At the end of October, another vital local arts venue will shut its doors
Photo via Victoria Event Centre.
My friend Liza’s birthday came and went this year. We celebrated late on Thursday evening, coming down from a week of lectures we’ve grown all too good at tuning out and assignments rewritten one too many times. Like most nights, we drowned our brain fog in a chorus of crashing waves. Perched atop a log, detached, and washed ashore long ago, we watch the sun make its slow and steady descent into darkness. I wonder if now’s a good time to bring up the bad news. It’s still her birthday week after all. We should be celebrating.
“Did you hear?” I ask, against my better judgment. I’ve broken the near-silence of the roaring shore. Liza peels her eyes from the horizon and turns to face me. Bracing herself for what it is she has or hasn’t heard.
“What happened?”
At the end of October, the Victoria Event Centre will be shutting its doors for good. As the venue’s last subsidies seep in from the landlord, rent suddenly growing out of reach, the VEC will have to bid farewell to the space it’s called home for the past 21 years. When the announcement blared across social media that morning, neither of us were surprised. Confused? Maybe. Disappointed? No doubt. But this kind of thing happens all the time in our city. It’s already happened to a handful of venues in the four years we’ve lived here.
First, there was The Carlton: “I used to go there all the time — almost too much,” Liza reminisces. “Bands relied on that space for regular gigs. When it shut down, I don’t know where they went. Probably to the VEC.” Then, there was Hermann’s Upstairs, bought by the city last year and left vacant to date.
Now, the VEC — a microcosm of Victoria’s magnetic art scene — gone like the rest of them. In a city hell-bent on erasing anything not reminiscent of posh colonial countryside or a straight-laced cowboy’s wet dream, the VEC was destined to be next. If we knew upon our first visit that we’d be mourning its death so soon, we would have breathed the space in that much deeper. Danced that much harder.
I still remember my first ascent of the Broad St. venue’s wide, rickety staircase, as warm and welcoming as the way up to an old friend’s home. Each step creaked softly underfoot as I slid my hand along the railing — all the way up. I was a little tipsy. If not from a few drinks, then from the sheer giddiness of dancing the night away to rare funk and soul grooves. On vinyl, no less! Nineteen-year-old me was shocked — in awe even — that in a city known for its sleepy nightlife and its perpetual cycle of closing doors, something like this could even exist.
To this day, no venue has proven to be as immediately inviting and all-consuming as the VEC. From its very first hello, the space feels so unique, yet so familiar. One moment, you could find yourself sandwiched between bodies slick with sweat, bashing your head to hardcore punk or swaying to dream pop — the next, sunken into a wingback chair, watching the masses writhe from afar.
In any given month, you could attend burlesque, drag shows, art battles, poetry nights, smut slams, stand-up comedy, cultural markets, band showcases, or everything morphed into one. You could become part of a world you’ve never entered before. You could show up with all your closest friends, your first date, your mom, by yourself even — and never feel alone. Given the sheer number of niches and subcultures, of taboos and queer joy that the space is home to, it’s no shock how many people feel the same.
So why, when we need it more than ever before, must the VEC shut down now? Where is the $2.7 million Greater Victoria promised to keep local spaces like this afloat? Where is the action from policy-makers who know what a devastating hit the venue’s loss will be to our arts community? Maybe the city’s busy trying to fill the hole Hermann’s Upstairs left. Or else, it’s replacing other vital venues with multi-million dollar renovation projects. Sure, both investments have the potential to revitalize Victoria’s art scene — one day. But for now, we’ll applaud the city for buying out venues and letting them collect dust, while forcing our most vibrant spaces to rot.
