“It was the only way I could sleep at night”: Why this Toronto artist cancelled his US show in protest of Trump

I left Toronto for New York in the late ’70s, not to become an artist but because I was young and gay and wanted to go to Studio 54. I had only just graduated from high school in Etobicoke, and living in New York became my post-secondary education. The East Village, where I landed, was derelict—buildings were always on fire—but I found my way working in kitchens, where I met the artists who took me to my first art show opening. Not long afterward, I started making conceptual art, and artist Peter Nagy and I opened Gallery Nature Morte. We were one of just three galleries in the neighbourhood before Lower Manhattan exploded with them.

In the mid-’80s, I moved back to Canada. Unlike Europe, which was really responsive to my work, Canada never quite embraced me. The art world at that time could only see my New York baggage, and rumours circulated that I had moved back only to exploit free health care and die of AIDs—even though I’ve always been HIV negative. I had built a great relationship with Galerie Buchholz in Germany, so I packed up and moved to Cologne.

Related: One woman’s week of buying Canadian

In the five years I lived there, I recognized how much Europe is stuck in its own history—something I call the oppression of dust. I missed North America, and Toronto specifically, so I moved home in 1996, more determined to carve out my own place and routine. North America was more open to contemporary culture and more accepting of other cultures than Germany was. I found my Toronto and Montreal dealers, who have been unbelievably supportive, and I eked out a living as an artist without the use of Canadian grants. In the past 25 years, some major Canadian institutions have collected my work as an asset, but they’ve never exhibited it, which has always been a source of heartache for me. Despite it all, I’m a proud Canadian, but it’s been American gallerists and collectors who have kept my practice alive.

Last September, the Hallwalls Contemporary Arts Center in Buffalo invited me to show a solo selection of my work, with the freedom to choose whatever I wanted. I was thrilled at the offer, and I said yes immediately. The gallery has a long legacy as a cultural hub and was founded by artists I admire, many of whom were still students when they opened the space. I chose to show a collection of my work revolving around food, which I’d call “Since 1957,” emphasizing ingredients as raw artistic materials and questioning notions of stability.

Related: These Florida snowbirds are fleeing over Trump’s tariffs

Yet, as the US election neared, I began to grow uneasy about crossing the border. During Donald Trump’s first term, I’d avoided America out of personal discomfort. I had lived in Manhattan in the ’80s, and I knew who Trump was then: a conman and a social persona non grata at clubs and events. The thought of being in the US with him at the helm gave me the ick.

By January of 2025, after endless news on the US’s rabid nationalism and Trump’s deluge of menacing comments, I was losing sleep over my coming show in Buffalo. I couldn’t escape a nagging feeling that I was doing something wrong. I couldn’t put on a solo show while the president was talking about seizing canals and annexing land. Making matters worse, I began to wonder if it would even be safe to cross the border at all.

Related: Why this GTA couple sacrificed their dream vacation over Trump

For weeks, I wrestled with whether to cancel, speaking with friends about it daily. I was torn: American institutions have been instrumental in my success, and I have a personal connection to New York. Cancelling would mean missing the opportunity to meet artists in Buffalo and potentially sullying my relationship with the Hallwalls curators. And yet, it was the only way I could sleep at night.

When I finally decided to cancel, I emailed the curators, and they replied within the hour in total support. They mentioned that they hope to work together at a more peaceful time in the future, but I doubt that time will ever come. Canadians will find this moment hard to forget. We’ve always known that the US can be a tyrannical force, but we’ve chosen to look the other way. Now that it’s affecting us, it’s not so easy. As an artist, I make work to communicate with other people, so I want to keep a line open with the citizens of the US. It’s my livelihood, after all. But I just don’t see the current political climate changing in my lifetime.

Related: A Canada–US historian on Donald Trump’s 51st-state threats

On March 13, I announced the cancellation publicly. When the word spread, I received many messages of support and understanding, most of them from Americans. New York–based photographer Oliver Wasow thanked me on Instagram for refusing to be complicit with the US. My Canadian peers were largely silent—I think many of them feared losing opportunities—but my Montreal dealer, Eli Kerr, put out a statement on Instagram saying they were proud of my decision and praising my “leadership and integrity.” I was so touched by both statements that I nearly cried.

One of my friends, an established Canadian artist, suggested that it’s still good to sell work in the US if you’re bringing the money back to Canada. While that logic may be sound, I wasn’t trying to be a good soldier in the trade war. I was making a choice I could live with at the end of the day. American art has historically benefited from international artists bringing in fresh ideas. As more international artists pull away, it risks becoming insular and monotonous. Whether I’ll remount this show on this side of the border remains to be seen, but I couldn’t have my work be complicit in undermining Canada’s independence.