Itinerary 3

As I enter the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts (MMFA) on Nuit Blanche I am overwhelmed with a claustrophobic feeling despite the lofty space of the entrance hall. The bustle of the crowd contrasts sharply with the quiet streets almost deserted in the cold winter night. The entrance is lit with bright white fluorescent lights and I squint my eyes against the harsh glare. The hall is unusually loud, hot and stuffy as visitors shuffle past one another, eager to enter the narrow passage to the main event downstairs, snapping a quick selfie from a photo machine on the way. Like many others, I want to avoid the long line for the coat check and I follow the flow of the crowd inside wearing my winter coat. Only a few minutes pass before I feel too warm, the slippery lining of my coat sticking to my neck. The line trickles slowly down the stairs. The steps are short and wide, frustrating on a normal day at the gallery but my awareness of my moving body is heightened as I navigate through the dense crowd trying to awkwardly lengthen my stride to keep my balance through the fray of bodies pressing and shuffling past each other as the crowd bottlenecks downwards. The sound is louder in the stairwell, likely because the layers of sounds, upstairs and down below are clashing with one another. I can make out the sounds of laughter, heavy winter boots thudding on each step and quick snippets of conversation.

On the ground floor, a line of visitors queues up excitedly to join in on a table of drawing activities. Those already sitting down are creating mini artworks painted and scribbled with stencils and colors —pink and blue figures, a scribbled multicolored sketch with yellow greens and blues on brown craft paper. The activity is too busy to find a seat- but I take a few moments to take in the woody plastic smell of the pencils and paints and listen to the scratching sounds on paper. The smells remind me of an art session in a childhood classroom. It is too hot to stay here for long, but the air feels cooler as I move from the congested space to darkened tunnel lit with bright magenta lights. To the left visitors see before they hear a speaker emitting subtle sounds of electronic music, moving along the hall the sounds become layered with the music wafting down from the floor above. Taking the escalator ascending slowly upstairs to the next level of the exhibition, visitors encounter an interactive sculpture— a three-dimensional number 20 covered with post-its. They touch its cool plastic surface, writing or reading messages on the neon-colored papers. The deep pulsing sounds of music from Montreal based artist/musican Geronimo Inutiq’s DJ table floats throughout the space.

The rest of the room resembles a popular nightclub, it is long and very dim, punctuated with purple lights and spots of brightness from the chandeliers, its floor is smooth grey and shiny reflecting the lights above it. A buzz of enthusiasm is palpable here as visitors move through the space taking in the lights and sounds. It is a space that evokes the promise of relaxation and novel pleasures in a site usually much more formal. The room is crowded at the far end where the DJ has set up his turntable, rasping and bass sounds fill the ears intensifying with each step closer until the sound is so loud it vibrates in the bones. Over the din, snippets of conversation can be heard as the crowd eagerly talks about the music and the next activity they plan to do.

The olfactory dimensions of the room are heavy and layered, besides a mixture of perfume and sweat there is a lingering sweet smell. Turing in a circle, I find a table set with taste samples (Inuit delicacies of grilled brussels sprout and blackberry skewers with maple glaze and hemp seeds) I pick up the wooden skewer, light to the touch, and take a bite. The texture of is soft and somewhat mushy the taste slightly burnt, sweet and salty yet bitter with an earthy aftertaste.

As I listen to the sounds of the music—a powerful electronic mix of alternating bases and snares layered with the haunting tones of Inuit throat singing—visitors bob to the music and turn their heads to gaze intently at images and lights that dance across a screen behind the DJ platform. The screen is so bright I squint my eyes against the colors that fill my field of vision. I see abstract images: bright orange and yellow squares, greens and purples, pictures of Canadian territories, images of indigenous peoples- some archival and others stereotypical caricatures collected from children’s cartoons. Each picture flashes and melts into pulsing drips of colors first green then pink and on to blue and red . As the images dance across the screen, I move to the front of the crowd to find visitors fervently joining the display by dancing freely, their bodies make strange angles as they twirl and bend somewhat self-consciously (probably because they never danced in a gallery before I think to myself), effectively performing the music through their bodies.

Moving towards the exit next to the DJ, the aural and tactile senses are heightened as the crowd is at its most dense here, the audience mills about and clusters in groups. I take in the brightly colored images on the screen flashing over my eyes again as the taste of the food lingers in my mouth. People squeeze and jostle by to the next part of the exhibition there’s not enough room here to avoid touching another person. Being in such close proximity to one another, it is not surprising that the smell of perfumes is especially strong here, floral and spicy scents shift with each body passing through the door. These smells mingle with the roasted scent still wafting from the food. Focusing on the screen and concentrating on each sense as it blends with others in my consciousness, I feel like I am floating in a psychedelic synesthetic atmosphere as each sense converges over the neon-colored images. I begin to wonder if this is what the synesthetic affects of LSD could be like. The experience of this sensory atmosphere is freeing. It contrasts with the ocularcentric space usually found in the MMFA. At the same time, a familiar curatorial rigidity lurks under the surface, an effect enhanced by the security guards standing at each corner surveying the activities of the visitors.

The formal undertone of the MMFA is sharply contrasted with Insomnia maze art installation at LESPACEMAKER, the second stop on our itinerary. Instead of the smooth textured and sterile space of the MMFA the sensory environment here feels more organic. Visitors first encounter it after trudging through the cold street on the way from the cozy metro station. The installation’s inconspicuous location is hidden on a darkened, quiet street, only standing out because of the orange glowing fire in front of the door. The fire floods visitors with its warmth as they try to catch a spot next to the blaze, squeezing through the other bodies pressing close to the fire, while the scent of burning wood and cigarettes wafts through the air.

Walking through the door, the visitor enters a junk yard full of rusted cars and parts. The textures are plentiful: rough sharp scraps of metal, a smooth path etched into the earth from the many feet passing through, the hard scratchy surface of the metal ceiling and the dry prickly feel of dust in the air. The space is dark and gloomy, at home in a post-apocalyptic movie, only lit with a few stray lightbulbs. The scent of dust tickles the nose as the visitors file up a rickety old metal staircase with their hands gripping the sides to hold their balance on the tilted steps. Walking up these stairs, I feel a dizziness that thankfully passes as I enter the installation through a narrow door covered with plastic that brushes my arms as I push through into the main room of the exhibit.

Inside Insomnia, visitors meet a labyrinthian corridor filled with the thumping sounds of music and the damp smell of sweat, wood and wet shoes. Each turn in the maze reveals a new discovery, multicolored lights neon pink and white cast harsh shadows on the rough wooden walls. A light projection of artworks that represent visitor’s dreams covers a wall, as I step into the yellow and blue light I am immersed by its colors. I take a few moments to appreciate its warmth on my face and its geometric pixelated texture.

Moving through the maze the visitor is met with an obstacle course of sensations. Forced to duck down and tightly fold their bodies as they crouch to avoid an installation of sharp pieces of glittering glass suspended from coarse brown twine carefully woven into a web. Another obstruction requires them to bend further still to pass through a rough cage-like tunnel of sticky black leather releasing an acrid smell. On the other side of the tunnel, the audience encounters a tactile installation as blue foam filled surgical gloves and smooth pink doll fingers reach out to touch the visitor’s face and body. Around a corner, a room sits empty but for two dangling plexiglass prisms. The shiny crystal-like contraptions are smooth and flawless reflecting the string of lights glued around a hole at the bottom. Visitors are invited to stick their head in the strange helmet-like objects that muffle the sound of the exhibition and reflect their faces back at them. Moving towards the exit the air gets fresher and the scent of sweat begins to fade, only to be replaced with the spicy smell of brewing chai tea. The scent is enticing, warm cinnamon and clove but sadly, it’s not ready to drink yet.

Moving through the maze is a disorienting sensation, the semi darkness, narrow turns and colored lights continuously assault the eyes. However, the promise of new discoveries encourages visitors to explore each aspect of the maze. I find myself constantly circling around to the next interesting alcove touching the rough texture of the plywood walls as I walk through the cramped corridors. Each wall is a sensory feast covered with different colors and textures, one is smooth and painted with a dizzying pattern of snaking black and white stripes that glow under a blacklight. Another is covered with abstract prints of inky blue and red nestled in a web of thick knotted twine that casts harsh black shadows on the wooden wall behind it. The walls of the last room are especially tactile, the slippery metallic plastic of an emergency blanket covers each wall reflecting pools of green light in this cabinet of curiosities type space filled with bric-a-brac including a large foam mushroom, mirrors, paint cans and a large fluffy jellyfish suspended from the ceiling. The artifacts in this room are too overwhelming to take in at once and flood the eyes with colors and shapes. A sign next to a small basket on a shelf invites the visitor to select a chocolate meringue from a bag. The texture is powdery and dry, the taste sweet with a subtle hint of cocoa powder like a spoon of hot chocolate mix.

Taking my fill of the maze, I once again descend down the dizzying staircase to enter the ground floor, which opens up to a packed dance party. Visitors are dancing blissfully in this room filled with music, more colored lights (pink and purple) and a small television playing an old sixties film. The wild beat of the electronic music (a mix of popular hits at home in any dance floor) echoes the fun and freedom in the visitor’s bodies as they move without the self-conscious restraint I noticed in the gallery. A smoke machine engulfs the visitors in thick white smoke that disorients and immerses the visitors in a cloud that obscures them from seeing their surroundings except what is immediately close. Walking through the cloud I feel my other senses become heightened as I am flooded with the loud music, breathe in the sour smell of the smoke machine and feel the heat and damp filling the space from the moving bodies. Wanting some fresh air, I turn to leave and the cold bites at my face as I open the door. I am tired and my feet hurt but I wait a few minutes by the fire to warm up for my walk to the metro, reluctantly I leave the glow behind, it’s time to go home.