Want to feel like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole? Head to this sprawling new Koffler Arts exhibit

It’s a swirl of colours, lights and objects: a grandfather clock dangling from the ceiling, furniture tenuously balanced on nothing but teacups, various nature scenes that bleed into one another. This is what Alice must’ve felt like as she tumbled down that rabbit hole.

But maybe that’s the point. 

Throughout the gallery, Iles appears to be concerned with the idea of bearing witness. Is it ever possible to be a neutral, passive observer? she asks. 

Her answer, echoing throughout the various multimedia works on display, is a resounding, forceful “no”: we’re moulded by what we see, she argues. And what we see is moulded by our presence as well. 

The central work of Iles’ exhibition is “Not Like the Other.” Taking up the entire south wall of Koffler Arts’ downstairs gallery, the piece mimics the experience of a hunter inside a hide (a camouflage structure concealing someone inside). As the hunter, we stare out at several scenes through a small peephole. From this perspective, Iles turns her viewer into the “other.” We’re both at once there but not really there — participating in a scene but also removed from it.

What Iles is trying to say, I think, is that not even a hunter, so physically removed from their surroundings, can be a neutral observer, because their gaze is never neutral. They’re always assessing the terrain around them, with a sense of purpose to this spectatorship.

Iles also explores the notion of power and vulnerability: there’s power in the act of seeing something and vulnerability in the act of being seen.

This idea is most apparent in “If Not Now Then When,” a sculpture dangling from the ceiling, depicting a pair of polar bears that appear to be drowning in the melting Arctic. We stare at them, as bystanders, while they stare back, helpless. But the act of being a bystander, Iles asserts, is in itself a statement. 

Occasionally, Iles’ show feels dense for the sake of density, her message obscured by too many disparate elements. She also arranges the exhibition in a manner that encourages viewers to explore every corner of the space (some works are hidden in little nooks along the ceiling). But the show is never quite completely immersive; an overly long and at times rambling video interview with the artist, playing on a screen by the entrance, blares at full volume throughout the gallery.

And yet, there’s a vulnerability to the entirety of “Glorious Catastrophe” that makes it quietly ravishing. Everything in it is in a state of precariousness, teetering on the edge. By the entryway, a rickety wooden chair is balanced atop towers of porcelain. Beside it, a series of paintings and prints dangle in the open air. At any moment, it’s like the mere power of our gaze could set this scene all crumbling. But it still beckons us to stop and stare, if we dare.