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Winnipeg Free Press
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Winnipeg Free Press
When artists die, they leave gifts to us
Opinion Ozzy Osbourne and Aganetha Dyck were very different people who made very different art — and probably have never been included in the same sentence — but I think we can agree that both were pioneers with a rebellious streak. The former was the larger-than-life frontman of the English band Black Sabbath, which basically invented heavy metal. The latter was a fearlessly experimental Manitoba artist who thought to put everything from football helmets to Barbie dolls in beehives to create fantastical honeycomb and wax sculptures and elevated the domestic processes of homemaking into high art, which is also extremely metal. Aganetha Dyck Both died within days of each other. Osbourne died on Monday, and I heard the news while I was doing interviews for a piece about Dyck, who died late last week. I've seen Ozzy in concert three times: at a solo show with one of my best friends when we were in our teens, and then Ozzy with Black Sabbath twice in the 2010s. As for so many others, his music was formative for us. I immediately texted her: she had been dealing with some anticipatory grief over Ozzy since his final concert with Black Sabbath in his hometown of Birmingham, England earlier this month. In between messages with her about Ozzy, I interviewed loved ones about Aganetha. And so, it's been a week of bearing witness to grief, but it's also been a week about art because that's what's left: the art. And we'll always have the art. I wrote this of the Tragically Hip when Gord Downie died in 2017, but I think it's true here, too: Black Sabbath will always be someone's favourite band. Dyck's art will continue to be shown and talked about and exhibited. She will continue to loom large as an influence to all those living artists she mentored, but also all the artists to come who will discover her through her work. The art is the tangible gift they gave us. And what a gift that is. I've written many obits and memorial columns for the newspaper, and it's always a bit strange, because in most cases, these are people I didn't know. Some of them are celebrities; some of them are Manitobans who we have featured in Saturday's A Life's Story feature. Either way, there's an art to these pieces. It's an enormous challenge — and responsibility — to capture a subject without actually interviewing them. It can also be an intrusion, especially if the subject is a newsworthy person whose death has only just happened. (It can also be a complicated assignment because people are complicated, as we've seen with remembrances about Hulk Hogan, who also died this week.) I never got the opportunity to meet Aganetha, but spending time with her this week, in this way, with her friends, family and people she touched with her art, was so special. That's how we're able to bring colour to the black-and-white biographical facts of someone's life: with stories and anecdotes and remembrances. And how she was remembered – her laugh, her fearlessness, her openness — was moving as well. Thinking about a band that was so part of my musical awakening — and so embedded in an important friendship — was also special. Wednesdays What's next in arts, life and pop culture. Writing these kinds of stories inevitably makes you think about how you might be remembered, because no one gets out of this thing alive. You can't control that, of course, but my subjects never fail to inspire me to live better in some way. (Also, you should tell people what they mean to you and what you appreciate about them, and you should do so often.) Sometimes people ask me if these are bummer assignments because we're writing about people who have died. But we're not writing about death. We're writing about life. Jen ZorattiColumnist Jen Zoratti is a columnist and feature writer working in the Arts & Life department, as well as the author of the weekly newsletter NEXT. A National Newspaper Award finalist for arts and entertainment writing, Jen is a graduate of the Creative Communications program at RRC Polytech and was a music writer before joining the Free Press in 2013. Read more about Jen. Every piece of reporting Jen produces is reviewed by an editing team before it is posted online or published in print – part of the Free Press's tradition, since 1872, of producing reliable independent journalism. Read more about Free Press's history and mandate, and learn how our newsroom operates. Our newsroom depends on a growing audience of readers to power our journalism. If you are not a paid reader, please consider becoming a subscriber. Our newsroom depends on its audience of readers to power our journalism. Thank you for your support.
Winnipeg Free Press
7 days ago
- Entertainment
- Winnipeg Free Press
Winnipeg artist's collaborations with the hive mind proved sweet
Aganetha Dyck saw art in the everyday, the domestic, the small. Nowhere was that more evident than in her internationally recognized work with live honeybees. The Winnipeg-based artist would place found objects — china figurines, sports equipment, Barbie dolls, stiletto heels — in beehives, and the bees would cover them in honeycomb and wax, creating striking sculptural works that have been exhibited in Canada, the United States and Europe. WAYNE GLOWACKI / FREE PRESS FILES Aganetha Dyck poses with her pieces Wedding Guest Shoes (right) and Sports Night in Canada in 2007. WAYNE GLOWACKI / FREE PRESS FILES Aganetha Dyck poses with her pieces Wedding Guest Shoes (right) and Sports Night in Canada in 2007. Dyck always made sure to give credit to her millions of tiny, buzzing collaborators, because to her it was, indeed, a collaboration. 'They're all unionized,' she told the Free Press in 2007 after winning a Governor General's Award for visual and media arts, as well as the Arts Award of Distinction from the Manitoba Arts Council. 'I look after them well.' Dyck died on July 18. She was 87. 'As an artist, she was absolutely fearless,' says Shawna Dempsey, visual artist and co-executive director of MAWA (Mentoring Artists for Women's Art). 'She would work with any material in any way, even if no one had done it before, considered it before, or if those processes and materials were considered crafty or feminine, which, particularly in the '80s or '90s, was a real way to marginalize women artists. TOM HANSON / THE CANADIAN PRESS FILES Governor General Michaëlle Jean congratulates Aganetha Dyck after recieving the Governor General's award in visual and media arts at an awards ceremony in Ottawa in 2007. Governor General Michaëlle Jean congratulates Aganetha Dyck after recieving the Governor General's award in visual and media arts at an awards ceremony in Ottawa in 2007. 'But nonetheless, Aganetha was true to her instincts and her inner artistic voice, and so, she canned buttons in mason jars and she boiled sweaters and she put a wedding dress in a beehive.' 'There's lots of ways to describe her art, but for me, one of the ways I've been thinking about recently is that I think she reflects the rise of feminist art practice in Canada in the 1970s,' says Serena Keshavjee, a professor of art and architecture at the University of Winnipeg who has curated and written about Dyck's work. Dyck took the domestic processes of so-called 'women's work,' and elevated them to high art, but she also saw immense value in collaboration — whether it was with bees or people. 'Collaboration is a feminist methodology. She collaborated with everyone, very generously. Scientists loved her. Beekeepers loved her. Artists around town loved her. She collaborated with her son (artist Richard Dyck),' Keshavjee says. 'This is part of her personality, but it's also a methodology. She was generous and she shared and she wanted to make art with other people. So all of these things come together for me and saying she was this revolutionary feminist artist in the '70s.' Dyck, who was born in Marquette, came to art later in her life and was largely self-taught. Her artistic awakening came in her mid-30s when she was living in Prince Albert, Sask. Her husband, Peter, was transferred there in 1972. She was an executive's wife and a mother of three and thought she might do some volunteering. She chose the art gallery. But it was when she started taking drawing courses at the Prince Albert Community College that the seeds of her own artistic practice were planted. One of her teachers, George Glenn, told her to stop painting mountainscapes and start making art about her life. Dyck protested that she was a homemaker. Surely this man wasn't suggesting she make art about laundry. But, in a way, he was. 'Then make art from that,' came the reply. So she did. Her children, with whom she was very close throughout her life, started noticing a change in their mother. 'We had a kitchen that had this one blank wall,' recalls her middle daughter, Deborah Dyck. 'I came home and she was throwing plaster at the wall. I went, 'This is new.' She was so passionate about it. It was wonderful.' Their late father was also incredibly supportive of their mother, who saw the world as a canvas. 'There weren't very many surfaces that mom wouldn't start altering,' adds her eldest son, Richard Dyck. 'This increased gradually and then sometimes controversially. Flowers started showing up on my toolboxes and tools…' '…and a certain car,' her youngest son, Michael Dyck, adds. This was back in Manitoba, where the family returned in 1976. Aganetha was managing the Big Buffalo Resort at Falcon Lake, and Deborah came out one day to use the car. 'And all of a sudden, mom just popped up on the opposite side of the car, and she had felt markers in her hand,' Deborah recalls. She'd decorated it like a 1960s hippie van, using rust spots as the flowers' centres. She was fearlessly experimental, and sometimes just fearless, period. When she was working on her canned buttons project, she'd boil them in pots of boiling oil in the yard at Falcon Lake. 'It seems a little out of character when I reflect on it now because we always had fondues for Christmas dinner, and mom was always worried about the oil catching fire on the fondue, and here she was out at the lake putting these plastic buttons into pots of boiling oil,' Michael recalls. 'And it was like fireworks going off. Some of the buttons would explode, and these buttons would go flying 30, 40 feet up in the air.' 'Different rules for the dinner table,' Richard says. Dyck's art practice began taking off. She had started making sculptural works out of Salvation Army sweaters she'd taken home and purposely shrunk. 'I've seen these — the WAG has some — these miniature, shrunken, felted sweaters become very anthropomorphic. They actually become people. It's so compelling,' Keshavjee says. In Dyck's hands, buttons were reimagined as jeweled jars of preserves; cigarettes, wire and wool became sculptures. Dyck's work soon caught the eye of Carol A. Phillips, former executive director of the Winnipeg Arts Council and then a curator at the MacKenzie Art Gallery in Regina. Phillips gave Dyck her first solo show in 1976. Dyck was a huge believer in mentorship, as both a mentee and mentor. She is considered a 'founding foremother' of MAWA in 1985, and one of its original members. She was a mentor in the inaugural Foundation Mentorship Program that first year, and again in 1988, 1995, 2004, 2012 and 2014. 'Through MAWA, Aganetha provided years of formal mentorship, but she was so generous with her experience and so curious about and engaged with younger artists, she informally mentored countless more. And not just share her advice as an artist or her experience as an artist, she also was very open about her experience as a woman, as a parent, as a person in the world,' Dempsey says. MIKAELA MACKENZIE / FREE PRESS FILES Aganetha Dyck's work at an exhibition celebrating four decades of visual art education, community building, and peer support at Mentoring Artists for Womens Art (MAWA) in September 2024. Aganetha Dyck's work at an exhibition celebrating four decades of visual art education, community building, and peer support at Mentoring Artists for Womens Art (MAWA) in September 2024. Her mentorship spanned generations. Winnipeg painter Megan Krause, whose 1984 birth year puts her nearly 50 years younger than Dyck, was a mentee of Dyck's before becoming her studio assistant. Krause says that during her undergrad, her process was more rigid: she felt she needed a set theme and plan her canvasses ahead of time. 'Something I learned from her was just to play and see where it goes. I could get so paralyzed by not knowing where to start. She encouraged me to figure out the why later. Make a bunch of it and then, through that flow state, it will come,' Krause says. When they worked togther, Krause says, Dyck always prioritized the catch-up: 'First things first, we have to have coffee. We have to talk about life.' 'She was very humble, and so easy to talk to. She really was a really good friend of mine,' Krause says, her voice catching. Her kids remember her like this, too. A sounding board. They could tell her anything and be met with the same curiosity she brought to her art. 'There was no wall. I don't know how to explain it. It's just a very, very close connection,' Deborah says In the early 1990s, Dyck began her long collaborative relationship with the bees. She recognized that they were natural architects and wanted to work with them. WAYNE GLOWACKI / FREE PRESS FILES Souvenir Winnipeg Jets hockey stick and pucks covered in beeswax from Dyck's Sports Night in Canada. WAYNE GLOWACKI / FREE PRESS FILES Souvenir Winnipeg Jets hockey stick and pucks covered in beeswax from Dyck's Sports Night in Canada. She began working with Phil Veldhuis, a beekeeper and philosophy instructor whose Phil's Honey, a St. Norbert Farmers' Market staple, is based near Starbuck. Veildhuis recalls meeting the artist through the St. Norbert Arts Centre, where she was doing some work and he had been invited to keep some bees on the property. 'I think we had coffee and she told me what she wanted to do; I said it sounded like a ton of fun, and the rest is history,' he says. JULIE OLIVER / OTTAWA CITIZEN FILES Hive Scan by Aganetha and Richard Dyck appeared in the National Art Gallery of Canada's exhibition Flora and Fauna in 2012. JULIE OLIVER / OTTAWA CITIZEN FILES Hive Scan by Aganetha and Richard Dyck appeared in the National Art Gallery of Canada's exhibition Flora and Fauna in 2012. Dyck's work with the bees spanned decades, and led to residencies with beekeepers and entomologists in Europe; it was featured on David Suzuki's The Nature of Things TV series. But in 2009, her collaboration came to an end. Dyck had a strong reaction to a bee sting and returned to working with felt, but the legacy of her honeycomb-filigreed works is long-lasting, and has taken on added resonance as bee populations become more threatened. Dyck had an influence on Veldhuis, too. 'She got me to think about my bees in a very constructive way. I grew up in a beekeeping family and so, you know, bees are kind of just another day to us. To have someone come in and work who was so excited by it all was very stimulating to me,' he says. 'I'll never forget her excitement about opening a hive and watching the bees work.' Last year, Winnipeg visual artist Diana Thorneycroft posted on Facebook. 'There is a rumour circulating that Aganetha Dyck has passed away. When I told her about it, she couldn't stop laughing. Then she beat me at arm wrestling…' Thorneycroft and fellow artist Reva Stone were studio mates of Dyck's for decades. Stone was one of her first mentees. Her laugh is one of the things both are going to miss the most about her. That, and her eye — her discerning, out-of-the-box eye. Stone recalls taking a flight to New York with Dyck. 'We're on the plane. She looks out the window and says, 'Aren't those clouds beautiful?' And I say, 'Yeah, they really are.' She says, 'Wouldn't they look gorgeous on a doily?'' Thorneycroft also benefited from Dyck's eye. She was trying to make a sculpture using a plastic horse and Sculpey, a polymer clay, in her oven at home. 'Sculpey is supposed to harden at 250 degrees, but plastic melts at a much lower temperature, so one of the horses just collapsed and fell apart, and the Sculpey kind of broke. And I thought, 'Oh God, what a mess. What a mess.'' Thorneycroft brought the mess to her studio, and later found a note from Dyck: 'You've had a breakthrough.' 'We just loved her,' Thorneycroft says. 'It was easy. She's so easy to love.' Wednesdays Columnist Jen Zoratti looks at what's next in arts, life and pop culture. Jen ZorattiColumnist Jen Zoratti is a columnist and feature writer working in the Arts & Life department, as well as the author of the weekly newsletter NEXT. A National Newspaper Award finalist for arts and entertainment writing, Jen is a graduate of the Creative Communications program at RRC Polytech and was a music writer before joining the Free Press in 2013. Read more about Jen. Every piece of reporting Jen produces is reviewed by an editing team before it is posted online or published in print – part of the Free Press's tradition, since 1872, of producing reliable independent journalism. Read more about Free Press's history and mandate, and learn how our newsroom operates. Our newsroom depends on a growing audience of readers to power our journalism. If you are not a paid reader, please consider becoming a subscriber. Our newsroom depends on its audience of readers to power our journalism. Thank you for your support.
Winnipeg Free Press
19-07-2025
- General
- Winnipeg Free Press
‘He really walked the talk'
Harold Dyck wasn't a rich man, but if there was any one quality that defined who he was it was his tireless devotion to enriching the lives of Winnipeggers who experienced poverty. He died in February at the age of 72, surrounded by friends and family. In 1998, Dyck founded what came to be known as the Low Income Intermediary Project. The program advocated for the better treatment of recipients of Employment and Income Assistance, also known as provincial welfare, and helped them receive the benefits to which they were entitled. It was essentially a one-man crusade led by Dyck that helped people access benefits they likely would have been denied. In many cases, he would represent the individuals he worked with all the way to the Social Services Appeal Board, which had the final say on such matters. During its nearly 25-year history, the project represented hundreds of people and Dyck's deep-rooted understanding of the welfare system was responsible for helping them collect tens of thousands of dollars in benefits the system would have otherwise denied them. What's remarkable about his efforts is that Dyck never collected a single dime from any of the people he represented. The work was all done pro bono and the project received no government grants or private funding. His passion for fighting the system didn't come as much of a surprise to those who knew Dyck. He had experienced poverty first-hand and knew how inhumane it could be. 'That was what I found so inspirational about him,' says his daughter, Jen Dyck-Sprout. 'He really walked the talk in a way where he really believed this stuff and he wasn't going to give up his beliefs to go get a job, even though it would have obviously been more comfortable and he was in really deep poverty himself struggling to make ends meet.' Like many of the people he represented, Dyck never expected he would have to contend with poverty. He had a solid career as an inspector with Manitoba Workplace Safety and Health and later at Boeing Winnipeg. But he eventually found himself out of work; his situation was compounded by bouts of depression and a subsequent divorce. Journalist and former city councillor Donald Benham first became acquainted with Dyck in the late 1990s when he was a host and producer of the CBC Radio program Questionnaire. Dyck was asked to appear on the show as a guest to talk about what it was like to live in poverty. Benham was blown away by his guest's knowledge and insight. Harold Dyck's passion project was the Low Income Intermediary Project, which helped people on social assistance get the benefits they were entitled to. 'He had this amazing capacity for information and he had a great way of putting things so that people who weren't in the system could understand it,' he recalls. The two men became reacquainted several years later when they were both working at Winnipeg Harvest. At one point they shared a cubicle while the food bank was undergoing renovations and forged an enduring friendship that lasted until Dyck's death. The irony of that friendship didn't escape either man. Benham is a Progressive Conservative, while Dyck was a proud Marxist who ran unsuccessfully in several provincial elections for the Communist Party of Canada's Manitoba chapter. 'That was no problem and was no barrier to any communication between us at all,' he says. 'We both agreed on all the important stuff, which is poverty is wrong and unjust and we need to change it. Those were things we could agree on completely … although we were coming at them from different ends of the political spectrum. 'I guess the basis of our friendship was that we enjoyed a sense of humour together,' Benham adds. 'He was great at poking fun at all kinds of things and especially people in power. Even more important than that was what I learned from him. He was always reading.' Ah, yes, reading: maybe the one thing Dyck was even more passionate about than his anti-poverty work. Growing up on the family farm in Birds Hill with his younger siblings, Marlene and Leonard, the shy young man could often be found in his room with his nose stuck in a book. 'He was so well read,' Marlene recalls of her brother. 'Honestly, you could bring up any kind of topic and he would know something about it. He was very knowledgeable and absorbed everything. 'Even though he had his strong beliefs, he never pushed them on you. He was a great debater. He really liked to talk to people and get their view on things.' From left: Shelley Burns, Uri Maxima, Jen Dyck-Sprout, Teo Maxima, Dyck and Nelson Sprout in 2024. Although he was generally reluctant to discuss his upbringing with Jen or her brother Nelson, Dyck's daughter believes those early years played a huge role in developing her dad's political views. As a young man, he studied briefly in Cuba and Russia, where he learned about Marxism and came to see capitalism as oppressive. That sojourn cemented many of the beliefs he developed working on the family farm, where they raised minks. 'He didn't like that,' she says. 'He really empathized with the animals and talked about how cruel he felt it was that they were being killed to make coats and hats for wealthy people. I think that was some of his early … radicalizing around class.' Dyck's efforts to help others weren't restricted to those dealing with poverty. In the early 1980s at Boeing, he helped spearhead efforts to organize the first union at the company's Winnipeg plant. Several years later, while working at Harvest, Dyck was instrumental in changing the way the faculty of medicine at the University of Manitoba accepts students. Prospective doctors are required to spend one day each year at Harvest to sort potatoes and other food items. Dyck was asked to speak with them one day and immediately asked how many of them had experiences with poverty or the welfare system. Of course, no one raised a hand, something that was duly noted by one of their professors, Dr. Joe Kaufert. Kaufert went back to his colleagues, told them the story and a discussion ensued about how the gap Dyck had exposed could be corrected. Harold Dyck, seen here in 2011, died in February at the age of 72. Wednesdays Columnist Jen Zoratti looks at what's next in arts, life and pop culture. As a result, the faculty now anonymously asks each applicant if they grew up in a family that experienced welfare, hunger, poverty or homelessness. Eight seats that had previously been reserved for out-of-province students are now filled by students who answer yes, something Benham says likely wouldn't have happened without his good friend's insight. Dyck had been ill for some time prior to his death, suffering from both diabetes and liver disease. While she mourned his demise, his sister Marlene says she will never forget his fighting spirit or desire to make the world a better place. 'He wanted to change the world. He helped a lot of people and he thought if everybody else could say the same, it would be a lot better of a world.' fpcity@
Winnipeg Free Press
24-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Winnipeg Free Press
Graphic novelist to lead free workshop for aspiring artists
Jonathan Dyck's most monumental piece of advice? Start small. Long before pressing pencil to paper for Shelterbelts, his debut graphic novel — which earned him the 2023 McNally Robinson Book of the Year award and the admiration of Canadian comics luminaries such as Seth (Palookaville) — Dyck was inspired by the windows of opportunity offered by the standard four-panel comic. 'There was this magazine called Carousel, and I remember finding this promotional postcard they'd made that said, 'Life is a four-panel comic,'' recalls Dyck, 39, who will lead aspiring graphic novelists and comic artists in a free workshop tonight at the Osborne Library (625 Osborne St.). Supplied Each issue of the magazine provided Dyck with ample evidence that the postcard's statement was true. 'I started looking at their different strips and seeing the range of artistic styles and approaches to that short format, how elastic and expansive it could be, the ways different artists were experimenting with it to tell stories or just to use it as a design prompt. It just expanded my sense of what comics could be,' he says. So Dyck, whose illustrated work has since frequently appeared in The Walrus, The Globe and Mail and Reader's Digest, riffled through his sketchbooks to formulate a pitch to Carousel, which published its final edition of 'hybrid literature for mutant readers' last December. Dyck polished up a series of drawings from 2016's Rainbow Trout Music Festival, coloured them digitally, and soon had one of his first editorial strips published. Across four panels, Festival Season captures the picnic-blanket postures, shifting moods and changing skies of the summer music festival experience from the perspective of a keen observer slightly out of frame. 'That particular strip, probably more than any other, gave me a sense of how comics can create a pretty profound sense of mood, even if they're wordless.' Dyck's workshop, organized by the Prairie Comics Festival — Sept. 6-7 — will mostly be informational, but he encourages attendees to bring sketchbooks along with their notebooks. He plans to give a short history of comics in North America, to detail the anatomy of a comics page and to emphasize the close relationship between reading comics closely and making them rewarding for readers. 'So many comics could be greatly improved with a bit of extra thought about how the reader is moving through the panels on the page — whether it's legible and understandable,' Dyck says. 'But you never want to underestimate the reader, who has a lot of agency in how they understand the relationships between panels and how to make sense of what's on the page.' Living in South Osborne, the artist, who grew up in Winkler before studying graphic design and illustration at Edmonton's MacEwan University, is currently in early development on a followup to Shelterbelts, a book-length memoir he's tentatively titled Privilegium. 'The reason for that title is that Mennonites who settled in southern Manitoba from Imperial Russia negotiated settlement privileges with the Canadian government which were called privilegium,' he explains. 'So it's a memoir that combines some of my own experiences and education about that history with my attempt to represent that history of migration, settlement and the colonial nature of that period.' Dyck is also making comics for the non-profit Oceans North about the northern Manitoban coastline, focusing on the relationship between humans and beluga whales. Making and Reading Comics will begin at 6 p.m. To register, visit Ben WaldmanReporter Ben Waldman is a National Newspaper Award-nominated reporter on the Arts & Life desk at the Free Press. Born and raised in Winnipeg, Ben completed three internships with the Free Press while earning his degree at Ryerson University's (now Toronto Metropolitan University's) School of Journalism before joining the newsroom full-time in 2019. Read more about Ben. Every piece of reporting Ben produces is reviewed by an editing team before it is posted online or published in print — part of the Free Press's tradition, since 1872, of producing reliable independent journalism. Read more about Free Press's history and mandate, and learn how our newsroom operates. Our newsroom depends on a growing audience of readers to power our journalism. If you are not a paid reader, please consider becoming a subscriber. Our newsroom depends on its audience of readers to power our journalism. Thank you for your support.
Winnipeg Free Press
12-06-2025
- Winnipeg Free Press
Community disappointed after teepee stolen from school lawn
Parents were upset to discover a teepee that had been erected on the lawn of an East Kildonan elementary school had been stolen. Staff at Angus McKay School, at 850 Woodvale St., reported the theft on Monday, a Winnipeg Police Service spokesperson said Thursday. The teepee was part of a two-week installation for National Indigenous History Month in which land-based learning was to be highlighted, principal Jean-Paul Rochon said in a statement. ANGUS MCKAY SCHOOL Staff at Angus McKay School reported the theft of a teepee on Monday. Chelsea Dyck, whose nine-year-old daughter and six-year-old son attend the school, was shocked when she learned about the theft. She expected the teepee would be a pleasant surprise for her children as they arrived at school, but it wasn't even in place a full day before it was snitched. 'With something that's so culturally significant, you would think that it would be off limits,' said Dyck. 'Obviously, that's not the case.' Wednesdays A weekly dispatch from the head of the Free Press newsroom. She said it would take time to disassemble and haul away, which she thought would deter thieves. 'I know everyone was very excited to be able to have it outside and have a big, grandiose symbol that everyone could sit in and use for learning,' Dyck said. An email from the principal said another teepee will be set up indoors, she said. Because it was stolen so soon after being erected, many community members didn't know it was gone, she said.
