Strolling—well more likely stumbling—home bleary eyed at 6 a.m. brings contradictory feelings, a mixture of pathetic and triumphant. One would think triumph might outweigh shame after a night like Nuit Blanche but I fell into bed this morning unsure of what I’d accomplished from my sleepless night.
For one night in October over the last five years, Toronto has been transformed into a creative playground from sunset to sunrise. Artists set up shop in storefronts, on walls and in alleyways. They showcase their creativity and cultural criticisms, inviting the city to engage in their work.
This year, there was a lot to be proud of from a national standpoint. Holt Renfrew’s grandiose facade was transformed into a collage of smiling faces through the collaboration of Agnes Winter and photography students from The Ontario College of Art and Design. The heartwarming pictures were taken candidly of whoever would “smile for me”. As well, Canadian treasure Kent Monkman captured ever-so-posh Yorkville with a live performance as Miss Chief Eagle Testikle—a testament to Native rights, Mother Earth and freedom of sexuality. In an eerie take on capitalism’s contradictions, Torontonian Max Streicher stuck massive clown heads made of recycled billboards in an alleyway between two buildings on Yonge St. Hipster bars like the Social raged on as usual, but with added costume. It was decked out with chrome and silver balloons lining the ceiling, an installation done by another Toronto artist, Tasman Richardson.
So how could someone resist falling in love with this Wonderland of a street party? Well, reviews are in and they’re mixed.
Naysayers alleged disorganization of the exhibitions. They had a point. Hitting the streets with a well crafted itinerary proved somewhat useless. From early to late in the night, line-ups for most of the acclaimed works wrapped around multiple blocks. Much anticipation surrounded Daan Roosegaarde’s transformation of Lower Bay Station into an interactive light show. The piece, “Dune”, used a sea of tiny bulbs that brightened in reaction to motion, sound and noise.
It enticed most but turned away many. An hour-long wait on a chilly night is not much fun especially when there are many other pieces to see. Want to go get a drink instead? Another hour wait, wedged between sloppy partiers was pretty much unavoidable.
My galavanting around the street assuredly had its share of frustration and aimless wandering through hoards of people. Still, the tensions carried with those aspects of the night miss the mark a little. The magic of Nuit Blanche didn’t necessarily lie in (or die because of) the stellar exhibitions with atrociously long line-ups. If you look at Nuit Blanche more holistically—as a piece of art in and of itself—that reality becomes clear.
Take, for example, that many of the installations focused on some notion of what it meant to live in an urban environment. How does city life interfere with our sense of the natural? How do we interact with others when we move so quickly and with such purpose? Such questions seemed to be posed repeatedly and perhaps better answered by the night’s atmosphere than the exhibitions that explored them.
A diverse audience took part in the evening. Whether they carried a stroller, a camera, a Blackberry, a hot chocolate or a cigarette with them, everyone shared their purpose for being there. It was for the sake of art, Toronto and community. For that reason, Nuit Blanche should be recognized not only for the art it exhibits, but as an event that fosters cohesion between people whose spheres of living seldom intersect.
Queen St. West was dappled with light from boutiques that had their doors wide open all night. The people that strolled through, perusing the independent exhibits exuded a sense of cohesion with one another. Personally, I started out the night with two others, but our crew accumulated to 20 by bumping into friends along the way. We were engaging with the art, yes, but also a sense of community that often takes the back burner in urban environments. It was invigorating, as those are the same streets that were ravaged by a whole different mayhem during the G20 summit this summer.
Several times this year Toronto has attempted to prove it’s coming into its cultural own. The TIFF Bell Lightbox was in full swing for the festival in September, stating loudly that the city is now home to a film festival that considers Cannes and Sundance its peers. Evergreen Brickworks opened this summer, turning a worn down and dangerous part of the city into gardens and a massive farmers’ market. Plus, love it or hate it, Saturday night was the fourth time in 2010 that the city has willingly extended bar hours for the sake of amping up our cultural credit.
A match to Montréal perhaps? Maybe not quite, but Nuit Blanche achieved an important aim. Urban living can be remote and lonely at times, but when we learn to share the spaces we live in together we realize how connected we really are. I’ll stay up until six in the morning for that.
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