Saturday October 11 - People by M.E.

M.E.

People

11 - 31 October 2025

Who do you remember? Who do you forget? Who do you want to forget?

People is a solo exhibition by Magda Ewelina (M.E.), informed from the space it inhabits, and those that surround it. The exhibition consists of a series of never before seen sculptural, assemblage-based objects utilizing a range of found materials collected from sites such as the La Biennale di Venezia, Art Toronto, local grocers, and other such contexts. These floor-based sculptures investigate the display of personas in an intimate gallery space (former artist studio) known as the gallery People. Items such as tote bags become layered with added materials, bedazzled with a myriad of objects related to the body and other such accessories. The sculptures are arranged in an even row around the space, evoking a notion of seriality and appearing as an unusual gathering of peoples, now on display

People is the first presentation in Vancouver by the Polish-Canadian collective who uses recycled and common materials from various aspects of traditional and contemporary life to speak to self sufficiency, agricultural practice, personhood, social hierarchy and identity, among other motifs. M.E.’s use of materials invites us to examine relationships to one another, as well as the objects that sometimes hold these relationships.

After this presentation, M.E. will host a Polish lunch from the Polonia Sausage Deli, located across from the People Gallery at 4286 Fraser Street. Details forthcoming. Free kielbasa, cheese, bread and sweets will be provided. This exhibition is made possible thanks to Unit 17.

Magda Ewelina (M.E.) is an artist collective that takes its form as an envisioned persona intended to promote anonymity, creativity and nostalgia. M.E.’s Polish and Canadian background allows the persona to recall simpler times, pointing to and remembering the past that in a sense felt more rich, vibrant and alive. M.E. is a gateway to Europe for this artist collective who aim to promote a nomadic practice, often focusing on resourcefulness and play. By utilizing motifs of the kitchen, the garden and other domestic sites, including the heavy use of recycled and common materials, M.E. attempts to use all resources to their maximum potential - often resulting in examples of functional reappropriation.

Thursday August 22 - Epiphyte Root Beer by Aubin Kwon

Epiphyte Root Beer
Aubin Kwon
Opening Saturday August 22, 6 - 9 pm
at People (4277 Fraser St.)

we are opening a low key bar for one night on August 22 6pm at people
featuring self-serve root beer and dreams comma delta towel edition 2 pick up if you have pre purchased one already.

with helps from

Aubin Kwon
Christian Vistan
Ellis Sam
Jordan Milner
Kiyoshi Whitley
Meg Hepburn
Mona Lisa Ali
Natasha Katedralis
Natty Boonmasiri
Steve Hübert

Thursday July 10 - Sons of Disappointment by Craig Pettman & Kevin Romaniuk

 

Sons of Disappointment
Craig Pettman & Kevin Romaniuk
Opening Saturday July 10, 6 - 9 pm
at People (4277 Fraser St.)

Saturday May 10 - Winterlong by Deon Feng, Violet J & Felix Rapp

Winterlong
Deon Feng, Violet J & Felix Rapp
Opening Saturday May 10, 7 - 9 pm
at People (4277 Fraser St.)

I utilize the darkroom as both a space of production and refuge.

Well, production is probably a generous term.

In some ways it has become a place, perhaps the only one, where I allow myself to purposefully not understand something.

I want to believe that there is more to this place than what can be explained of it.

I’m not anti-science, but I am skeptical of the ways in which we try to legitimize every experience under the domain of knowledge. On a moody day, I might even think of it as the last room on Earth without language.

It’s a good place to feel like you are doing something, when you’re really just indulging in the present. I tell myself I’m working as I tap along that linoleum counter, trying to find my Pixies CD. Miraculously, it appears unscratched, doublestacked inside the Talking Heads Greatest Hits.

When winter made the nights long, I went there to look for a sense of agency. Sunset at 4PM? No problem, I’ve been in the dark all day anyways. I don’t believe in linear time and losing things; light just finds different ways to reoccur in my life.

You hold a strong conviction in the value of the analog. An unwillingness to accept the obsolescence of the silver gelatin print. I see myself in you: that beneath the cynicism, you care a lot, so much so it pains you sometimes.

I often say I’d like to haunt the darkroom. I think I already do. Some version of me does, at some place in time. I sense that things, as they are, will soon end. In time, my ghost and I will pack our bags, and move on.

One time, exiting the in-between room together, I asked you: “what’s that behind you?” and you were actually spooked. It’s childish, but I take pride in managing to scare a future ghost. Does she drink redbull too?

You say the darkroom is like a casino, which is perfect because I love gambling.

I remember the first time you brought bingo scratch tickets into the film developing area, and we won $5 that have yet to be redeemed. It’s waiting on that cork board alongside the forgotten goodbye card. The future always seems to be deferred.

For many months, my film didn’t advance a single frame. I felt no necessity to recount the present, as I welcomed the passage of the long winter.

Up until now you’ve never seen me with a camera. It’s true, so much of my time in Vancouver passed with a monochromatic ambivalence. Everything here was just a facility to process something more profound elsewhere.

We find common ground in our futile attempts to remember what we’ve decided was worth forgetting.

As it always goes in the twisted clairvoyance of leaving, I realized that we might be drawn to the darkroom simply for company. Funnily enough, now it almost seems like there is nowhere else but here: inside this old building surrounded by constructions of newness, sitting on the counter every Friday afternoon.

Will you be here for a while?

Text by Deon Feng and Violet J