokingly warn that failing to follow the Bureau’s absurd guidelines could result in teasing, ridicule, or even being labelled a “dilettante”—a not-so-serious jab at the pressures of artistic legitimacy.

 

There is no real authority or threat behind the Artistic Licence Bureau. Everywhere you look, you’ll find layers of satire and invented quotations (for example, television art instructor Bob Ross never actually said, “We don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents—hopefully not in our pants”). Take your time to enjoy the humour and reflect on how bureaucracy shapes the art world.

 

The Artistic License Bureau also responds to the realities of Canadian arts funding, where being deemed a “professional artist” is often required to access grants—yet this definition can be elusive and arbitrary. The installation invites you to question what it means to be an artist and to consider, with a wink, whether an “artistic license” would help bolster your credibility.

 

Behind the desk, you’ll notice a large banner featuring a logo borrowed from the Canada Council for the Arts. While not endorsed by the Canada Council for the Arts, the artist’s use of the logo invites reflection on the national arts funding body: its stylized tree is meant to suggest growth, but it can also resemble a key in a lock—hinting at how arts organizations may act as or be perceived as gatekeepers.

 

I once again encourage you to take home the pamphlets and read them at your leisure. There will be much to laugh about, where you are laughing with recognition because you’ve navigated these hurdles yourself or if you just think all forms of professionalization can ultimately become silly and a parody of themselves.

CULTURECAPITAL

As a curator, I am drawn to artworks that challenge our assumptions about what art is and what it can be.

 

culturecapital: Saskatchewan Edition, created by Milton Lim and Patrick Blenkarn, is one such work—a participatory card game that, like the Artistic License Bureau, requires your involvement to truly be understood. You’re invited to sit at the custom-built gaming table, where you’ll find stacks of cards, a red die, a bowl of tokens marked with dollar signs, and mats for organizing your cards as you play. A row of buttons on one edge of the table controls the lights and sound for each stage of the game: introduction, planning, and competition.

 

Press a button, and a booming voice announces the next stage of the game. A pulsing, meditative soundtrack fills the space as coloured spotlights sweep across the ceiling and walls. Behind the culturecapital table, golden yellow and magenta lights wash the wall, creating a vivid, immersive atmosphere. The music and lighting transform playing a card game into high drama—a playful analogy to the process of writing a grant application. While grant writing may not look like hard work from the outside, for art organizations, it is demanding, intense, and deeply rewarding.

 

To get started, read the rules and initiate a round of culturecapital yourself.

 

This game offers a playful and insightful look at the realities of arts administration. It unfolds in two stages: first, players roll dice to secure enough grants to fund their projects, and then compete against each other to win the support of various communities.

 

To begin, each player draws a hand of seven cards, including two company cards and two project cards. The company cards represent real Saskatchewan arts organizations, while the project cards are fictional scenarios imagined by the artists.

 

Each project card displays a value at the top (inside a yellow circle), a project description, two pink keyword boxes, and a box at the bottom showing one to three dollar signs, indicating the number of grants required to make the project happen.

 

Company cards outline each arts organization and its work in the province. Near the bottom, you’ll see one to six dice icons indicate the organization’s “rolling power.” For instance, the Dunlop Art Gallery’s rolling power is five, so rolling any number from 1 to 5 secures a grant for your project. If keywords on your company and project cards match, your project’s value increases.

 

The game’s first stage—acquiring grants—underscores how arbitrary the funding process can feel, as success relies entirely on the luck of the roll. This serves as a pointed commentary on the sometimes-random nature of real-life grant decisions.

 

Once a player—or more than one—has fully funded a project, the game advances to the competition phase. Now, the challenge shifts from winning grants to winning over a community.

 

In this phase, players compete to win the support of one of four communities displayed at the center of the table. Each community card highlights the community’s unique tastes and values. The outcome of the game hinges on the players’ ability to win community support.

 

At this stage, players can play Fact cards to alter the value of projects—positive facts can increase a project’s worth, while negative facts can reduce the value of a competitor’s project. For example, I’m sometimes told that my event introductions run long. While I could be tempted to shorten them, culturecapital reminds me—and all of us—why certain practices have value. Whenever the Fact card appears that penalizes you for “forgetting to thank someone important,” I laugh in recognition. It’s a playful but pointed reminder that overlooking a funder or dignitary can have real consequences, both in the game and in the arts world.

 

Card play in this round is fast-paced, and fortunes can change quickly. If an organization fails to win its community’s support, not only does its project fail, but the organization goes out of business—so the stakes in culturecapital are high!

 

To get the most out of the game, consult the culturecapital Guidelines instruction book provided by the artists, or consider purchasing your own copy from the Curtain Razers web store.

 

As the artists explain, culturecapital is both a card game and a live performance project that critically examines how value is created in art economies. Designed for two to four players, this Saskatchewan edition draws from two main sources: public funding records from SK-Arts and the Canada Council for the Arts, and interviews with local artists about their professional experiences and what determines the value of their work.

 

In addition to the gaming table, sound and lighting, the card game is accompanied by a scrolling record of grants awarded by SK-Arts, SaskCulture, and Creative Sask between 2020 and 2024. These figures are drawn from research and statistics provided by the Saskatchewan Arts Alliance, which worked with the artists over two years to help develop this Saskatchewan edition of culturecapital. Averaged over five years, these funding totals offer a sobering reality check for anyone who believes that artists get rich—or even make a living—solely from grants.

 

culturecapital pairs perfectly with Christopher Campbell Gardiner’s Tonglen 1-3, which physically documents the effort behind grant applications, while the scrolling video reveals just how modest these rewards can be.

 

You’re invited to join AGR staff to play culturecapital on Thursday nights from 5–7 pm in the gallery.

 

While it may seem like Art$ Funding is simply complaining, I think this exhibition is a call to action to better understand and support our unique funding model in Canada. An impartial, arms-length adjudication process is central to how these funding bodies decide which individuals, organizations, and projects receive funding. Exposing the issues with this system should motivate us to fix and protect arts funding.  Our system shields artistic freedom from interference by those with political or financial power. Art in Canada serves the public good—not markets or egos—and doesn’t have to please everyone to be valuable.

 

THANK YOU

Thank you for visiting Art$ Funding, parsing the meanings in these artists’ works, and experiencing the challenges of pursuing artistic recognition, facing rejection or seeking funding for artistic projects from granting bodies working with insufficient budgets. Although the topic of Art$ Funding doesn’t sound fun, I hope you enjoyed this humorous and engaging exhibition.

 

As Director/Curator at the AGR, I’m pleased to be part of this organization that, for over 50 years, has fulfilled its mandate to foster appreciation for contemporary art and share artworks through thoughtfully curated exhibitions that provide new ways to understand issues in our society. Founded in 1974 in response to a lack of exhibition opportunities for local artists and other excluded artists and practices, the AGR continues to support community-engaged and participatory artworks, emerging art forms, and fresh takes on familiar practices and subjects.

 

Accessibility, inclusivity, and community infuse all AGR activities. I thank the City of Regina's Adapted Recreation grants program for funding our Accessible Gallery Tours project, offered and developed in consultation with Listen to Dis', a disability arts organization based in Regina.

 

I also thank Casino Regina for supporting our efforts to meaningfully connect exhibitions with Indigenous experiences and knowledge.

 

I would like to thank our core funders, SK-Arts and the City of Regina, through their Professional Arts Organization Grant programs and Community Partner Grant programs, respectively. As of April 1 2026, I am also pleased to acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts.

 

I am delighted to recognize SaskTel for making this audio tour possible through their sponsorship, which connects people to art experiences through communications technology.

 

We’ve recently started sharing video tours of our exhibitions on TikTok. Follow us there to experience our shows in a new way and stay connected with the latest from the AGR.

I especially thank YOU for taking the time to listen to this audio tour and attend this exhibition.

 

You can support the Art Gallery of Regina by becoming a member, donating, or both.

Visit our website at www.artgalleryofregina.ca for details on becoming part of our gallery's community, including low-barrier exhibition opportunities for members, and more about Art$ Funding, including exhibition documentation photos, discursive materials and links to media appearances and stories, including Glen Johnson’s interview on CBC radio.