Madison Dewar is a printmaker and painter from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada.
She has an undergraduate degree in Fine Arts from the University of Alberta, and has displayed her work in a variety of festivals and venues throughout the city.
In her work, Madison is currently exploring caves as a source of both comfort and fear.
In 2016, she was selected as an RBC Emerging Artist in Residence at the Nina Haggerty Center for the Arts, where she now works as the studio manager.
In 2022, she held her first solo exhibition "Subterranea" at Lowlands Project Space.
She predominantly works in woodcut and relief printmaking, textiles, and painting in her artistic practice.
Offerings (NAT Art Residency - 06/2024)
Before Altamira
I spend so much time mourning stories, but perhaps some are meant to stay forgotten.
I think of my own time and the things I can only feel in fleeting moments which seem the most precious-
The staccato of the wind. It lapping at my face. My shirt, damp with ocean dew.
Footsteps and words shared across languages. Como se dice “sunrise”? The word for snail. Bull. A female horse.
Setting sun glinting of horns.
The sound of a bird you’ve never heard and will never hear again.
A perfect curl of sea foam-
These sun-soaked memories- these stories without form, without the shape of narrative- will disappear, slowly from my mind and then suddenly with my bones.
Because I cannot quantify them, do they matter less or more?
Covalanas
Red ochre on the wall in the shape of a doe-
ears pricked, legs at the ready,
three lines and nothing more
Our breathing blurs and echoes and then suddenly the question-
“tell me, is she alive? If you say no, I’ll leave you here, and you will say ‘no no no’ so you can stay forever”
The light spins and the deer springs into life, as if she had been waiting to be found-
her legs stretch and
her nose smells sweet sunlight
her eye a burning star
the ochre rumbles and shifting with her stride
I have always been here for you.
My heart is in my throat and tears prick at my eyes
I am ashamed I push them away.
(I regret that now)
“So, is she alive?”
No, the cave is not alive
No, the stone is not alive,
No, the doe is not alive
They do not breathe, or remember, or yearn
Let me be a liar if I can stay one moment more.
But I can’t -
Not in front of her
“Yes”- says my traitorous mouth,
“she is alive.”
It knows it’s impossible to live
inside a dream
Farewell to Cantabria
Around me the air feels differently charged-
The cat, who I've been trying to befriend since the beginning,
lays down beside me without preamble.
We eat blue cheese and mejillones over green pastures dotted with sheep
and go our separate ways when the herd scatters.
Is this place trying to say goodbye?
Is the smell of midnight datura
and the flapping of bats wings
a prelude to "sayonara";
a final farewell
between dear friends
who will never see each other again?
Does the horse that lives
on the cliff over the sea
let me touch her as a parting gift?
Or do I reach out only now,
knowing that this is the last chance
and if I don't
my fingers will always yearn
for the touch of soft velvet?
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts
Offerings: The Cave - Paintings
Offerings: Objects
Offerings: Performance
Offerings: Installation
Click on the images for full view
With the collaboration of:
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