Toronto pulls all-nighter, but does it make the grade?
Issue date: 10/5/06 Section: Arts and Culture
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Ashley Gallaugher
Despite rain and mud, students and art sophisticates alike braved the elements for one sleepless night together at Toronto's first ever Nuit Blanche. My friends and I went for various reasons. Some of us wanted to culture ourselves, others wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Some of us planned on going a week in advance, others tagged along last minute. Regardless, we all took advantage of the free all-night contemporary art thing, and there was plenty to see.
Victoria College was the proud home of several pieces, including the gorgeous Garden of Light. The Lester B. Pearson Garden for Peace and Understanding was transformed with lily pads, glowing white flowers and ceramic letters spelling out "eventually."
I was really taken by surprise at how natural Garden of Light looked. Having read the brochure, where it said there would be plastic lilies, I was expecting somewhat gaudy looking flowers (as bad as that sounds). But the actual flowers were small and the glow they gave off was both subtle and gorgeous. It seemed like they belonged in the water, as if they had always been there and I just hadn't noticed before.
I was lucky enough to meet the artist, Jamelie Hassan. When I asked which came to her first, the idea or the flowers themselves, she responded, "I always knew I wanted to do something with the flowers. So when they suggested this site, I knew I had an idea." The flowers were popular with the crowd, especially when it was discovered that they stopped glowing when taken out of the water. Soon everyone was picking them up and tossing them back in, which Hassan didn't mind at all.
Since that night, when I look at the garden on my way home from class, it seems like something vital is missing. It was great seeing all those people interacting with the garden. Usually the garden is only admired cautiously from afar, but Saturday night people were fearlessly climbing on the stones around it, playing in the water, interacting with each other and their environment.
Anyone that ever thought the Faculties of Engineering and Music have nothing in common was proven wrong just outside the Edward Johnson Building. A joint initiative between these two faculties created an instrument called a hydralophone. Creator and engineering professor Steve Mann and members of his team were on hand to provide musical demonstrations as a part of the Faculty of Music's Son(ic)ambulism.
My first impression was that the hydraulophone looked somewhat like a fountain, but I was informed by team member Ryan Jensen that it's actually a cross between a pipe organ and a flute. It is pressure-sensitive, and instead of pushing out air to make sound, it uses water, which makes for a very wet but very cool performance.
When the musicians took a break, the crowd's fingers were all over it. Some of us played simple tunes, but most of us just played around and soaked each other. Jensen explained that he likes playing because you can put a lot of expression into each note, and its sound is sad, something like the call of the loon.
Fujiko Nakaya's site-specific sculpture, Fog in Toronto #71624, completely transformed the south end of Philosopher's Walk. It felt like the setting for a mystery or horror film, creepy and impressive all at once. Philosopher's Walk felt so much larger in the fog, but seeing it the day after Nuit Blanche, I realized it's not that long a pathway in reality.
The first time we went through Fog was around 8 pm. Things were still getting started, and it wasn't very crowded, so you could step back and just watch the surrounding light's effect on the fog and the trees. I went again to the fog around 3:30 am, and it was very muddy and very crowded, so much so that Nuit Blanche officials were on hand to direct traffic and section off the pathway so people wouldn't get hurt.
Nakaya's installation was a definite success. There is something so alluring in being cloaked by mist. For the whole night, fog billowed throughout Philosopher's Walk. Pictures were taken. Games of tag ensued. My friends and I played Marco Polo to keep track of each other.
When asked what it reminded them of, people recalled everything from England to Newfoundland to my friend Awi's comment that "you're in the graveyard where Voldemort gets reborn." I found myself thinking of old horror films and repeatedly saying, "this is awesome!" Even when the pathways turned to pure mud from the rain, people were still trekking through.
The north end of Philosopher's Walk was the highlight of my night. Andrew Zealley and
Chrysanne Stathacos had transformed an ordinary maple tree into a silver wishing tree.
Entitled One Garden One Night One Wish, everyone was invited to tie pre-printed wishes onto the tree with silver ribbons.
A friendly docent explained the piece: "These are wishes that were collected all over the world. Basically the idea is you take a wish, hang it on the tree and the line is it'll come true by morning." The wishes ranged from wanting no curfew to a world free from prejudice. My friend Micheline and I ducked under the branches, out of the rain, to add our own wishes to the bunch.
The wishing tree wasn't what I expected. I hadn't expected a soundtrack, but that was a nice surprise. I had expected to be able to write your own wish, not to have the wishes pre-printed. They were nice wishes for the most part though, some of them sad (I wish I had a friend), some of them noble (I wish people were free to be who they are whether they are hetero, homo, black, white, or HIV+) and some of them just plain sweet (I wish for everyone's wish to come true).
I loved how the branches were positioned, so that when you were at the trunk of the tree, all the branches and attached wishes came down in almost a dome around you. There were loads of people, but this piece still felt secluded and peaceful, a feeling partly owing to the spotlights reflecting off the silver paper and ribbons, giving the tree a sparkly, ethereal effect. There's something so magical about making a wish on a tree at night. How can you not believe that it will come true?
At the Toronto Heliconian Club we drank hot chocolate and listened to Bedtime Tales by authors and poets such as Kateri Akiwenzie-Damm and Kelley Armstrong. Everyone piled into a room with soft pillows and the fireplace going, listening to an author reading on stage in a comfy chair.
What did surprise me there, and at a bunch of other events, is how into it everyone got. Strangers were actually snuggled up against each other, some listening attentively, others dozing quietly. It was a wonderful atmosphere, like we were children again and mom was reading us a story before bed. My friend Amna said she had never experienced anything like that before.
There were so many exhibits that I regret not being able to stay up longer to visit them all. From the reactions and comments of the crowd and artists alike, I think I speak for everyone when I say that hopefully this is the beginning of a yearly tradition. Even though I was up until 4am, I wish I had planned my route better, since some events started at certain times and for some there were line- ups, like the half hour wait to get into the Heliconian. I'm disappointed I didn't get to see a few pieces I was looking forward to, especially since they had a life-span of twelve hours and will never be seen again.
Nuit Blanche put us to sleep, in a bad way
Elizabeth Underhill
Whether you played in the fog or swam in a pool all night, Toronto's first night full of light had a few dim spots that were hard for some to overcome.
While many were able to make their own fun at Nuit Blanche, it seemed that often little or no information was readily available to educate attendants about the art work. One sleepless wanderer mentioned that too many individual projects were unmarked or had no one to explain them. He cited General Idea's Pharmacopia, large helium-filled pills floating above Yorkville, as particularly uninteresting aesthetically, but with potential to be appreciated if the concept behind it was better presented.
Another person cynically commented that Nuit Blanche was "like Halloween, only less rewarding." Drifting through the city from one flashy art trick to the next, it seemed that spectator didn't find it a treat.
One gentleman complained about Darren O'Donnell's Ballroom Dancing, saying it was hot to the point of suffocation, and wasn't enticed into "acting like an idiot in front of strangers," just because some kids were spinning dance records.
Many of the special commissions for Nuit Blanche were disassembled around 6:30 or 7 in the morning, packed up, cut up and thrown away, never to be seen or considered again. The bouncy balls from Ballroom Dancing were deflated with scissors and trashed, but this writer decided to save one. It's art, after all. Shouldn't it be preserved to a greater degree than just memory? Or could it be argued that the lifespan of Nuit Blanche, twelve hours, necessarily demands that the art be ephemeral? A one- night stand that costs you nothing is devaluing in any case, particularly in one where the players are the meaningfulness of art and culture and the people of Toronto.
While Nuit Blanche organizers claimed the community would be united with art, and in the process, people would learn more about about their city and its culture, it seems they did not make it accessible enough. Another art enthusiast complained that the art works were too far dispersed across the city. Even though she was up until 4:30 in the morning, she felt there still wasn't enough time to see it all. This considered along with the obvious time-consumer of long line-ups at the big draws.
Toronto is extremely fortunate to have basked in the glow of so many talented artists during Nuit Blanche. Hopefully, there will be fewer burned-out bulbs next time around.
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