6:42p.m. Jade: But is it art? Preparing for the long haul ahead, I pick up a coffee at Bloor and Spadina. As usual, there’s somebody sitting directly outside the door, ratty coffee cup in hand, asking for change. This time though, it’s a lady wearing a nice red coat, singing operatically about how she got a free pizza at the park. Whether it’s official Nuit or not, we’re off to the races.
7:37p.m. Chandler: Took a cab to Ryan McGuinness’ collaged and colourful symbol-laden paintings in the Distillery District. It’s nice, think Takashi Murakami without the misogyny with a black light installation that’s like cosmic bowling, only cooler.
7:45p.m. Jade: Took a good 15 minutes to find Kelly Mark’s Horroridor, but it’s no fault of the artist. What does “west lower entrance” mean, anyway? The exhibit itself, representing the pervasive gendering of fear, was a great starting point for the evening. As they were leaving, a group of women started mock screaming. Kelly Mark smiled from the sidelines. Said another woman: “I should write comments at the bottom of my booklet: ‘Took way too long to find the exhibit.’”
8:30p.m. Sarah: I arrive at Lamport Stadium in Liberty Village, where a security guard has to check my purse so I can see some mascots dancing in John Solecki’s I Promise It Will Always Be This Way. We’re calling out, ordering them to dance, but they don’t seem into it. This isn’t ironic enough to be funny.
8:35p.m. Rob: I kick my night off with the NB Post exhibit in Yorkville. I scribble down a quick message onto a postcard and drop it in the box. The post cards will be delivered randomly all over Zone A, and I hope mine gets to the right person. To my right, a large group of revelers are waving a giant Russian flag and singing what must be their country’s national anthem. Go Art! Go Russia!
8:39p.m. Chandler: Larry McDowell plays a tortured prisoner, blindfolded and silent in Berkzy Park. The fountain is full of foam that my brother and I fling at each other despite the eerie ambience.
8:46p.m. Sarah: The aptly titled SMASH! Droppin’ Stuff is pretty much an accurate description of two teenage girls in a cherry picker dropping a twenty year-old computer monitor onto a pile of junk.
8:49p.m. Jade: Alternator features miniature nodding donkeys seeping up oil spills on the ground of a parking garage. While conceptually nice (maybe I’m just part of the problem), I find the scale of the pumpjacks somewhat underwhelming.
8:50p.m. Sarah: I stop at Balzac’s for a coffee. It takes ten minutes and costs four dollars. It’s still early enough that hyperactive children are everywhere. Ew.
8:52p.m. Jade: “That’s a little explicit for me,” a boy, maybe seven years old, commented on Stillnessence as he left. “Oh my lord!” exclaimed another. Kids’ honest response to this projected collage of Torontonians clothed and naked was the main point of engagement for audience members with this work.
8:57p.m. Rob: I take in the Rockers exhibit at Liss Gallery. It’s mostly just famous photos of John Lennon and the Clash in New York. Across the street at the Four Seasons, a group of dudes with guitars are being loaded into a white limo. One of them tells the driver, “We’re in a band, we just wanna, like, cruise around for an hour. Cool?”
9:00p.m. Sarah: Next to the stadium is a giant white sign announcing Yoko Ono’s exhibit Imagine Peace. Organizers are handing out white cards and pencils, encouraging passers-by to write hopes, dreams, etc. hung on the surrounding trees. I’m there early, but all the good branches are taken. I spitefully read everyone’s wishes.
9:02p.m. Justin: Maple Leaf Gardens—Toronto’s hallowed grounds. The place where so many dreams have been broken. Were the Leafs ever good? Does this exhibit even matter? Screens are set up on the arena floor displaying what seems to be two bubbling milk vats gone so sour they’re waxing philosophical. The congealing substances discuss the Other and their place in an urban environment. I’m confused.
9:25p.m. Justin: Zombies have taken over College Park. This exhibit is largely ineffective—no one knows what’s going on and the zombies aren’t even staying in character. Wait! A sexy zombie girl is approaching me. Damn, I wish I were dead.
9:40p.m. Chandler: I’m smoking suspiciously free shisha care of the Ryerson Urban Hip Hop Union. Somehow this neither decreases nor increases my understanding of “art.”
9:45p.m. Sarah: SNIFF, LICK, PINCH, NIBBLE, SWALLOW by Noni Kaur is a visual project made of coloured coconut and rice, and it may be the highlight of my night. You can eat it, make designs in it, and it looks like actual art, not some amateur OCAD project. Plus, after you walk around, they give you free soup. I’m waiting for the point in the night when you can step in it, but I never get there.
9:50p.m. Justin: At Ryerson’s Devonian Pond, rubber ducks float amid an artificial mist.
10:00p.m. Sarah: I stumble upon a renegade project, Fugitive Chicken by Bryan Belanger. It’s a little plexiglassed truck, and inside the artist is wearing a chicken mask with three hens sitting around him. It seems Twyla, Rose and Buttercup lived with him for weeks before the show, and he’s obviously developed quite a bond with them. Adorable.
10:05p.m. Wyndham: After waking late from a three-hour nap and stumbling through the subway, I arrive at a disappointingly quiet Queen’s Park. The only evidence of the scheduled Sound Forest exihibit is the strains of a drum circle, so my comrade and I busy ourselves by scoping the crowd for sexy strangers.
10:16p.m. Jade: The financial advisor execuspeak of Commerce Court advertised the opportunities presented by global warming and the market’s “correcting” of itself, degenerating into “Are you tired? Want to get off?”
10:17p.m. Rob: I dig the lighting of the plastic Waterfall at the Toronto Hydro building, but it isn’t quite as big as I expected. Why are so many exhibits not nearly as towering as advertised?
10:20p.m. Justin: Dundas Square is packed tight with energized patrons waiting for their fifteen seconds of fame. The spotlight descends, sending its target, a frail old man, into hysterics. He bursts into dance. I never get my fifteen seconds.
10:30p.m. Sarah: Overflow is set in an abandoned building, with water flowing onto the rubble below. Not much to say about this, but then that’s probably because there’s a giant gate separating us from the “art.”
10:33p.m. Wyndham: Since it housed my favorite exhibit last year (the adorably awkward Dance With Teacher) I had big hopes for Hart House. The series of video instillations, however, plays like Visual Studies 101-reject projects. The only upside is Loverboy, an artistic confection of candy spread out across the floor of the map room that shifts shape as passerbys stop to sample the goods.
10:39p.m. Justin: A gentleman exits the Massey Hall exhibit, looks me in the eyes and shouts, “There’s art, and then there’s just stupid!” I walk in to find a faux office corridor in an alleyway, covered in garbage—the epitome of contemporary art. I wonder what the message is?
10:42p.m. Rob: I approach Stock Extravaganza with limited expectations. It’s a miniature concert in a trashcan. Yes, that’s right, patrons are lined down the block and around the corner to leer into a trashcan. The security guard assures me it’s not worth my while, and I’m inclined to believe him.
10:45p.m. Wyndham: After pilfering a coconut souvenir from the courtyard, we make for Atom Egoyan’s much-hyped Adoration Street. The streetscape is not as expansive or detailed as promised, and the effect of the various screens is difficult to decipher. The crowd is eating it up with a spoon though, so maybe it goes over my head.
10:57p.m. Rob: The giant twirling blue balloon at the Eaton Centre is a masterpiece. Unquestionably the highlight of the evening. I love stuff you don’t have to think too much about.
11:05p.m. Wyndham: After munching on a lemon tart for sustenance, we make for OCAD. The excitement is palpable at Grange Park, and everyone seems to be waiting for something to happen. The AGO light show is only mildly interesting, and the conversation of art doesn’t seem to be extending much beyond the comparison of hipster moustaches.
11:45p.m. Rob: City Hall’s Stereoscope is excellent on a grand scale. Every window is lit up like a giant pixel. Someone’s playing Pong and Snake on a massive cell phone of bureaucracy!
12:30p.m. Sarah: Oh, here’s that giant blue bubble in the Eaton Centre. What the heck is this? It looks like an inflatable pool.
12:31a.m. Justin: Devonian Pond has devolved into a free for all. People are knee-deep in the water hurling ducks at both the crowd and each other. The crowd scatters and the ducks are gone. I imagine the artists will get a fierce reprimand from PETA.
12:51p.m. Rob: Justin’s odd description of Maple Leaf Gardens turns out to be spot on. I think I appreciate this more as a sports fan and less as an art lover.
1:00a.m. Chandler: I met God (played by Evan Tapper) at InterAccess Media Centre just in time to absolve my sins for Yom Kippur. The automated receipt makes me feel much more secure.
1:05a.m. Jade: Definitely one of the best exhibits this year, Conversation #2 is partly destroyed by the time I arrive, so I can’t walk inside the room created from this circular mosaic of book spines. Still well appreciated though, the piece lived up to its name, both as subject of conversation and suggestion of how books speak to one another.
1:04a.m. Rob: Why was the 15 Seconds spotlight set up at the brightest intersection in Toronto?
1:06a.m. Wyndham: Trinity-Bellwoods is almost completely empty, so we make for Swizzle Studio to get our fake IDs made. It’s all fun and games, but the artistic element seems a little lacking. Despite ample searching, I’m unable to spot the Lausberg Contemporary’s 1,000 glowworms that are supposed to be illuminating the park.
1:17a.m. Rob: Where did all the Ryerson ducks go?!
1:43a.m. Chandler: At a tiny Queen West gallery near Gladstone, a local artist exclaims his love for Rod Stewart, miming an air-mandolin solo. I’m examining portraiture inspired by Led Zeppelin’s Zoso, drinking complimentary red wine, and saying “wassup” to Kevin Drew.
2:07a.m. Wyndham: After enduring some cringe-worthy beat boxing and spotting a few errant zombies along Queen West, we try to get a buzz off the cuteness emanating from the yarn-made Toronto streetscape in Knit City mingling with the ganja that is increasingly perfuming the air.
2:16a.m. Justin: The excitement is dying. Rob and I decide to look for a cab, kicking off perhaps the most frustrating adventure of my entire life. Stay tuned.
2:21a.m. Justin: Rob’s having trouble thinking of a word that starts with “a” and means “selfless.”
2:28a.m. Chandler: An amazing Queen West gallery installation intersperses pictures of Scar Jo’s ass and the Third Reich with German nihilist élan. Someone must have really hated that Tom Waits album.
2:29a.m. Justin: Fight! A massive brawl rolls on to Queen Street and completely destroys an independent exhibit. In the distance, sirens are heard amid sounds of glass and noses breaking. Two guys escape the fight, faces smeared with blood. I guess it’s the art of street fighting?
2:30a.m. Sarah: I am lame. I decide to ditch the party and go home, but not before scamming the TTC by using my five hour-old transfer.
2:38a.m. Justin: An impromptu folk jam breaks out on Queen West, and I join in. Looks like it’s just a regular night in the neighbourhood.
2:45a.m. Chandler: The Gladstone’s Eyes On Toronto all-night talk show is doing “Comedy-okee,” in which everyday civilians recite material from Bill Cosby and Sarah Silverman. Too bad the teetering sorority sister onstage is too drunk to even read, let alone pull off George Carlin’s “7 Words.”
2:49a.m. Justin: The word is altruistic.
3:00a.m. Chandler: The evening’s most sentient advice comes in the form of a four foot-high snowman mounted on the top of the Queen/Dufferin bridge with a hand-scrawled sign reading “Fuck The Past!” We scream it all the way to Brock Street, which advertises a free peep show. It’s a bust.
3:01a.m. Wyndham: A gallery between Ossington and Dufferin showcases my favourite display so far, a falling snow exhibit entitled Black and White that isn’t even part of Nuit Blanche (and will be up for a few weeks.)
3:21a.m. Rob: I still haven’t found a cab. I feel like Don Quixote.
3:34a.m. Justin: A disgruntled drunk emerges from the darkness and beats the crap out of an inflatable sex dummy. Typical.
3:48a.m. Wyndham: All night I’d been waiting to witness the dancing mascots in I Promise It Will Always Be This Way, and they deliver. Again, it’s debatable whether a crowd encouraging a furry, fatigued warthog to shake it has artistic merit, but I love it—the role reversal and audience participation are as post-modern as the night has been thus far. Just like me, the costumed shark and jersey-clad bumblebee are sleepy and disillusioned, but they keep on dancing.
4:00a.m. Jade: I arrive at the UC back campus. As usual, Hart House is coehesive, fun, and conceptually rigorous. Wild Signals and Innis College’s Adoration Street are personal highlights.
4:06a.m. Justin: After two and a half hours of excruciating exploration, we find a cab and are homeward bound.
4:15a.m. Chandler: Local novelist Brian Joseph Davis has got two stacks of TVs playing various DVD menus, buzzing and bleating in conjunction with his luminous soundscapes in an abandoned Liberty Village barn. I’m not sure if I’m ending Nuit Blanche with a bang, or a cacophonous whimper.
4:17a.m. Rob: On the way home, earlier than last year. I guess that’s progress. The consensus tonight seems to be that while most of the art wasn’t…and the expectations were…but it’s great that people come out to Nuit Blanche to see and experience….ZZZZZZZ.
5:01a.m. Jade: I’m cold, tired, and think it’s contextually inappropriate to celebrate any sort of car (let alone somebody’s weird brand fetish for Subaru, specifically) in the UC quad. Walking around Zone A to catch up on some of the things I missed the first time around, most things are closed well before dawn.
7:00a.m. Jade: What constitutes dawn? Not sunrise, right? Whatever, the sun is breaking, I’m going to bed.
