It’s approaching Saturday night,
mid-February, and a classic Canadian snowstorm has fastened its frozen-hellish
grip on Toronto. Through the windows of a westbound subway pulling out of
Kennedy Station I can see the early brew of rough weather through the twilight
of a cloudless setting sun. Tonight I am traversing the Bloor line and back –
in its entirety – to bare witness to the MABELLEarts third annual
inside/outside mid-winter parade. Also, I have been commandeered to help out;
just exactly how I am unsure of at this point.
Mabelle Park in summer.
The high-rise, high-density
neighbourhood of Mabelle Park, located a five minute walk Northwest of
Islington Station, mirrors countless other subsidized housing projects
instigated by the Toronto Housing Corporation (THC) in the 1960’s and 70’s
throughout the Greater Toronto Area. Characterized by high rates of crime and
living conditions close to squalor, places like Mabelle Park would generally be
on a list of locations to avoid on a Saturday night. But not this Saturday
night.
When a community becomes segregated from
vital resources and falls into poverty, its members are either forced to live
their lives hand-to-mouth or relocate (an option that is also off the table for
many due to strict economic pressures). At Mabelle Park, a third solution was
created after its residents became too fed up with political ignorance and
social marginalization: build a new community foundation, based on inclusivity
and self-expression, to allow for an outlet to ‘make art, tell stories and
creatively transform the place that is Mabelle’. In 2007, MABELLEarts was
founded under the name ‘Pigeon Creek Collective’ to give that voice back to the
people living in the area.
Drummers warm up before the parade.
MABELLEarts has since unashamedly
proclaimed their place as a vibrant community arts group in Toronto, holding
several events each year and programming weekly with both Mabelle residents and
community artists from around Toronto. On this particular night of inclement
weather, we flooded onto the stoops and front doors of Mabelle Park and took
the inside outside, marching along snowy sidewalks with a drum ensemble around
an outdoor living room and jars of preserved memories. At the end we all
enjoyed hot food and cider made by MABELLEarts members. Because our group at
PARC joins in the process of transforming space and transforming lives, they
were there too. It was a night for celebrating amidst the whiteness.
For MABELLEarts and PARC members, these
are the things that make them feel a part of a community. The motivation to
construct and plan a night of this capacity becomes the dedication of individuals
who may have never before been involved in something of this scale. The passion
behind everything is unobtrusively
present. The lives of people right in front of you, hanging in a bed strewn
under a tree or radiating around a desk lamp set in the snow. You are caught in
the moments of someone else’s life bleeding into your own. It is as close to
pure magic as possible.
We give ourselves to our youth – through
meticulous parenting, with the millions spent on their education each year, in
the organizations dedicated to eradicating the poverty, suffering and abuse of
our little ones; all good endeavours indeed. But what about the elderly?
The big questions remain in many a North
American family: who will take care of our elders after they cannot take care
of themselves? What is to be done with our aging population, as the ‘baby
boomers’ retire en masse and consider full time care facilities (most of which
are already overflowing)? Moreover, who will
stand up to support these wrinkled people? Not droves of us, as we so clearly
see with those who aid the other side of the age spectrum. It is the absurd
conundrum of an ignored demographic – one that has the potential to change our
harmful ways…If only we would listen.
Old people playing video games and whatnot.
Old people are our history in the flesh
– nay, temples of infinite wisdom that
we so commonly turn our backs to, discharge as a bunch of outdated prudes who
have fallen into the so called ‘generation gap’. All the while we repeat our
mistakes as if completely blind to the lessons waiting to be learned from
yesteryear. We seek answers to all of life’s questions yet fail to consult
those who have done the most living. These are the people who are most in touch
with the past, who have beautiful stories of an era behind us, of an age we
only romanticise as being ‘simpler’; more sophisticated and dusted with an air
of all-together-ness. We are so terribly far from the truth but too stubborn
and selfish to admit this to ourselves, never mind other people.
Being wrapped up in the present doesn’t
have to mean we forget where we came from. Everyone has roots; everyone was
created from a lineage that survived the circumstances which led to their
existence – your existence. We are
bound to this history whether we know it or not – it lives in our blood and in
the people who are still around to tell you about it. Other cultures feel it
rightfully appropriate to respect and revere their elders as ‘repositories of
cultural and philosophical knowledge’; the Cree (one of the largest groups of
First Nations/Native Americans in North America) rely on these members to pass
down wisdom and stories - the backbone
of their culture – to the younger populace. West African tribes such as the
Ogoni people of Nigeria or the Benga in Guinea rely heavily on their elders as
spiritual protectors and for assistance in raising children.
We must end the ignorance of those who
have lived a life we claim we know everything about yet still struggle for harmony.
The oldest among us have the capacity to help us find meaning, direction and
even happiness, so why do we shun them into the corners as mere social and
moral responsibilities? We can locate ourselves within those who have lived
long before us – all we have to do is slow down and pay attention.
Happy 100th Birthday to the beautiful Vera Nicholson! Sending love to you, my dear, for making the world a much brighter place to live in.
John Berger’s timeless article entitled Why Look at Animals brought forth to the
scientific community an extremely important paradigm for howhumans understand non-human animals.
This paradigm was explained by Berger as a dichotomy of perceptions; on one
side, the physical animal is represented. Its flesh, natural habits and
ecosystem are embodied in the reality that plays out in front of us and is
something that can be studied, analysed and predicted. The other side of this
dichotomy represents the symbolic characteristics
of an animal; be it the spiritual and mythical manifestations of an animal or
its use in folklore. When comparing non-human animals to humans, Berger (1977)
states that ‘Animals are born, are sentient and are moral. In these things they
resemble man. In their superficial anatomy – less in their deep anatomy – in
their habits, in their time, in their physical capacities, they differ from
man. They are both like and unlike’ (Berger, pg.6).
I have a thing for Macaws because Macaws
are freakin’ awesome, no exceptions. Since the inception of the Spanish
Conquest and European Exploration into South America, macaws have been revered to
the Western world as some of the most beautiful and stunning species of parrots
on earth. Often referred to as ‘rainbows with wings’, spotting the macaw’s
trademark patches of brightly coloured feathers and large beak is not very
challenging, especially if one ventures into the thick of the Amazon in early
spring during their mating season.
But what really blows my mind is that not
only do wild macaws generally mate for life, most macaws will also be observed
in the wild alongside their mating partner and this close relationship will
usually last their entire lifetime as macaws are incredibly social creatures
that bond together for extensive periods. Macaw researchers have also observed mortality
rates in macaws and have noticed an interesting trend between partners after
either male or female has deceased: usually within two to five months after one
partner has died the other partner will also
die, and scientists believe this phenomenon is linked to macaw depression in post-mortem. This
act of complete dedication can be reflected on traditional monogamous values in
North America; the profound relationship shared between macaw mates can be
perceived as an ideological aspiration, deep-rooted in Western notions of
commitment and devotion.
Hyacinthe Macaw 'couple' in flight,
Unfortunately, because ecological
degradation is now the leading cause of species loss in the Amazon, the slowly
declining rates of macaw populations in Central America are currently low enough
to deem this animal at risk. Scientists fear that the fragmentation of macaw
habitat will eventually isolate certain populations and consequently weaken the
number of species beyond feasible restoration.
But the case for Macaws is now being
fought on a multi-front level as Macaw poaching and chick selling has become
uncontrollable between Western and Central American economies. Because poachers
can make large amounts of money from the sales of living macaws, a great deal
of pressure has been put on locals to generate revenue by capturing and
promoting these animals as domestic pets.
Limited mobility, lack of companions or
mates and low stimulation are all factors that contribute macaw depression
during domestication. It is our concepts of entitlement that have prevented us
from realizing that these animals should not be kept as pets.
A development in education initiatives
to raise awareness on the effects of macaw domestication in North America while
ensuring that the illegal pet trade can be greatly reduced via strict
monitoring programs is imperative to ending the abuse of this incredible animal.
Secondly, successful conservation strategies in Equilateral South American
communities should be used to model the future of macaw protection in their
natural habitat. Adopting a principal of local ownership and knowledge-based
leading will be essential to reaching this goal.
The macaw represents a plethora of
values and connections to the human world and developing strategic conservation
authorities is crucial to the survival of this amazing creature. Full macaw
conservation will not be achieved within the next few years as programs
dedicated to this mission must have a far reach and be made permanently
sustainable. The case for macaws might be a tough one, but the preservation of
this species is important to both the human and non-human worlds.
If there’s one
thing we’ve learned from Korn’s
cover of Another Brick in the Wall
it’s that quality music just can’t escape the tainting of unimaginable creative
slaughter after it finds the hands of some angsty teen’s pants eruption of a
‘band’ with an oversized ego. Let’s face it: in the world of musicians playing
other musicians stuff, the majority of covers aren’t even fit for Hillary
Duff’s IPod.
But there are
exceptions. In some far flung corner of the musical universe, people are making
sense of what it means to recreate a musical masterpiece, and the results are
ear-gasmic. Get ready for a cover apocalypse: 8 re-does you’ll want to re-do again and again.
1) Bon Iver covers Bonnie Raitt’s I Can’t Make You Love Me
In an off the floor studio solo take,
budding alt-folk musician Bon Iver appeases his fans by beautifully modifying an
early 90’s classic. The song, originally sung by Bonnie Raitt but made famous
by Bruce Hornsby, is elegantly stripped and simplified by Justin Vernon (under
the pseudo name of ‘Bon Iver’), yet somehow also elevated by the powerful
vocals set beside a grand piano.
We receive another small treat during
the last moments of the song as Vernon incorporates a snippet of ‘I Found
Love’, another (great) Raitt hit.
The original:
The cover:
2) Youth
Group covers Alphaville’s Forever Young.
We’re moving backwards in time to the
German ‘synthpop’ band Alphaville and
their less famous original single ‘Forever Young’. Although the band couldn’t
attribute their success to this piece, a plethora of covers would arise during
the subsequent two decades, most of which were total crap and included people merely rapping over the
original (thanks, Jay-Z, but no
thanks).
Insert
Australian-native band Youth Group. After being asked to cover the song by
American T.V producers from The O.C,
which is a terrible series with an amazing soundtrack, Youth Group responds
with an actual quality rendition. Infusing Australian rock-pop with retro
roots, Youth Group almost one-ups Alphaville…..Almost.
The original:
The cover:
3) Tokyo Police Club covers Kelly Clarkson’s Since U Been Gone
So perhaps
this example won’t fit into the ‘musical masterpiece’ category, but that
doesn’t mean it can’t turn into something awesome. Here we have one
contemporary artist borrowing from another, although both are from completely different and opposing genres.
Tokyo Police Club, a four piece post-punk/pop band from Newmarket, Ont.,
decided in their latest cover album that selecting radically dissimilar songs
to play would be a good idea. One such outcome was a cover of Kelly Clarkson’s
‘Since U Been Gone’.
Whether you
like it or not, it’s hard not to admit how TPC has transformed this pop
annoyance into something a little more tolerable. And kind of funny, when you
think about it.
The original
(listen at your own risk):
The cover:
4) Sun Kil Moon covers almost an entire Modest Mouse
Album (and still keeps it classy).
Modest Mouse
fans are usually surprised to learn about how Sun Kil Moon’s Mark Kozelek
pretty much reformatted an entire set of their works in his 2005 album ‘Tiny
Cities’. All eleven songs from this era are Modest Mouse reworks including
covers of ‘Ocean Breathes Salty’, ‘Tiny Cities Made of Ashes’ and ‘Dramamine’.
Listen as
Kozelek tampers the eccentric nature of a Modest Mouse tune and wraps each song
in his authentic bliss. This selection is but a snippet of his work but is a
personal favourite of mine – enjoy ‘Tiny Cities’:
The original:
The cover:
5) James Vincent McMorrow covers Steve Winwood’s Higher Love
Anyone who grew
up in a household that included a radio auto-tuned to any station boasting ‘today’s
hits, yesterday’s classics’ will instantly recognize the aforementioned song. This
chart topping hit from the mid-80’s once preceded the likes of Madonna and some
other band called Bananarama,
and will forever be etched into the minds of young adults who were forced to listen
to it in their youths.
Fast forward a
quarter of a century and meet Irish singer/songwriter James Vincent McMorrow,
an indie folk artist with the larynx of an angel. In true JVM style, Higher Love is usurped and transformed into
a chilling piano cover and thrown into the eardrums of many lucky listeners.
The original:
The cover:
6) Moneen covers Alexisonfire’s Accidents while Alexisonfire covers Moneen’s Passing of America
For the early
21st century punk rocker in all of us, this little treat is a
must-have. Moneen and Alexisonfire are known industry buddies, often making
surprise guest appearances at each other’s shows or, in this case, covering each
other’s songs in an EP cleverly entitled ‘The Switcheroo Series’. The 6 track
album includes two covers of each respective bands songs and an original by
both Alexisonfire and Moneen. The results are both creative and hilarious.
Moneen’s ‘Accidents
are on purpose’ (original Alexisonfire song here):
Alexisonfire’s
‘Passing out in America’ (original Moneen song here):
7) Yael Naim covers Britney Spears’ Toxic
Again, not an original we’d quickly
throw on the awesome shelf. On the contrary, if there’s anything we’ve learned
thus far it’s that sucky music doesn’t have to stay that way if someone far
more talented can get their hands on it. My next example: Yael Naim’s
completely creepy and memorizing version of a Britney Spears song that came
straight out of the local sewage treatment facility (a place vaguely familiar to
Spears).
I honestly have a hard time reaching
the end of this cover. Not because it isn’t great, but because I start yearning
for faux leather spandex and a life size Russian doll at about the first
chorus. Let me know if you feel the same way or, you know…Just me?
The original (GAAHHHHH DON'T DO IT! DON'T DO IT!):
The cover:
8) The Postal Service covers Phil Collins’ Against all Odds.
Our final cover finds its way out of a
side project from the guy who made nerdy kids everywhere a desirable demographic.
Yes indeed, Ben Gibbard is taking a slice from one of the best percussionists
we’ll ever know, and he’s going Postal. Deal with it.
The original:
The cover:
This list is by no means exhaustive. In
fact, you probably don’t agree with every entry. Hey now, there’s a comment
box! Look at that. A place to voice yourself.
Last
week, I was lucky enough to experience Freelance Whales live in Toronto at the
MOD club – an evening that easily pushed this band to the top of my favourites
playlist (and, if there’s one thing I am outwardly proud of, it’s my musical
collection…Which will knock the balls off yours. Trust me.)
After
having my head blown off by the level of musicianship I encountered that night,
I began to ponder over the lyrical genius also inherent in a Freelance Whales
song, only the arrive at the conclusion that the writing is so far beyond an
average intelligence level that most listeners would have great difficulty
deciphering any subliminally encoded messages. Fortunately for you, the simple
act of stumbling upon this page has granted an opportunity to bypass the
ambiguous rhetoric and move into deep understanding…You know, because I claim
to have superiority over your ability to comprehend the lyrics. Below, my
easily confused friends, are 6 carefully selected excerpts from Freelance
Whales song writing that will be forever framed in the light of pure truth via
my thorough interpretations.
“Shut
me up with your long tube socks, they don’t scream ‘Hey, let’s just be
friends’”
Ah, yes, the perfect
start to our virtual Freelance Whales guidebook: the opening lines to
‘Starring’, a band favourite if I do say so myself. While we find the writer
taking the first-person perspective of a smitten, gleeful romantic that had
radically changed their outlook on their lover-to-be, many other layers of lust
are explained throughout the piece. Here, the subject participating in the mere
act of wearing high socks has given the writer an erection. Clearly, someone is
obsessed.
Let’s be frank here:
tube socks cannot speak nor do they have sentience. On the other hand, seeing
their crush in tube socks has left
the writer speechless. Amazing is the power of socially-constructed axioms on
the human mind, especially in the case of outward appearance. If tube socks are
what get you off, then tube socks on that
person you’ve been stalking is guaranteed to give you some bedroom material for
a long, long time.
“Don’t
fix my smile, life is long enough, we will put this flesh into the ground
again”
Let’s shift gears now
and study the final words of ‘Generator: Second Floor’. What social
implications are being discussed in this example? The cyclical nature of life
on earth? The pressure associated with having the ‘perfect body’?
It is clear that Freelance
Whales is quite anti-plastic surgery (at least in the case of aesthetic
purposes). Honestly, at this point, they sound like hippies. But cool hippies,
like the kind that still have jobs and are productive members of society. They
preach a gospel that drives against North American values of body image and
fake ba-jube-jubes, finding happiness in the natural and unscathed.
“ohh-weeeeee…..”
Found in almost every
Freelance Whales song, it seems as through actual
words don’t always cut it when you’re creating a masterpiece. Sometimes,
it’s just better to bust out in some melodic non-sensical mouth noises instead
of singing with real words.
“Do
me this solid if you would, pretty lady – please grab your martini and meet me
on the balcony”
Who doesn’t like a nice
martini for those nights spent socializing on a balcony? Not ‘Hannah’,
evidently, or this song wouldn’t be named after her. Hannah seems like a fairly
awesome person if she partakes in these activities.
Moreover, Freelance
Whales have stayed classy by finding time to both compliment a female and feed her drinks whilst enjoying the
outdoors. No need to worry about mislead intentions here – the song continues
to explain how the writer desires to make a ‘light show’ and questions whether
or not Hannah is ‘outside-in or inside-out’ (obviously not sexual references). This tots danceable musical creation is one
of their best and most admired, if only to celebrate the fact that Hannah is
about to endure one of the wildest and forgettable nights of her life
(depending on what was put into that ‘martini’).
“But
oh, you caught me sleeping in the power sockets, you caught me mildew in the
tiles of the bathroom.”
Yeah….I have no idea what’s going on in this one.
Your guess is as good as mine.
“..your cello bows, we stole your hair to make
them…We’re sorry for the iron shoes we nailed to you and stuck you in the rain
alone.”
Finally, we arrive at
one of the most poignant selections in the Freelance Whales artillery: ‘Broken
Horse’, a song about animal rights, human/non-human relations and a fairly
mistreated steed. From near-skinning a horse for musical instruments to shoving
a metal half-ring into its feet, Freelance Whales warns a desensitized youth of
the perils in animal domestication.
Sifting through the
deep-rooted words of Freelance Whales is a taxing but necessary process if one
is to complete the circle of post-folk wizardry. I hope my simplifying of said
works has helped you to establish a well-rounded picture of this powerhouse
indie team. Please enjoy responsibly.
I step out of the airplane and am
immediately greeted by a violent wave of heat that begins to permeate every
inch of my body; I am overdressed, heavily unprepared and immediately turn into
a puddle of sweat on top of skin rashes on top of more sweat. I fight the
overwhelming urge to make an about face and retract to the safety of the plane
interior; it seemed too harsh the transition between the modernity of food
carts and tray tables to…well…..this.
My new cruel (yet totally self-subjected) reality: Ghana, West Africa.
Welcome to paradise.
It is dark when I arrive and there are
no fancy elevated walkways to the main building at Kotoka International Airport
in the capitol of Accra, just a narrow staircase leading me onto the invisible
tarmac that steams from the aftermath of a disappeared African sun. On the
other side of customs I am swarmed by locals looking to make a fast buck – I am
an easy target: white, inexperienced and confused (to use a rather understated
term). Finding a cab to a hotel costs me dearly after the posse of Ghanaians
demand an honorarium for assisting me and my ridiculous amount of luggage
across a parking lot. I hand out my only currency, a wad of American twenties,
and feel instantly stupid for being so explicitly taken advantage of. Never
mind, I am alone and I am scared shitless. I Vulcan Grip the strap of my hiking
bag and stare out the window of the cab for the remainder of my night’s
travels.
The Intercity STC was one of many such questionable
modes of transportation I encountered.
Nothing could be more terrifying than
your first few steps into a third world country - unless, of course, you’re
also doing this totally alone and unguarded. Such was my plight after an 18
hour overseas multi-flight trip from my hometown of Toronto, Canada to one of
the poorest places in the world. After arriving, of course, I still had to make my way into the
interior of Ghana – hours on buses that would eventually make their way into
the Upper East District – and finally, my
god finally, one last cab ride into the tiny village of Zwarungu where I
was to set up camp for the next four months. If Africa is never what you think
it is, I was certain I had found the perfect antithesis for every imaginable
conception I had garnered previous.
I was thrown into the deep end without a
paddle and had to navigate my way around what was an intensely new place to me.
The NGO that had funded me worked under a philosophy of strict cultural
assimilation via travelling alone while investing oneself completely into the
community and, while the theory ultimately made sense, I still debate to myself
whether or not the lack of support actually helped or hindered my experience.
What I saw in fact turned me into a hard-wired pessimist.
Posing with the Bukere Women's Farmers Association
(I am the white guy, center stage).
We had already partnered with the
Ministry of Food and Agriculture in Ghana and it was my job to assess Zwarungu
for its viability of adopting the “Agriculture as a Business” program, aimed at
incorporating business models into the practice of growing and extracting food
(this is, after all, West Africa’s largest industry). The goal, ultimately, was
to intensify agriculture through microfinance programs and the forming of farmers
groups – with the end result a transition from sustenance farming to revenue
generating models. I ended up working exclusively with women’s groups (women
account for close to 85% of the labour involved in farming in Ghana while the
men dominate managerial and/or political positions) that produced everything
from shea butter to various types of maize, ground nuts and even straw baskets.
At the end of my four month term, to be
painfully honest, I accomplished quite little externally. We still had no idea
whether or not Zwarungu could profit from the program, thanks in part to the
fact that I think I was sick with Malaria or some other kind of parasite for
close to half the time (and if you’re interested in learning more about extraction, this would be a completely
new and kind of gross example). I walked away, however, not really caring about
this. Instead, a rather unusual epiphany had actually changed my entire
perspective of the experience: I was in Africa to help me. Yes, to risk sounding rather self-centered, the most important
part of my trip became how much I
could benefit from understanding true poverty, forming relationships with my
host family or business partnering with the director of my office. If I was to
actually make difference anywhere, it
would be in Canada, after all of this was over.
And after every single kid received a photo of themselves.
I’m not afraid of admitting how happy I
was to be back in North America after this trip, nor am I hesitant to tell you
that I probably won’t ever do something like that again. But if you asked about
regrets, I have none. West Africa is an incredibly beautiful place full of
incredibly beautiful people who are happier than most of my friends and peers
in Toronto, despite the fact that they account for one of the poorest
demographics in the world. The word extraction
takes on so many meanings in this context; extracting knowledge from
endlessly meaningful experiences, extracting self-understanding through doing
things I thought I never had the capability of doing, and extracting a new
perspective of just how messy the world actually is but, conversely, extracting
pure truth and hope and beauty from its center….All you have to do is tilt your
head a little.
Google Map “Pine Point, Fort Smith,
Unorganized” and prepare for a virtual trip to a faraway place. The location
name is automatically proceeded by native script and you are taken to a remote
section of Northern Canada, just below the Great Slave Lake and roughly two
hours East of Hay River, Northwest Territories. A skeleton of small roads
creates a grid between some small lakes beside a nearby rail line. The Fort
Resolution Highway crosses to the South; just below that begins the massive
Wood Buffalo National Park – further down, the Alberta – NWT border. You get
the feeling that virtually nobody lives
here.
And you’re right.
Hundreds of small settlements just like
Pine Point line the highways and shores of Canada’s North, but what makes this
one in particular a little different is its history as a once rural oasis
turned desolate ghost town in a matter of days. So what happened at Pine Point?
Wikipedia, online knower of all things,
has an entire page
dedicated to Pine Point. In the true unapologetically frank style only
Wikipedia could get away with, Pine Point is explained as a ‘single-industry
town’ that closed when the local zinc mine shut down. Afterward, ‘All buildings
were removed or demolished, and today the site is completely abandoned,
although there is still evidence of the street layout.’ So, hey, total bummer.
End of story?
Not really. What don’t you get from such
a brash and condensed version of Pine Point’s demise is its story as a place
where people once lived, went to school, worked and formed a community –
however short this era may have lasted. Pine Point was the unfortunate product
of a Federal social experiment designed to provide a group of people with
cookie-cutter housing and a job all in the same place, and see what transpires.
After the mine stopped producing, as mines tend to do when they extract
non-renewable resources, there was no choice but to pull up shop. But by then,
a strong community had formed: relationships, traditions, social circles….The
end of Pine Point wasn’t only marked by the bulldozing of people’s homes, but
the end of a life its residents would have understood deeply, many of whom were
born and raised inside the small town.
A selection from the 'Welcome to Pine Point' website.
Today, little physical evidence exists to
remind us of the once thriving village of Pine Point, but through the wonders
of film and internet, the ‘lost mining town’ has been resurrected and re-formed
through the voices of its ex-citizens. ‘Welcome to Pine Point’, an incredible
interactive website dedicated to retelling the true story of Pine Point, is now
fully accessible and complete with original pictures, sound, video and more.
The website has since been maintained by Pine Points own Richard Cloutier, the
same person who donated most of the material, while funding and technical
production has been overseen by the National Film Board. A secondary website
created by Cloutier, Pine Point
Revisited,
also includes information on his experience as part of this short-lived
settlement.
With greater insight into the matters of
Pine Point and the people who once called it home we can begin to see the
mistakes of its very creation. Pine Point is not an isolated incident, but
serves as an important lesson on how we build, and sometimes destroy, the
places we live and the communities we nurture. Thanks to some dedicated
individuals, we won’t forget Pine Point and what it has taught us: humility,
sacrifice and the inevitability of time.
*Check out 'Welcome to Pine Point' here (click on the image below):
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