Alana Bartol at Leighton Art Centre, Millarville
By Levin Ifko
Alana Bartol, Fault, 2026, Bible, fire (courtesy of the artist)
Mokinstsis (Calgary)-based artist Alana Bartol’s work often contends with complex human relationships to land, whether through demonstrating the harm of resource extraction or honouring often neglected sensory ways of moving with the world. In their practice, Bartol often references their ancestral lineage and connections to water witches – a familial line that is marked deeply in a new body of work currently on view at the Leighton Art Centre, a gallery and historic site located forty-five minutes southwest of so-called downtown Calgary. The show, Following the Fault Line, brings together a collection of individually and irreversibly altered Bibles alongside work that honours the metaphysical encounters one may observe while tracing the cracks in a system, all the way down to the fault line.
Alana Bartol, Lick, 2026, Bible, mineral salt, salt lick fragments shaped by the tongues of animals (courtesy of the artist)
The Bible works each lie on a platform raised only slightly from the hardwood floor, prompting visitors to kneel for a closer look. One lays open, a circular hole drilled through its pages, one half filled with a viscous bitumen. Another lies closed, slathered in a thick honey that encases its hardcover exterior. Yet another lies encrusted with a light blue crystallized salt. The work referenced in the exhibition’s title, Fault, is also an altered Bible. Irreparably warped and darkened by flame, the book sits open on its platform, each page holding its own ashes. On the wall behind it, thirteen paper moons hang in a circle, each painted using a combination of charcoal, bitumen, and salt, with the ashes from the Bible below. By using these ashes, Bartol makes the painted moons a gesture of transformation, one that is reminiscent of the marking of a fault line itself, a change that is possible only due to the shifting of the earth’s elements.
Alana Bartol, Witch Bottle, 2026, glass bottle with stopper, urine from the artist and their beloved, rusty nails, beeswax (courtesy of the artist)
In the far corner of the gallery lies another transformation in the form of a spell. A glass bottle of deep yellow fluid is sealed protectively by several layers of wax dripping down its side. Witch Bottle is described in a nearby didactic as a spell that the artist has replicated in an effort to ward off anti-queer and anti-trans sentiments in this space. Ingredients listed include urine, fingernails, and “hair from the artist and their beloved.”
Alana Bartol, Bird at the Window, 2026, artist’s bedroom window, bird strike residue, paint (courtesy of the artist)
A window panel hanging on the opposite wall appears blue due to the paint on the wall behind it. This makes visible the many scratches and dents marking the surface of the glass. I am told the story behind it at the exhibition opening. The window was removed from the artist’s former living space. Marks on the glass were left by a robin that attempted to enter the home by repeatedly flying into the glass, presumably in reaction to its own reflection. Bird at the Window prompts me to notice that the recurring light blue dotting it is also present in the salt formation on one of the Bibles and the colour of the egg that was the robin’s first home. During my visit, a window is propped open in the gallery, showcasing even more of this blue, while inviting birds or any other creatures to experience the exhibition for themselves.
Alana Bartol, Opals Metal Gravy, 2026, single-channel video with narration (courtesy of the artist)
As I turn to leave, I pause by a monitor. Videos play one after another, recording glimpses of birds on a porch, hares sprinting across backyards, and the moon at dusk. Text pops onto the screen accompanied by the familiar pinging sound an iPhone user hears when receiving a text message. These words recount the events of dreams, told as if the dreamer just woke up and is rushing to relay their intensity to a loved one. There is a certain vagueness to these dream fragments – I can’t tell whether they are from one person, or where they end and begin – much like dreams themselves. What becomes clear is a certain kind of relation to all beings.
Alana Bartol, Following the Fault Line, 2026, installation view (courtesy of the artist)
Our own senses of moving and being in the world run deep, and this relationality cannot always be taught. Finding meaning in our dreams, through animals, and our sensory experiences recalls a kind of kinship that can be difficult to describe with logic. While Bartol may endeavor to follow the fault line, this body of work gently opens it further, exposing pieces that may only be reckoned with after a tectonic shift – life experiences that challenge what we thought we knew, and may even permanently alter our sense of spirituality and meaning making. Whether these seismic shifts are related to uncertainties around institutionalized religion, or forged by actions of kinship and togetherness, the cracks they leave span distances we may never quantify, but feel deeply.
Alana Bartol: Following the Fault Line continues until June 7.
Leighton Art Centre: leightoncentre.org
The gallery is not accessible, but a portable ramp is available on request.
Levin Ifko is an interdisciplinary artist currently based in Mohkinstsis (Calgary). They will talk your ear off about music, queerness, and media art. Mostly, they believe that art is an opportunity to connect with ourselves and our communities.