The deep bass rumbles ominously, as light patterns oscillates above my head. The thick fog recalls film noir, as the train of people disappears ahead of me. California Dreaming...
Someone stole a black pawn.
It's a sorry state of affairs when a free, all-night contemporary art exhibition in this city is marred by petty theft. Although the perpetrator may have decided to showcase his own art of stealth and larceny, Toronto's first Nuit Blanche was a huge success. This 12 hour extravaganza was full to the brim of enthusiastic and grumpy participants, waltzing and skipping their way through the exhibitions into the wee hours of the day.
The impromptu tango never manifests. Can homosexuality be reliably manifested in caricature – even in the form of balloon penguins? Like reflected stars, the illuminated lilies coax serenity.
Its not often that I (or the average city-dweller) gets an opportunity to immerse myself in expressionism in its modern artistic form – but on the flip side, as my date for the evening remarked - “Art overload.” Even though I sampled but a fraction of the 130+ exhibits on display across 3 zones, I'm definitely over-saturated with colours, themes, sounds, images and everything in between. Hence my inner desire to awaken the artiste in moi to perform literary diarrhea...
A penny for my thoughts: My choice is passion (or is my passion choice)? A fresh french loaf never tasted better than at 7 am. Giant floating pills tethered to balconies bring a whole new meaning to getting high...
The arrogant aesthete that also occupies my being is proud to be one of the handful of stragglers who survived the ordeal. As I shivered in the brisk morning air, I wondered how many people were aware that a city wide exhibition had taken place, and not simply encountering the herd, saw an installation or two and remarked “Well wasn't that neat?” Indeed, the Saturday night club crowd seemed oblivious in their drunken shuffling home, even as the white night made the streets seem even brighter than normal.
Lorenzo, Makiko (or was that Makika?) - never trust a 17 year old blitzed on SoCo with pliers. Grazing sheep have never been so calming – even if the group behind me wanted something to attack them. Quantum Theory = a testosterone fueled disco dodge ball game gone awry.
Heidegger remarks that “Art lets truth originate” - whether through visual, sonic, tactile or lettered media, every artist pulled back the curtain of our normal existence and revealed some shimmering absolute, enlightening others, bathing them in what is. Truth is manifested through art, and as such, the artist continues to play an important role in today's society. No matter how the economy fluctuates, how often racial/religious conflict flare up or how senseless violence is waged in our streets and schools, take solace in the fact that there are some things in this world that force you to step back, contemplate and transcend to a higher state of understanding.
Fuzzy colours remind me of old men and caterpillars. The rodent painting kit is useless as they don't have opposable digits. I can't remember what thought I held when told – but I do know this: it was right for the moment.
At least they didn't steal the king – the red velour cushion, an adequate substitute for the lowly pawn, would not have done square e8 any justice.
Someone stole a black pawn.
It's a sorry state of affairs when a free, all-night contemporary art exhibition in this city is marred by petty theft. Although the perpetrator may have decided to showcase his own art of stealth and larceny, Toronto's first Nuit Blanche was a huge success. This 12 hour extravaganza was full to the brim of enthusiastic and grumpy participants, waltzing and skipping their way through the exhibitions into the wee hours of the day.
The impromptu tango never manifests. Can homosexuality be reliably manifested in caricature – even in the form of balloon penguins? Like reflected stars, the illuminated lilies coax serenity.
Its not often that I (or the average city-dweller) gets an opportunity to immerse myself in expressionism in its modern artistic form – but on the flip side, as my date for the evening remarked - “Art overload.” Even though I sampled but a fraction of the 130+ exhibits on display across 3 zones, I'm definitely over-saturated with colours, themes, sounds, images and everything in between. Hence my inner desire to awaken the artiste in moi to perform literary diarrhea...
A penny for my thoughts: My choice is passion (or is my passion choice)? A fresh french loaf never tasted better than at 7 am. Giant floating pills tethered to balconies bring a whole new meaning to getting high...
The arrogant aesthete that also occupies my being is proud to be one of the handful of stragglers who survived the ordeal. As I shivered in the brisk morning air, I wondered how many people were aware that a city wide exhibition had taken place, and not simply encountering the herd, saw an installation or two and remarked “Well wasn't that neat?” Indeed, the Saturday night club crowd seemed oblivious in their drunken shuffling home, even as the white night made the streets seem even brighter than normal.
Lorenzo, Makiko (or was that Makika?) - never trust a 17 year old blitzed on SoCo with pliers. Grazing sheep have never been so calming – even if the group behind me wanted something to attack them. Quantum Theory = a testosterone fueled disco dodge ball game gone awry.
Heidegger remarks that “Art lets truth originate” - whether through visual, sonic, tactile or lettered media, every artist pulled back the curtain of our normal existence and revealed some shimmering absolute, enlightening others, bathing them in what is. Truth is manifested through art, and as such, the artist continues to play an important role in today's society. No matter how the economy fluctuates, how often racial/religious conflict flare up or how senseless violence is waged in our streets and schools, take solace in the fact that there are some things in this world that force you to step back, contemplate and transcend to a higher state of understanding.
Fuzzy colours remind me of old men and caterpillars. The rodent painting kit is useless as they don't have opposable digits. I can't remember what thought I held when told – but I do know this: it was right for the moment.
At least they didn't steal the king – the red velour cushion, an adequate substitute for the lowly pawn, would not have done square e8 any justice.
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