We asked three MONDO writers to review their Nuit Blanche experiences. Here’s part one.
By Santiago Melo
What is art? In my opinion, the best answer is that it’s a way for the observer to feel sensations they wouldn’t be able to do so otherwise. During my first Nuit Blanche, I was chased down the street by a zombie, saw a boy riding a shadow horse, met a lost fairy, and learned that plants also make nice dresses. I knew the zombies were people in costumes, but that didn’t stop me from keeping as far from them as I could; I understood that the boy and the horse were created as an illusion using light, but I still felt that he was the luckiest boy I had seen in a long time. In short, Nuit Blanche managed to make me feel things that I wouldn’t have otherwise felt.
It was a great experience. People took over the streets, going places they hadn’t been before. For me, it was more a way to discover Toronto than to discover art. Everyone carried a little guide, following the maps to the next dot or square symbolizing an installation. Yet most of the time, these people were more entertained by the works that weren’t in the guide: a cowboy statue so perfect you wanted to see if it actually breathed, a man drawing a sidewalk comic along Queen Street West (who smiled after I took his picture), a restaurant that decided to take advantage of Nuit Blanche to promote itself by holding its own version of Nuit Blanche, using a couple of DVDs and a flat screen. Everywhere I looked, it seemed that Toronto had become alive. No street was empty, and while there were some people who weren’t interested in the art (I’m looking at you Richmond Street clubbers), for one night, Toronto became a friendlier place.
One thing hampered the experience: many of the works looking for audience participation didn’t truly motivate the audience. Take the 15 seconds of fame installation. The artist pointed a light at unexpected bystanders for 15 seconds, giving each person the chance to do whatever they felt like doing. Sadly, most elected bystanders ignored him, nullifying any sense of purpose the work might’ve had. It was made even more evident when a man dressed in a gorilla suit strode by and garnered all the attention he wanted — without needing a spotlight.
Despite that, at the end of the day (or early next morning, whatever you call the hours way after your bedtime), I was tired but happy. Nuit Blanche was a great way to see Toronto, even if I had revisited some of the same places I go to every week. It was also a reminder that winter is coming and soon enough the sight of masses walking the streets will be nothing but a memory.
