Written By David Gomez
Have you ever wondered how art represents what we understand about our culture? Art does more than create beauty. It tells us what people have suffered, loved and believed, what has caused them pain and, sometimes, what has made them laugh.
Art is, without question, fundamental to the human condition. Through it, we reveal our sensitivity, perceptions and stories—sometimes even our deepest expressions of love or sadness.
And “art” itself is an enormous—and sometimes vague—term. It can mean literature, architecture, painting, sculpture, dance and countless other forms of human expression. I have always been fascinated by what a painting can make us feel, or how simply entering a remarkable building can leave us speechless.
In this second part of my Winnipeg journey, I want to focus on the art I encountered throughout the city and how it survives in very different spaces: religious, political and artistic.
One of those places was Saint Boniface, the historic heart of Winnipeg’s Francophone community. There, we visited St. Boniface Cathedral, or more precisely, what remains of its imposing former structure.
A Catholic mission was established on the site in 1818, and several churches and cathedrals have stood there since. The monumental cathedral completed in 1908 was devastated by fire on July 22, 1968. The blaze destroyed its roof and interior, leaving much of its stone façade and exterior walls standing. Rather than erase what remained, Canadian architect Étienne Gaboury designed the present cathedral within the ruins, and the new church opened in 1972.
Standing before that enormous surviving façade is a peculiar experience. There is beauty in it, but also absence. The open circular window frames the sky where stained glass once stood, while the remaining walls preserve the outline of a building that no longer exists. Nearby lies the grave of Métis leader Louis Riel, adding another layer of history to an already extraordinary place.
Our exploration of architecture continued at the Manitoba Legislative Building, and I can comfortably say it is one of the most beautiful public buildings I have ever visited.
Opened in 1920, the building was designed by Frank Worthington Simon and Henry Boddington III in the Beaux-Arts Classical tradition. Its exterior and much of its interior use Manitoba Tyndall limestone, while allegorical sculptures and decorative elements throughout the building represent ideas such as justice, wisdom and courage.
The interior impressed me even more than the exterior. Monumental columns, arches, marble floors, murals and sculptures transform a functioning seat of government into something resembling a gallery. We saw the Legislative Chamber, Manitoba’s ceremonial mace and the famous bison sculptures overlooking the Grand Staircase. Politics happens there, certainly, but so do architecture, symbolism and history.
Finally, no exploration of art in Winnipeg would have been complete without the Winnipeg Art Gallery.
Its galleries introduced us to very different artistic languages, from colourful abstract works to paintings depicting recognizable scenes from contemporary life. But one exhibition particularly captured my attention: the work of Inuvialuit artist Abraham Anghik Ruben.
The exhibition brings together more than 100 works created between 1975 and 2025. Ruben’s sculptures and paintings draw on Inuit stories, spirituality and history while also exploring connections between Inuit and Nordic cultures, including encounters with the Vikings. His own life is inseparable from that work: sent to residential school at eight, Ruben later used art as part of his reconnection with the culture and language from which he had been separated.
From the haunting walls of an old cathedral to the grandeur of a legislature and the imagination contained within an art gallery, Winnipeg reminded me that art does not exist only on a canvas.
Sometimes, an entire city helps tell the story.
