Internationally renowned multidisciplinary artist Rebecca Belmore is known for work that engages with social and political realities, inviting us to question our contemporary situation. In a recent performance at the University of British Columbia, she turned her gaze to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Video documentation of that performance and the artifact it produced are translated to an elegant gallery installation at Stride — “Making Always War.” The intimate space of the gallery suits the installation well. The lamp of the projector casts an image onto a suspended screen that moves slightly in the air and has a quality that Belmore characterizes as “breathing.”

The performance begins as Belmore and a companion pull up in a truck. Belmore unloads a bucket of sand, a bag of nails and hammer, and a long, heavy piece of timber that requires two people to lift it out of the bed of the truck. Cushioned by sand, the timber is rested horizontally on a stucco base that served as a plinth for a sculpture long since removed. The performance is set in a plaza at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver, with an audience of students and faculty sitting on a set of stairs. It’s dusk as Belmore begins, and over the next 45 minutes the light in the March sky changes and eventually gives way to darkness. The headlights of Belmore’s truck serve as the sole light source, and its stereo supplies a soundtrack of powwow music that becomes the soundtrack.

Six camouflage Desert Storm shirts are taken out of the truck, and three are laid on each side of the timber. The piece of solid wood is somatic in scale — approximating the human body in height and weight. Because of this, the wood takes on the look of a casket. The six crisply folded shirts stand in for real bodies, recalling uniformed pallbearers.

For many of us, the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq exist on the periphery of our consciousness, and are removed from our daily lives. The deaths of Canadian soldiers frequently make headlines, television clips and radio sound bites, reminding us of the impact of the decisions made in Parliament and of the sacrifices made in the name of our country. Belmore’s performance evokes military ramp ceremonies and the repatriation of Canadian soldiers’ bodies.

One by one, Belmore tears open the shirts, their buttons snapping off and audibly bouncing off the concrete. Sleeves hang limp where arms should be. She wraps each shirt around the surface of the wood, pulling fabric taut and fastening it with nails. Sleeves fold around the timber and gradually around each other, forming a sort of embrace. At the same time, the violence of her repeated action has a visceral quality; the sound of the rapid strike of the hammer and the sharp nail piercing through fabric and wood; the beat of the drums in the background and the heavy rhythm of the artists’ breath heightened when the hammer slips and catches her hand. It could also be interpreted as a kind of burial.

The documentation of this work — occasionally capturing the audience surrounding Belmore — creates the sense that the viewer is part of the large circle of people standing around the artist. Somehow, the distance seems to be diminished.

In 2006, the federal government banned media from documenting the arrival of soldiers’ bodies home to Canada. Critics accused the government of trying to hide the human cost of war. The government changed its position, allowing the families of deceased soldiers the power to grant media access. Despite the politics, people make gestures to acknowledge the dead, whether they support the war or not. It’s demonstrated when people line roadside fences, and stand atop highway overpasses holding flags to pay respects as the bodies travel home.

As the performance comes to a close, the timber has been completely covered by sand-coloured fabric, with the aid of her companion, Belmore works to slowly raise it upright. Is it a tombstone or a memorial, or an act of raising the dead? The audience continues to consider it, as the truck carefully pulls out of the plaza and speeds away.