Love, Art and History: A Review of With Love, cur. Emily Falvey, Owens Art Gallery (22 July 2023 to 15 May 2024)

What role does love play in art? What role does it play in the creative process? With Love, a modest exhibition of works by Mary Pratt and Alex Colville addresses precisely these questions.  The pairing of two canonical figures in modern Atlantic Canadian art history should, alone, draw attention to it, but in really important ways this exhibition is not what one might think. It does not, for example, take a celebratory approach to either Pratt’s or Colville’s work. That alone sets it off from the general tenor of commentary that has surrounded the canonization of Colville at the forefront of Canadian – and Maritime – art history. What is more, Pratt’s and Colville’s artistic projects are dramatically different. Drawing them into conversation with each other provides an opportunity to consider the development and writing of Atlantic regional art history in new and informative ways.

With Love opened at the Owens Art Gallery at Mount Allison University on 22 July 2023 and runs until May 15^, 2024.  It was curated by Owens Director, Dr. Emily Falvey.  Its aim was to think through the ways in which love animates creative practice in art on more than one level. This is clear from the works on display. For Colville, love is manifest in two ways. His wife, Rhoda, appears frequently as a model and his art, in significant ways, represents his devotion to her. As the With Love exhibition notes remark “Colville gave a copy of each serigraph he made to his wife.” They end up in this exhibition because of a 2013 donation Colville made to the Owens in honour of Rhoda. Colville’s Stove from 1988 is an immediately recognizable example. It shows Rhoda foregrounded to the right along with their family pet dog in front of a blue and silver stove, which occupies most of the painting. Both are peering into the oven through an open door. It is an almost typical Colville kind of work that is already widely celebrated with its focus on a specific and particular scene.

The works by Pratt are from her Transitions series (1993 to 2002), that were part of a “creative collaboration with Japanese Master Printer, Masato Arikushi.” They work differently than Colville’s art. Like the best-known body of Pratt’s work, these works focus on domestic space and how it does not come into being accidentally. Romancing the Casserole, for instance, shows a well-designed casserole in a microwave oven. We could speculate on the intention behind this image, but its visuality captures a sedate, elegant moment that feels both warm and inviting. Other works are still lifes that show the artistic aspects of domestic space made by women.

The New Brunswick Scholarly Book Award, 2024 / Le prix du livre académique du Nouveau-Brunswick, 2024

jnbs-nb-scholarly-book-award-2024Download

jnbs-nb-scholarly-book-award-2024-french-language-versionDownload

Bill Parenteau (1959-2023)

By Daniel Samson

I met Bill Parenteau thirty-seven years ago. He’d arrived from America, a seemingly unnatural blend of Rhode Island, NYC, and Maine. He seemed very American. Intellectually exotic and pugnacious, he told tales of then young hotshot historians, Greer and Judd, New York delis, the Red Sox, real punks and historical materialism.

The short-form conventional wisdom on Bill is that he was smart and funny. The slightly longer version is that he was that and that he was a truly decent guy who never lost sight of his New England, working-class sensibilities, an ethic rooted in fairness. His work centred on the simple premise that there were good ways and bad ways to treat people. The job of the historian was to document this and to advocate for the good; it was to shine a light into corners deliberately darkened by those who were enriched and empowered on the backs of the poor. He carried that ethic of right and wrong, of fairness, into everything he did: as a historian to Canada, a partner to Helen, a parent to Mia, and a friend to me and many others.

Bill Parenteau (right) and Daniel Samson (left, with finger) discussing matters historical at an Atlantic Canada Studies Conference. In the background, Herb Wyile looks on, quizzically.

In the Venn diagram of our lives and interests, Bill and I intersected solidly but nowhere near 50 per cent. Obviously both being historians of the rural poor, the Maritimes and the pernicious effects of capitalism on the region took up a lot of space. So too did our fondness for punk, but even there were limits. I like the Ramones, but lord there’s lots to take a pass on; he thought Sonic Youth had crossed a line into a baleful dissonance, which is what I thought made them great; we agreed the Pixies were sent by God (though we disagreed on the existence of God, but we’ll save that for another time). But art – that is, art-gallery art, not Black-Francis art – was not a world we shared.

Eulogy for Bill Parenteau

This eulogy was delivered by Bill’s sister, Kerry Pascetta.

I am Bill’s sister. Because I am Bill’s sister, I am apologizing in advance to the historians in the room. This eulogy will not be delivered in chronological order, some dates will be omitted, and there may be profound inaccuracies. And I am grateful that I will not be graded today.

Bill is the person our family could rely on to deliver a eulogy. Like everything, Bill did it well. Naturally, I am terrified to be up here. But I am reminded of Bill’s encouraging nature. I imagine him shrugging and saying, “You can do this.”

The first time I felt this way was after high school. I wanted to attend college at UMaine-Farmington (because that is where Bill went). I went to Bill with the application in hand. I remember telling him that I didn’t know if I was smart enough for college. He said, matter-of-factly, “I will help you with your application; it’s not really that hard. And you are going to realize how smart you are when you get to school.” So I went. And I did.

Bill Parenteau, 1959-2023

His friend Linda McNutt had a similar story when she was having trouble believing in herself to start her PhD. “You can do it,” he said. “Start by doing the easy parts first and then celebrate.” So she did. 

Bill was the first feminist I ever knew. Before I knew what that word meant. He helped women – his family, friends, students, colleagues. 

Erin Morton remembers Bill putting his foot down about the gender inequity in UNB’s History  department. Bill wanted to hire more women to balance things out. He pushed it through. It was the right thing to do, even if it was uncomfortable or inconvenient for some.

The late Elizabeth Mankee, after having a heated disagreement with another colleague, went for a walk with Bill to cool off. To her surprise, Bill told her, “Hold Steady. Don’t budge.” She later thanked him by saying, “I remember being struck that you uttered not the first word about how I might be nicer, or more feminine, more obliging. …I remain grateful that you did not revert to gendered suggestions.”

Bill helped women up. And every woman was Bill’s sister. 

Blaine Higgs and the snap election that wasn’t

By Donald Wright

It’s official: New Brunswick will not have a fall election.

But for much of September and October, the premier played a cynical game of cat and mouse, first hinting that he might call an early election, then hinting he might not, before letting the clock run down. After all, no one wants to campaign into December and the holiday season.

Because Blaine Higgs enjoys a clear majority, there was never a compelling reason to call an election. True, six caucus members – unhappy with the requirement that students under 16 must have parental consent before teachers can use their preferred pronouns – had voted with the opposition in the so-called June Rebellion. But by August, those same caucus members signaled their loyalty going forward.

Molly Lamb Bobak
Demonstration, c. 1966
Oil on Masonite
120 X 99.5 cm
UNB Permanent Collection

Even Higgs’ minister of health publicly urged him to respect New Brunswick’s legislation on fixed election dates and to complete his mandate.

But Higgs has never liked that piece of legislation, which, frankly, isn’t worth very much. In 2020, at the height of the pandemic, he did the same thing when he called an election two years early, despite having a stable governing coalition.

Memories of Elizabeth Mancke (1954-2023), Part 2

Dynamism and determination, wisdom and warmth: the late Elizabeth Mancke (1954-2023) exhibited each of these positive attributes as well as countless others, as anyone who had the good fortune of knowing her can readily attest. Her recent passing is a massive loss for the many communities to which she contributed, whether as an historian, an engaged citizen, or, as was frequently the case, both. Composed by scholars and friends of Elizabeth’s from across the United States and Canada, the following reflections offer a glimpse of the breadth and profundity of her influence, and of the brilliant legacy she leaves to posterity. Cumulatively, they are the second of a two-part series; the first appeared on Tuesday. Please feel free to provide your own reflections on Elizabeth’s life and work below.

My first encounter with Elizabeth happened shortly after she moved to Fredericton to take up the position of Canada Research Chair at UNB in 2012. We were at a book launch event (back in the glorious Chapman Fund days when wine was still considered to be collegial), and she asked me how my dissertation was going. I don’t remember my exact reply, but it was bleak enough for her to drag me into a classroom with a whiteboard. We spent the next hour mapping out the remaining chapters and the introduction. She just kept asking me questions until I could coherently explain my project and why it mattered. Elizabeth’s intervention (and that’s the proper word for it! As anyone who has ever been on the receiving end of her intellectually curious cross-examinations can attest) put me on the right track to finish the project and to move on. Elizabeth had a rare and profound conceptual appreciation and understanding of constitutional law, history, and interdisciplinary studies. Since that first evening at the whiteboard in Tilley, I have run every one of my research projects by her. Even when she was in the hospital this past summer, she eagerly discussed (and tore apart!) my current and future research agenda. Elizabeth made me a better scholar, and I will be forever grateful for the attention she gave me at a particularly vulnerable stage in my career. She was an exceptional mentor, and inspirational colleague, and a dear friend. I shall miss her.

Nicole O’Byrne

Elizabeth’s long interest in British North America expressed itself in many ways. Although she had been a visiting assistant professor in Maine in 1988-89, and I only arrived at UMaine in 1997, I was lucky that her cross-border commitment (and fascination with Maine) remained fulsome even when she took posts outside the region. Her return in 2012 intensified her contributions to borderlands scholarship, but her humane passion for connecting scholars, especially graduate students and junior faculty, was even more transformative. I will miss her probing conversations at conferences and her infectious delight in new ideas. Many feel her loss.

Liam Riordan

Memories of Elizabeth Mancke (1954-2023), Part 1

Dynamism and determination, wisdom and warmth: the late Elizabeth Mancke (1954-2023) exhibited each of these positive attributes as well as countless others, as anyone who had the good fortune of knowing her can readily attest. Her recent passing is a massive loss for the many communities to which she contributed, whether as an historian, an engaged citizen, or, as was frequently the case, both. Composed by scholars and friends of Elizabeth’s from across the United States and Canada, the following reflections offer a glimpse of the breadth and profundity of her influence, and of the brilliant legacy she leaves to posterity. Cumulatively, they are the first of a two-part series; the second will appear on Thursday. Please feel free to provide your own reflections on Elizabeth’s life and work below.

I met Dr. Mancke in January 2017, when I took her graduate seminar in historical writing. She was one of my MA thesis examiners, and editor par excellence. In 2018, she became my PhD advisor. It was in this latter role that I got to know Elizabeth better – as a wise scholar, a human being in all her wonderful complexity, and as friend and confidante. My time with Elizabeth was too brief, barely six and a half years, but her positive influence on me will last a lifetime. Requiesce in pace, amica mea.

Ian Baird

Elizabeth was an incredible colleague and mentor: I’m forever grateful for her empathy, integrity, and intellectual passion.   What made her such an exceptional professor and person is that, unlike most of us, Elizabeth was never either/or.  She was both kind and tough, ambitious yet relaxed, serious yet playful.  Elizabeth was both a wonderful talker and a sensitive listener, committed equally to research and teaching.  Her work made major contributions to the international histories of the Atlantic world yet was rooted deeply and unapologetically in community and region.  Unlike most historians of colonialism, she valued both transnational and local perspectives.  Elizabeth was one of the few historians who maintained equally strong connections across American and Canadian academic networks.  She was committed to people as much as principles and to community as much as academia.  Elizabeth was one of the smartest people I’ve ever known, but she never made others feel inferior.  She made me and countless others a better historian and person.   

Jerry Bannister

When my MA advisor, David Philips, died suddenly on holiday in Queensland, Australia, one of his former Ph.D. students eulogized him by saying that his death was akin to the destruction of the Library of Alexandria. I admired the depths of his knowledge and mourned his loss, but, for me, while that ancient library of wisdom certainly was battered, it still stood.

With Elizabeth Mancke’s death, both the Library of Alexandria has been destroyed beyond repair and the pole star has been extinguished permanently from the sky. Such is the magnitude of her loss in my life. Like Polaris, Elizabeth had always been steadfast and steady, guiding my intellectual path in her gentle, ever-encouraging way. Unlike many of her other graduate students, she and I never lived in the same place. I came to her guidance and mentorship late in my doctoral journey. I had moved from Canada to the United States and wrote my dissertation in isolation. My original doctoral advisor allowed me the gift of freedom with little pressure to finish. I spent longer than I care to admit writing my 500-page tome. When Elizabeth took me on as her student, following the retirement of my original advisor, I had almost decided to quit my program. I had two small children and a Faculty appointment at a US institution. In a marathon four-hour phone call, she convinced me to finish it.

After I defended in December 2019, I believed that there would be an end to our phone calls and emails. But, every time I would ring, she would pick up and we’d talk for hours. If both of us did not have time to talk, we’d chat on Facebook messenger. We’d talk about my work and her work, my students and her students, my life in academia and her life in academia. We talked through the reshaping of my dissertation into a monograph–a monograph that she will now never read. “I eagerly await your next report,” she wrote often. I told her everything, always. We even spent a blissful half hour chatting online while I sat in the reading room of the Bibliothèque nationale de France in Paris. “Have you seen any references to the Gulf of St. Lawrence?” she asked. I’d get the next set of volumes pulled by the retrieval staff and write back or send pictures. By June, we talked every day. I’d send her my finds and she’d tell me how amazing they were.

I looked forward to visiting her in Fredericton in July. But I came three days after she was admitted to the hospital. I visited her there and I am happy that I did. When I came home, I thought that I would see Elizabeth in the fall for her Gulf Project Workshop in PEI. The workshop moved from Fall to Spring. She went for treatment and appeared to be doing well. And then, the worst happened and the guiding light of my life burnt out.

In a way, I am lucky. So much of my relationship with Elizabeth has been preserved in chat logs and emails. I have not yet had the fortitude to re-read her messages. But, even though she is gone, she and I will always share this history. Even in death, her preserved guidance and brilliant mind will shine on in my life, helping me navigate the path ahead, even though I now must walk it alone again.

For my Mentor, Friend, and Chosen Family: A Graduate Student’s Memorial to Elizabeth Mancke

Murray Yeomans

Editor’s Note: The following tribute was delivered at Elizabeth Mancke’s celebration of life on 14 October 2023.

For those who do not know me, my name is Murray Yeomans, I am one of Elizabeth’s PhD students. I am one of her cohort of 15 current graduate students but am also part of much larger group who have had the good fortune of calling Dr. Mancke their academic supervisor. I feel the need to preface this by acknowledging that speaking on behalf of Elizabeth’s students feels impossible because each of us has a unique and important relationship to her. Dr. Mancke–Elizabeth–wore almost as many identities as she did neck scarves, not least of which were “mentor,” “advisor,” teacher,” “confidante,” “friend,” and “family.” Unlike neck scarves, however, she often wore many identities at the same time. It is for this reason that her passing is a loss that is felt so deeply by her students, and a much wider community here in New Brunswick, throughout Canada, and around the world. The vast network of people who have learned from Elizabeth would fill any university auditorium many times over, and so, as I stand here and offer these words in celebration of such an extraordinary human being, I feel the weight of the people that I speak for. It is my hope that in my own stories about Elizabeth that you hear some commonality with your own.

Elizabeth Mancke, 1954-2023

I first met Dr. Mancke as an undergraduate student in 2014 when I enrolled in her Atlantic Revolutions seminar. There were about 10 of us in the class, and each week we met to discuss readings on a different kind of revolution, political, or social upheaval. We considered the impacts of war as a precursor to constitution making in the long eighteenth century, and like all undergraduate seminars, we wrote a capstone paper at the end of the semester. I chose to write a paper on the historical memory of the loyalists of the American Revolution, how that memory came into being, and the flaws perpetuated in its meta-narrative.

Call for Papers: 2024 Atlantic Canada Studies Conference

The Canadian-American Center at the University of Maine invites proposals for the 2024 Atlantic Canada Studies Conference to be held at the University of Maine in Orono, Maine, USA on the weekend of May 10-12, 2024.

The theme of the conference is “The New Acadiensis School.” Approximately half a century ago, the Acadiensis School, with a focus on themes like underdevelopment, started advocating for Atlantic Canada as a region of study on par with others in the country. Subsequent generations of scholars have continued this mission. But what does or should a “new” Acadiensis School look like today? How can the voices and perspectives of the historically marginalized be incorporated, or continue to be incorporated, in new research about Atlantic Canada? What about the inclusion of spaces outside of Atlantic Canada but within the region, such as eastern Québec or eastern Maine? How can a relatively contained geographic region be integrated into larger national, international, or transnational processes without being lost amongst them? While many of these questions are not new, it is worthwhile to revisit the scope of Atlantic Canada and the goals for its study. Conference organizers invite proposals that engage with these open-ended themes on any level. As in previous ACS conferences, proposals that deal with any topic or theme and from any discipline focused on the study of the Atlantic Region will be considered.

The deadline for submission of proposals is December 15, 2023. Proposals can be in one of three modes: papers, panels, or roundtables. Individual paper proposal abstracts should be fewer than 250 words, and the author should include a one-page c.v. Panel proposals should include abstracts of fewer than 250 words and a one-page c.v. from each of the participants, plus a brief abstract for the panel as a whole. Being a less structured format, roundtable proposals (fewer than 250 words) should explain the roundtable topic as a whole, with a list of participants, and should include a one-page c.v. for each participant. While the selection of papers is rigorous, the ACS conference prides itself on bringing together internationally-recognized academics, junior scholars, students, and independent researchers in productive and collegial sessions.

Those submitting proposals should expect to hear back from conference organizers by the end of January 2024. A conference website, with online registration and accommodation and other information, will be launched about the same time.

Conference organizers will do their best to provide a hybrid format (mix of in-person and remote), if there is a demonstrated interest/need.

To submit proposals, please email them to: atlanticcanadastudies2024@gmail.com

For more information, please contact:
Mark J. McLaughlin
Associate Professor of History and Canadian Studies
University of Maine
mark.j.mclaughlin@maine.edu
(207) 581-2028

Professor Mancke: A force to be reckoned with, 1954-2023

Erin Morton

If I had to give my memorial to Elizabeth a title like an academic paper, I would call it “Professor Mancke: A force to be reckoned with, 1954-2023.” To know Elizabeth was to know she was a force, one that was always pointed towards making this world a better place than she left it. She has been described as such recently by colleagues who worked with her on university Senate, where she challenged her institution to uphold principles of collegial governance, social justice, and to collectively grapple with problems faced as a larger scholarly community. She often wrote publicly of these issues, not for academic gain, but to make people aware of what was happening, such as her recent and forceful article in the NB Media Co-op on the poor treatment of UNB’s Sodexo food service staff. She didn’t mince words, and she held people accountable. A quick scan of the tribute wall on Elizabeth’s obituary also shows the word force used more than once. People are mourning Elizabeth as a friend and person, but also grappling with what it means to lose someone who was such an unmovable force for change, who held us all accountable, and in my strong view who made us all better even when things get hard.

Elizabeth Mancke, 1954-2023

Elizabeth was my colleague in the UNB History department and I was lucky to know the force that was Dr. Mancke for 11 years. That decade changed the way I thought about scholarship, university governance, the academy, my own scholarship, and most importantly mentorship. There are lessons that I thought were somewhat unique to our particular relationship but as it turns out they weren’t. Elizabeth’s relationships with people were collectively forged, often through struggle and always with shared understanding. One of the things that has touched me about Elizabeth’s life over the past few weeks has been learning the reach and depth of the force of her relationships. I am going to try and do justice to some of the ways she impacted us as a scholar, teacher, colleague, and friend.