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facts & arguments

Hidden away in Ottawa, Kathy White discovers a stash of Canadian art available to us all

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On Doors Open weekend in Ottawa, thousands of people lined up to see inside buildings they pass daily without a second thought. This year, I was determined to visit at least one, too.

The Canada Council Art Bank in Ottawa is open for one day only, and there's no line outside. Arriving at the corner of McArthur Road and St. Laurent Boulevard, a wide and noisy thoroughfare lined with huge car dealerships, I wonder if I have the wrong address. But then I see a large banner announcing the Doors Open event.

Tucked between two parking lots, the Art Bank is inside a nondescript one-storey building with a weary picnic table in front. The welcome is low-key: Staff with name tags hanging from their necks are quietly talking to visitors, but there is no guided tour, no map, no indication of what I am about to see.

I join a few visitors along a narrow corridor past a series of alcoves that remind me of library stacks. Interspersed with a few pieces of artwork are colourful panels promoting the Art Bank: the collection belongs to all Canadians; individuals can benefit from art rental; it costs as little as $3 a day.

Next, is a large open space with couches and people examining several large canvasses, one of which is a painted Google search about Indigenous peoples, and about 50 smaller framed pieces. I focus on a collection inspired by sushi; it turns out to be a playful view of Canadian cuisine: Blueberries, Tim Hortons doughnuts and what appears to be wieners wrapped in rice and thin layers of cabbage.

Hidden in one corner of this gallery space is the entrance to an immense warehouse of sculptures and 3-D art in a variety of media. One of the first is a clear Plexiglass wagon, sitting on a lower shelf, but soon, the sheer volume of objects overpowers my attention and clouds my memory.

Dozens of pieces sit randomly on the painted concrete floor and more are hidden in boxes on shelving units, each about 30-feet long – there must be thousands of cartons hiding unique Canadian treasures inside. The labels and pictures on the boxes hint at the variety of a collection too extensive to grasp. A big-box store for art.

By now, I am completely overwhelmed: My brain is tired and my heart is full.

It takes time to examine, to absorb, to wonder; I want to come back another day, but there isn't another day. I head sadly toward the door, hoping that the Art Bank will be on the list next year.

Then, on my way out, I discover that I have missed the best part of the event because I have not strayed off into the alcoves that looked like library stacks. These house some of the 17,000 pieces of art promoted by the colourful panels, but it has not occurred to me that it is open to the public.

The alcoves house white mesh sliders, about 15-feet long and 10-feet high, with heavy metal frames and large handles facing into a centre aisle.

They sound and feel like oversize patio doors when they are pulled out to expose four to six pieces of art with small tickets and QR codes. The panels completely block the aisle when fully extended, so visitors pull them part-way out, from both sides of the aisle, creating a maze-like passage to the far end.

I retreat to the edge of the room and watch. The crowd, suddenly increasing in size, is as diverse as the artwork. A little girl in a striped dress has her neck bent back fully to look up at the brightly coloured houses several feet above her mother's pointing finger. A tall, mature woman is clutching a catalogue and a young couple is using a cell phone to scan the QR codes.

It requires all my strength to slide the heavy panels out, then back in again. Soon, I am physically tired and choose to just look at the works that others are pulling out. I wander through five or more alcoves – I soon lose track – with at least 100 sliders in each, unsure whether I am going around in circles. I can't even begin to appreciate the wealth that surrounds me.

Despite the deep sound of rollers, the scene is hushed, like a cathedral. Most people are looking and gesturing, but not talking. A few consult quietly with staff who are standing by laptops searching the Art Bank database. The room has the intimacy of a gallery despite its warehouse size. Gauges on the wall indicate controlled temperature and humidity; it is a comfortable space.

It feels a bit unreal to stroll amidst so many pieces of Canadian art, and beyond belief that ordinary Canadians have access to this secret stash.

As I leave the building, I thank the curators, who seem astonished by the turnout: They have run out of catalogues and still have several hours to go. I learn that they have hosted smaller events, but for decades, this amazing repository of Canadian art has mostly been hidden from sight, exposed only to its small staff of curators and managers.

Every day, thousands of people in cars and buses pass this humble little building. It is not the National Gallery, with its glass towers and gleaming hardwood floors and natural light, and it's not on the radar of residents or tourists.

But on this single day in June, more than a thousand ordinary Canadians wandered into the rich treasure housed by the Canada Council Art Bank and owned by us all.

Kathy White lives in Ottawa.