\u201cI loved drawing when I was young,\u201d Dyck said in an interview with the Independent<\/em>. \u201cI liked little details: earrings, shoelaces. It was easy, like a game. Then I had a son and, like every young mother, I was always tired. Creating art at that point stopped just being fun. I needed to concentrate, to find time for my art, to figure out whether I wanted to spend that time. That was when I became a real artist.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n That wasn\u2019t the only time life challenged her. \u201cI wanted to be a designer,\u201d she said. \u201cI started at design school but, after one year, I became too sick and had to drop out.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n But she never abandoned learning \u2013 she taught herself, read textbooks and took occasional classes. And she never stopped creating \u2013 paintings and drawings, mixed-media collages and soft sculptures, ceramics and wood installations dominated her life, as she juggled being an artist with her non-artistic jobs, family and chronic illness.<\/p>\n Multilayered and metaphorical, Dyck\u2019s collages and sculptures could be seen as a self-portrait of an artist battling a chronic disability.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m often sick and can\u2019t move much,\u201d she said. \u201cSometimes, I spend several months in bed. That\u2019s why I make soft sculptures. It\u2019s easier when I\u2019m in bed and can\u2019t go to my studio. I have to be flexible with my materials and techniques to accommodate my illness.\u201d<\/p>\n Despite the hardships associated with her ill health, Dyck\u2019s works don\u2019t display any bitterness or resentment. Instead, the artist is on a journey of self-discovery.<\/p>\n \u201cI have to learn how to live in a body that\u2019s broken,\u201d she explained. \u201cThat\u2019s what my art is about. My soft pieces are something I want to wrap around myself, to counteract my anxiety.\u201d<\/p>\n All the sculptures on display at the gallery present complex knots of fabric, pipes stuffed with soft fillings. Combined with ceramic elements, leather, wood, feathers and other materials, these ouroboros reflect the artist\u2019s struggles and her determination to live as fully as she can. Her philosophical piece \u201cBlame Mosquito\u201d is a fur ball with half a dozen ceramic hands coming out of it, pointing in all directions. \u201cWhen I was young,\u201d she recalled, \u201cthere was a traumatic event in my life. I blamed everyone \u2013 like those fingers pointing everywhere \u2013 until I realized that I myself carried some of the blame. That\u2019s why one of the hands points back at me.\u201d\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYellow Polka-dot Tail\u201d also has sharp, dark spikes coming out of the soft, colourful tangle and pointing everywhere. \u201cThose spikes are like my anger. They help me feel powerful,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n Another piece, \u201cWing Head,\u201d introduces a strange single wing decorating the sculpture\u2019s head. \u201cThe wing is not functional,\u201d she said. \u201cJust like parts of my body. It is a possibility of flight, an idea, not a reality.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Dyck explores a body that doesn\u2019t work well by creating allegorical figures with faulty anatomy, with the wrong number of fingers on a hand or mangled joints or tiny wings in the wrong places. \u201cI\u2019m processing my disability through symbolism,\u201d she said.\u00a0 \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n She uses second-hand materials for her sculptures. \u201cI buy old clothing at thrift stores or internet marketplaces. The leather came from our old couch. My kids helped me dismantle it and cut out the pieces I could use,\u201d she said.\u00a0 \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The theme of a body disrupted, of limbs disconnected, continues in her painting-like mixed-media collages. Many of them have images of open doors, windows or arches. \u201cThey are my portals to elsewhere,\u201d she said. \u201cWhen I\u2019m in bed, when I can\u2019t move,\u00a0 <\/span>I look out of my window and imagine myself out there. I like being outdoors.\u201d<\/p>\n The images are uncomfortable and deformed, but there is optimism, a strange equilibrium of what might be considered ugly and beautiful. Body parts surrounded by butterflies. Too many hands counterbalanced by birds and ghosts, black and white charcoal drawings incorporating splashes of real gold. All of them speak of a deep need to understand our own bodies, how they work and why they sometimes don\u2019t. The style of the artist is unique and instantly recognizable, and that is what Dyck teaches aspiring artists \u2013 she offers classes at community centres and retirement homes. \u201cI try to teach my students how to find their own voices,\u201d she said.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n One of the most interesting examples of Dyck\u2019s art is an installation called \u201cBed Desk.\u201d Dyck explained its etymology.<\/p>\n \u201cI promised the gallery a sculptural installation, but then I became very sick and couldn\u2019t leave my bed,\u201d she said. \u201cMy husband is a builder. He made those wooden stands that surround the circular space and act as frames for my drawings. He also made me a bed desk where I could draw while in bed, but I could only create pieces of the same shape and size as the desk surface. I channeled my longing to move, to feel strong into those drawings. The figures I drew are broken, like me, but they move, they grow, they adapt and evolve. The installation was funded by a Canada Council for the Arts grant. When you step into its circle to view the drawings, you enter your own portal to elsewhere.\u201d<\/p>\n Dyck\u2019s show will be at the Zack Gallery until Oct. 1. To learn more about the artist and her work, visit her website, amyjdyck.com<\/a>.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n![\"photo](\"https:\/\/www.jewishindependent.ca\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/sep-13-cov.13.Dyck-Amy_WingHead.jpg\")
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