So last night was Nuit Blanche in Toronto and once again, I had weddings and was not able to ramble as much as I'd have liked to. Next year I may plan to at least not have a wedding the next morning so I can stay out later. There's many people who write it off as a corporate event, the homogenization of art, a lot of hype for little content, blah blah blah. And they're all right but that's boring so I'll go for finding what beauty there was.

The first thing I liked about it was the crowds. Toronto is a huge city and normally the crowds resemble the walking dead as people shamble about from task to task to task in accordance with that they think they should be doing with their lives, heads down or glued to phones, texting meaningless drivel to one another, stepping over the homeless people and trying to walk through each other or into traffic. The general crowds in Toronto seem disconnected with their own existence or that of the very world we stand on and it bothers me. Occasionally they'll be woken up by a traffic accident or attractive window display or a particularly good busker, and you see the flicker of life in eyes, the flicker of interest and hope. NB? I won't say *everyone* seemed awake but the flicker was an overall blaze as hopeful couples, families, individuals and massive groups walked or biked between exhibits, guide maps clutched in their hands. There were more crowds than exhibits so the whole thing took on the air of an easter egg hunt, or a trick or treat for the mind.

I made it to my friend Tzuki's exhibit primarily because it was on the way home from wedding one this weekend. She and other artists were hosted by St. Thomas Church downtown at 383 Huron Street. She had two works on display: one spiral of stones you could walk with the symptoms of pregnancy in order labeled on to every third rock, and one work called "The Gate" in the baptistery of the main sanctuary space. She created a mood of "what would you take with you" in the middle of memorial plaques with white curtains, red silk, steamer trunk, book, candles and bones. People approached it with apprehension and wonder. In the main sanctuary space though, all hands were on - no space was too sacred for mortals to explore and dig into, and when the trio of singers (St. Blaze Trio, I think) ended each hymn a wild eruption of applause greeted them as it never would in an actual church service. Panels of fabric hung around the sanctuary with different displays being projected on them, a moving tapestry of light and meaning. When the trio was done for the night the crowd was on their feet, some kneeling to the cross first before whistling and howling for more. My kind of free for all faith display.

I walked down to Queen to catch the streetcar home, passing installations here and there and confused crowds wondering what to make of it all. Two men in their 60's peddled relining bikes that glowed neon blue, either part of the official art or celebrating in their own way. Many cyclists had flashing lights hanging from their hats or bikes and I was too shy to ask where they got them but I wanted five. I had walked, I realized, all the way from Spadina House where my wedding had been. On the north lawn a NB installation was in progress but on the south lawn there was me, my couple, their community and the ceremony we'd worked out. Handfasting, unity cup, a celebration of the elements through the nature of love and the sun hanging low at magic hour, under the worlds most perfect tree. Wine and cord, pen and paper, and the foundation of a marriage to celebrate a relationship already in progress. The bride was beautiful and the groom very handsome, and their people at ease with the ceremony at play. I haven't painted in years, around the house opportunities for art lay unattended. I finished the 3 day novel contest but that's the closest I've come to really creating something in a long time. Except last night, looking over the city I realized that my participation in NB was unofficial but wholly real. Maybe my art is a happy wedding. The materials are what's at hand, a good voice and words to hold the shape of an hour. Maybe. Maybe our art is what we build in our life that has meaning outside it, and it's worth is rooted in our attention to detail and the care we put into something we're willing to let utterly go.

Or maybe I'm just a big, fat romantic drunk on love. Either way, I've my British brides this morning with their high tea reception. I've got an antique hanky for each if they need it, procured in bulk from an antique dealer at St Lawrence Market who I have to visit again soon. They are adorable and I'm so very grateful that I get to officiate for them. Life is good.