Undeterred by suddenly chilly weather, Danica and I blanched the nuit away, checking out luminous art on carefree, car-free Toronto streets. At first we tried to map our route, but quickly learned to flow with the crowd and pause wherever something looked interesting.
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This year, exhibits seemed to be smaller but more numerous than in previous years. I think we prefer fewer and bigger. We couldn’t possibly get around to everything, anyway.
Buskers and hawkers were playing a bigger role than they have in the past, and food trucks were doing brisk business.
Nuit Blanche feels like a parade-in-reverse, where the art installations act as the floats and the audience does the moving. Queen Street and Spadina Avenue were wide open for walking and huge crowds filled them.
It’s wonderful to see Toronto as the young, vigorous, diverse city it is. Baby boomers were out there, but by far the greatest numbers looked like 18 to 34s. The smell of good grass was common and there was some drinking, of course, but the mood was upbeat and friendly. Baby buggies, scooters and wheelchairs made their ways along.
As an art experience, I think Nuit Blanche works by changing and refreshing points of view. “Is that part of the event?” we wondered, looking at a slow panning video on the subway platform screens. “Is that storefront always so brilliant, or just for tonight?” Of course, the “Is It Art?” question is irrelevant. It’s Art if you look at it that way.
A major installation in the reflecting pond in front of city hall surprised, but unintentionally. Representing American/Canadian oil producers, it called attention to itself with two giant, spotlit oil drums connected by a pipe. A super-bright video screen showed soviet style propaganda scenes of heroic drilling rigs. Everything was dripping in irony but surprisingly, we were meant to take it seriously!
