Dreamwalking: Nuit Blanche

Nuit Blanche was a jolt of life to an otherwise frigid night. Some did opt out in favour of a traditional Saturday night but others took the opportunity to witness Toronto awaken to itself, to the people and creativity otherwise segmented indoors.

"For it to be art it needs soul," I overheard a passerby say. We were looking at one of my favourite pieces of the night, the Auto Lamp by Kim Adams. The rotating van, riddled with holes of varying size through which light poured out in a kaleidoscope fashion, mesmerized the crowds on Yonge Street. The street closed in favour of foot traffic, and the architecture illuminated by dazzling moving light could only mean one thing - or so I thought. Surely it was an homage on behalf of the van, ordinarily the dominant occupant of the street, to the enduring patrons of the city, those artful buildings of delightfully varied style. Their facades now alight to eyes habitually drawn alongst the narrow confines of a zipping lane.

To my dismay the piece was meant to toy with the idea of automobiles as mobile lighthouses.



Looking back, I suppose I expected a more practical and inspiring message. Something which was less of an observation and more of a statement. Regardless, as the photo can attest, it was beautiful.

Later we were miffed by Wait Until You See This, the black curtains prompting a long line up of curious roamers. It was not so much the wait and subsequent exit into an alley but rather the explanation that rendered the whole affair wanting. A child of our irony laden apathetic culture, this installation bit the very hand that granted it exposure. The lineup was the spectacle, a jab at the overcrowding common to all but the first Nuit Blanche in Toronto. In a way, it was a taunt. The masses searching to consume nocturnal culture, to experience art usually out of reach to all but the financially endowed, were instead mocked for their curiosity. It was hard to see it as much more than the self-indulgent art crowd teasing those they entice.

That is, until further reflection. The artists drew attention to the lack of value we pay to "static time." Given the notion of borrowed time, we think our wait ought to barter a satisfying outcome and so we fail to acknowledge suspended time as ours. A self-induced illusion arises, in which meaning is relinquished to another party to whom we are indebted.

Though it is tempting to dismiss artists producing abstract explanations as safely hiding their lack of tangible ideas. The act of deferring interpretation upon the viewer is one of empowerment. Dialogue as opposed to dictation is the result. Either way, each artist has their own reason for their creations however egocentric or magnanimous.



While we wandered our city in a prolonged state of falling asleep, each one of us felt more alert walking streets teeming with visible signs of life.