After a long run of group exhibitions, it was refreshing to see the Walter Phillips Gallery main space turned over to a work by a single artist, particularly one that was such a dramatic insertion into the space. The gallery-within-a-gallery construction of Dagmara Genda's installation created an intimate and quasi-domestic space for her wallpaper installation: a room the size of a cozy living room or a one-room log cabin. This false room initially seemed somewhat awkwardly dropped into the gallery: a clearly staged space for showing the work, or a constructed prop to hold up the patterns on the walls. However, this staged set-up underlined the work's theme: how Canadian cultural vocabulary is constructed, and how manufactured notions of "authentic" wilderness inform this construct.

The recent resurgence of wallpaper in design and interior decorating has led to extensive re-considerations and re-workings of this usually quiet and decorative material, with artists exploiting the realm of pattern and texture to embed subversive imagery and content within these patterned surfaces. Genda's installation made use of this tactic, covering the walls of the room with red vinyl silhouettes of Group of Seven-esque trees and printed white outlines of wolves, bears, and elk within this red forest. From far away, it is the tree shapes that stand out. Up close, however, the animal imagery begins to take over, creating a can't-see-the-forest-for-the-elk effect, and creating an immersive space of jarring pattern and colour.

The exhibition text pointed to the widespread dissemination of reproductions of the work of the Group of Seven as "key in shaping our sense of what Canadian art is: landscape painting." During a recent trip to Ottawa, I did a quick trip through the permanent collections of the National Gallery of Canada - including the Canadian Art collection and the Group of Seven works. Despite having seen these works numerous times (and reproductions of them countless more), I admit that they always inspire a surprising swell of patriotic sentiment.

My response to the G7 works and their relation to Genda's installation is not without complication or confusion: I am well aware of the subjective representation of these landscapes and know that my Canada is rooted as much in urban spaces as in stands of stoic windblown trees. I would argue that my wariness around an earnest commitment to landscape-inspired Canadian patriotism is not unique: while landscape and wilderness have come to act as symbols for a generic version of Canadian-ness, our national identity is indeed far more complex than that. The jumbled silhouettes of "wildlife" and "wilderness" in Genda's work reflects this confused sense of Canadian identity and our notions of culture as it is informed by these emblematic landscapes.

Beyond the gallery and the Banff Centre, the town of Banff was a particularly appropriate backdrop for this work, where one of the most beautiful natural locations in the world has been transformed into a fudge-scented photo-op representation of itself. Here, visitors from around with world come to consume experiences of Canadian wilderness that can range from hiking up a mountain to buying a stuffed beaver. In this context, Genda's installation (created while in residence at the Banff Centre) also pointed to the problems of how (mis)representations of Canadian culture are received by a broader international audience.

Screamers and Bangers ran from October 25 - November 16, 2008.

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All images courtesy of Walter Phillips Gallery, credit Laura Vanags.