Since opening Likely General Gallery in late 2013, we've had the honour of watching over 150+ artists and vendors utilize our space. The gallery presents new work each month and openings are typically the first Friday of every month. We strive to be an open and inclusive space for up-and-coming artists to experiment with solo or collaborative shows. We typically book 6 months ahead. If you are an artist wishing to show, please don't hesitate to contact us with a proposal. 

 Likely General is not a scent-free space.

There is an accessibility ramp upon entering.

Gallery Hours
Monday - Saturday 12-7, Sunday 12-6

 C U R R E N T  I N  - P E R S O N   E X H I B I T I O N  S
Ishan Davé is an actor and visual artist based in Toronto.
I learned natural inks from my friend and mentor Jason
Logan, who talks about a colour revolution. Years ago he
founded the Toronto Ink Company under the premise that
anyone and everyone should have access to the tools to
make their own colours. I took it kind of seriously and now I
consider myself an ambassador to this school of art – a colour
farmer amongst dozens, perhaps hundreds of colour farmers
that have been inspired by Jason’s work.

Later on I realized that these inks viscerally archive the
natural World as I know it, in my short time on Earth. These
flowers; goldenrod from near the Warsaw caves in Douro
Dummer county, or railway spikes coated with rust (to become
iron) from the tracks by Osler, or walnuts from Mississauga’s
Rockwood Village ravine. These colours are local matter
transformed into the stains you see. To me they feel friendly,
and as Jason puts it, alive.

Perhaps in the not-so-distant future these stains will carry a
specialness somehow because they will no longer exist. The
plants and flowers will be gone but these little maps will be
gentle reminders, markings of an era saying hello.
For me, the process of their creation became a meditation on
impermanence, which feels at once sacred, and joyful.
Thank you very much for using your time to look at these
archives. I wish you a pleasant life.

– Ishan

 C U R R E N T  O N L I N E   E X H I B I T I O N  S

VISIT GALLERY: Minor Goddesses by Carly Ries

Minor Goddesses by Carly Ries, curated by Frances Dorenbaum

A swallowtail butterfly briefly hovers above the yellow florets of a pink zinnia and takes a drink of sweet nectar. The patterned wings of the insect form a structure of protection and an element of its beauty. Its delicate figure, at times, may distract from the essential role the butterfly has in providing nourishment and care to neighboring flora. Its efforts unnoticed while its beauty is hailed.

Carly Ries’s new series Minor Goddesses centralizes characters in nature often left brushing the periphery of action. The work’s title makes reference to the nymphs of Greek mythology, female personas associated with rivers, forests, and bodies of water. These “minor goddesses” were often portrayed as custodians of a natural environment explored by male figures, the nymphs’ beauty and service being their primary narrative role. Ries, instead, highlights women and other small creatures independently of such a counterpart and reconsiders the daily rituals of ordinary women and insects as worthy of sustained attention.

Rather than revealing the whole body, her pictures show only fragments of women. She guides viewers to experience the senses piqued in a specific area: skin simmers in the sun and becomes hot to the touch. Beads of sweat begin to form and trickle down the side of the ribcage. Refuge lies in the blue lake ahead, bobbing invitingly. One can imagine the cooling effect of wet hair after diving in. Arm hairs rising in a breeze. Refreshed, the body acclimatizes, and even revels in the sultriness of the day. The wet and the dry, the hot and the cool, and the light and the dark work to create a rhythm in awakening the senses of the viewer. In depicting only details, her work moves beyond the gaze, instead to the corporeal.

The images of softly flowing water, a blooming lily, and an intricate spider web embedded in the sequence act as metaphors for the energy and movement in the women’s inner worlds. The sequence blooms and then closes again towards the end as a woman wields a bow and arrow directed at a target out of frame, and an empty vase forms a lens obscuring the face of a nude woman, confronting the camera. A dragonfly alights on a fallen log covered in markings made by bark beetles. There is only so much one can glean from these fleeting moments of embodiment. As the sun sparkles on the water, the glare both brightens and obscures the lush nuances of the everyday.


My Little Arcana By Alisa McRonald

I’m a Gen X, feminist, witchy queerdo from a small town.

Growing up in the 80s, all I had to free my mind were my aunt’s punk rock record collection, Fashion Television, the occasional free MuchMusic weekend, and the occult section of the local library.

Looking back, I can pinpoint exact moments that had – and still have – profound influence on me. These became My Little Arcana.

It started with The Creep. He’s a very 70s looking guy who represents every gross jerk who ever creeped on me as a young person.

Next came The Witch. She’s a culmination of all the things that have always fascinated me about witches, both historically and in pop culture. She is my Muse.

Then there’s the Princess. This take-charge type is no helpless maiden in a tower. She is Princess Leia, a rebel and a smartass with great hair.

The Cat is a big part of my life and my art. Cats are my familiars. The musical Cats sparked my love of both Theatre, and rock music. 

Finally, the Rock Star represents artistry, boundary-pushing, and sexuality as embodied by Bowie, glam, and punk. 




My fascination with the urban landscape goes back to my childhood. As a young boy in my home town of Bordeaux, France, I was sent out every evening, starting at around the age of 5 or 6, to go buy a baguette for dinner. It was only a block away from my house, but apart from school, it was the first time I was able to experience the outside world as a somewhat independent human being. At the time, a block seemed like a vast amount of space to explore, and I still have very vivid visual memories, snapshots of details, like my dad’s dark blue Renault 4L parked on the street, a very specific crack in the asphalt, the rusty blue cast iron fence 6 houses down where that huge dog would bark at me every time I walked by, the oily strip of sidewalk outside of the car mechanics on the corner, the patterned curtain hung in front of a house front door to protect the paint from the harsh summer sun (a very old fashioned and regional trait), or that house facade that was entirely covered in vines with two windows for eyes and a front door for a mouth. As I grew older, my parents would then also send me to buy cigarettes, which extended my walk by another block, and later, to the convenience store or the pharmacy, and later still, when I got into skateboarding, I was then able to roam and discover a vaster territory and a different filter to look at things through.

I am always pushing myself to pay attention, and try and look at the real world of inanimate objects with a fresh and curious eye, and practice the action of looking as a psychedelic and transcendental experience. In that regard, the birth of my first baby son,  15 months ago, the most psychedelic and transcendental of all experiences, reinforced the acuity of that feeling and has driven me to try and imagine what would catch his eye.    

All the photographs were taken strolling around the neighbourhood of Roncesvalles in Toronto, and more specifically in the few blocks surrounding where I live. The presence of cars as some sort of relics that were seemingly parked one last time, never to be moved or driven again, like archeological landmarks punctuating my walks, isn’t a coincidence, as only the pedestrian will have the time and ability to look at the world around them, while the driver’s gaze is bound to focus on the road and their users, stuck within the frame of some sort of dreadful tunnel vision that the pointless craving for hurriedness will never free them from.

 Although circumstantial - because the series was shot and completed prior to the events - One can not be oblivious to the fact that the recent developments of the Covid-19 virus spread and the self-isolation measures recently taken around the world, and restricting people’s freedom to move around and gather, shine a different light on these pictures and make this body of work resonate in a darker manner.

 Simon Letourneau, March 2020.  


 U P C O M I N G   2 0 2  0  E X H I B I T I O N S 



 P A S T   E X H I B I T I O N S 


September | David Woodward, Collage

March | Andrew Zukerman, Collage

February | Kids Art Show 



December | Kristen Sjaarda, silk/photography/textile

November | Miranda Crabtree, drawing/painting

September & October | Sarah Cannon

July & August | What Would Love Do Now Pop-up

June | Window Installation by Maddy Matthews

May | Fallows | Chelsee Ivans

April | Artwork For Your Bathroom Wall…and other intimate spaces | Alisha Davidson

March | If 1 More Person Tells Me I'm Strong I'm Going 2 Cry | BlackPowerBarbie

February | Hell Heal the Periphery | Spencer Hatch



December | So Far From the Water and Thirsty | Alicia Nauta & Brooke Manning

November | Goblin Market | Anna May Henry 
October | Talk | Maryanne Casasanta

 August | Family Process | Glasstalisman & Penumbra Glassworks

July | I Saw A Change | Hugh Matter

June | Kids Art: Inclusivity Show for Kids 12 and under

May | Drawings, Lorenz Peter

April | Colour Code Print Show |

March | Drawings, Erika Altosaar

February | Drawing Down the Moon, Shauna Eve

January | Lewis Pass, Angela Lewis



December | In The Sky, On The Earth, Lindsey Lickers

November | State(s) of Being, Alice MacClean

October | Fleeting Glimpses, Kirk Clyne

September | Tasteful Nudes, Cody Deane Cochrane

August | Half a Year, Andrea Manica

July |  Reaching for the Pearl, Diana Lynn Vandermeulen

June | Bric-a-Brac, Chris Foster

May |  Not Separate from a Dang Thing, Drea Scotland 

April | Catalog of Uncertainty, Alicia Nauta

March | Public House, Private Life, Alec Sutherland  

January |  Perennial, Sarah Cannon



December | Sagan Editions & Flying Books

October | Mineral, Mountain, Woman, watercolour drawings, Louise Reimer

September | Domestic Concerns, paintings, Laura Dawe

June | World to Come, watercolour drawings, Julia Dickens

May | Shadow Grounds, drawings, G.B. Jones, Adrienne Kammerer, Jamiyla Lowe

April | Bird Feels, Lucy Pelletier

March | Golden Lonesome, Arden Wray

February | Beyond the Starry Mountain, Diana Lynn Vandermeulen 



December | Felted Forest, felted sculpture, Marjorie Campbell

November | West Arm, photographs, Sarah Bodri

October | Come to the Mountain, oil paintings, Cody Deane Cochrane

September | V NICE V ZEN, visual and sound installation, Diana Lynn VanderMeulen

August | Please Do Touch, braille paintings, Devon Sioui & Faye Harnest

July | 4 Poets Celebration with installation by Andi Clifford

June | Rising Reflections, weaving, Katherine Salnek