Toronto’s Scotiabank Nuit Blanche is a beast of an art thing to think about (it’s even a mouthful to say). Each year, shortly before I put my kids to bed and head out on my bike to navigate most of the downtown core in an uninterrupted three to four hour gallery hop, a wave of exhaustion overcomes me and I entertain the idea of just staying home. The possibility of a singular, not-to-be-missed aesthetic experience the likes of which I’ll never see again (such as a stadium football field full of team mascots or a marathon tennis match in the shadow of Bay Street) eggs me on, and fuelled by coffee I hit the road. I know that much of what I see will be forgotten, and a lot of the evening will be spent frustrated and annoyed at the teeming masses of snarky partiers, but I will be heartened by the curious and encouraged by the possibility that the next epiphany is just around the corner. 
Choirs every hour at Hart House
I start, as I try to do every year, with the exhibition program at Hart House curated by Barbara Fischer of the Justina M. Barnicke Gallery and the University of Toronto Art Centre. Their choir-centric theme is appropriate for an evening defined by large gatherings of people, and, in addition to a collection of video works that I could have enjoyed all night (including Paul Walde’s impressively installed and epically rendered Requiem for a Glacier), there are choirs performing every hour on until morning. Each one demonstrates in its unique way (I watched the Common Thread Community Chorus spontaneously create a doo-wop groove) the way in which individuals can contribute small parts to a greater whole. 
Maria Ezcura, Made in China
Individuals can also contribute small parts to a greater hell as I found out when I tried to make my way down Spadina into the heart of the first official zone and the exhibition The possibility of everything. The programmed portion of NB has moved west and south this year with one ventricle landing squarely at Queen and Spadina. In another era this might have been significant in connecting the art centre of the city to the expansive event, but the city has changed and this intersection is now the heart of a club district that has its own nightlife to turn the darkness white. My ideal vision of NB has always been how it makes unfamiliar parts of the city magical and leads one on a journey through the night. Putting works on a main drag just crams crowds like at a midway. That said, some works like Maria Ezcura’s Made in China made clear references to the neighbourhood and hopefully elicited some reflection amongst the jostling. 
Chélanie Beaudin-Quintin, Screaming Booth
Given my frustration, a couple Screaming Booths by Chélanie Beaudin-Quintin were definitely tempting but the line-ups turned me off and, not surprisingly, more than a few young dudes demonstrated that you don’t need a booth to scream. 
Máximo González, Walk Among Worlds
Line-ups were again an issue with Máximo González’s Walk Among Worlds, but I’m willing to bet it was just as, if not more, effective seen from behind the chain link fence where dozens of us gathered in order to see what the dozens gathered here were looking at. 
David Brooks, Gap Ecology (Still Lives with Cherry Pickers and Palms)
The peace of mind I’d achieved at Hart House was lost as I walked my bike through the folks wandering Queen West. I heard later that crowds even gathered at Dundas Square even though nothing was programmed there. This night has become something of an opportunity for teenagers to roam free under the parental assumption that they are enlightening themselves. One hopes that something of the wonder seeps through. David Brooks' suspended palm trees would, at the very least, encourage city dwellers to look up and away from their cellphones. 
Tony Conrad & Jennifer Walshe, THE SIGNING
Given the contained design of Nathan Phillips Square, the crowd situation felt less hectic and there were lots of people watching and waiting at the various performance pieces that made up the Performance Anxiety zone. A couple artists were on breaks when I got there and, since I planned to get home before breakfast, I couldn’t wait to get inside city hall to see what was there, but I was pleasantly surprised to find Tony Conrad patiently playing away behind the shadow puppet play that was THE SIGNING. Conrad was participating in extended art happenings (with the likes of La Monte Young) before most of the audience was born and he leant some historical gravitas to the proceedings (even if I was the only one to notice.) 
Luigi Ferrara, The Garden of Renova
Lacking in gravitas, but making up for it with colour was Luigi Ferrara’s brave attempt at toilet paper-made interactive sculpture. It was surprisingly still in one piece when I passed by at one in the morning. 
Diane Landry, Icebreaker
I was happy to escape the crowds, but sad to see that the business district had been left alone this year, as I biked south to check out the scattered works in (Oh, Canada at MASS MoCA curator) Denise Markonish’s The Night Circus. Diane Landry’s rower invoked the close connection of land and water as the edge of the city approached the lake. Her endless sculls gave me the strength to go on. 
Early Morning Opera & Lars Jan, HOLOSCENES
The aquatic performances in HOLOSCENES were the things most hyped this year and they did not disappoint. The slow moving actors were submerged at intervals and went through a series of gestures that highlighted the incremental movements that make up our everyday moments. I stood alongside, watched, and thought, “neato,” but knew that this wasn’t the epiphany I was looking for. It was a bit of a gimmick, though admittedly a well executed one. 
Derek Liddington, The sun will always rise and fall from east to west
I was nearing the end of my journey and had yet to have my mind rattled. The props for Derek Liddington’s performance lay on a field awaiting a condo to be seeded there. I couldn’t make out much from the fence that marked its limit and was about to go when the performers marched out and began. The score was provided by two post-rock guitarists intertwining their chiming chords. The dancers were dressed in black and carried three large shapes to make a series of symbolic arrangements. It only lasted eight minutes and I’m not sure what it had to do with the story described on the title card attached to the fence, but it was perfect. I felt blissfully alone in my home town, staring at this strange grassy patch below an unstoppable eruption of construction, and this thing that could have been nothing but art intrigued me and stilled my thoughts for a short time, and then I carried it with me for the next couple nights, trying to figure it out and enjoying the feeling of being pleasantly confused. This was what I had come for. This made it all worthwhile. 
Wilfredo Prieto, Ascendent Line
After that, it was hard to be wowed by anything in the final zone (Before Day Break at Fort York), but I was excited about the location and hope to see it – and other unexpected parts of the city – used to similar effect in the years to come. I followed Wilfredo Prieto’s red carpet through the gates and, with Liddington’s sun in my heart, headed home.
Scotiabank Nuit Blanche 2014: http://www.scotiabanknuitblanche.ca/2014-event/
Terence Dick is a freelance writer living in Toronto. His art criticism has appeared in Canadian Art, BorderCrossings, Prefix Photo, Camera Austria, Fuse, Mix, C Magazine, Azure, and The Globe and Mail. He is the editor of Akimblog. You can follow his quickie reviews and art news announcements on Twitter @TerenceDick.
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Nuit Blanche 2014
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