Nuit Blanche is an annual arts festival that takes place in Paris and other cities around the world. One night a year, art galleries, churches, bars and other institutions open their doors to the public, turning cities into de facto art galleries.
As I had never participated in Nuit Blanche before — at least not in Paris, where it first began in 2002 — I was curious to check it out. But as I soon realised, it was going to be impossible to see everything. There were so many events happening around the city that I had to choose which district to focus on. As most of the interesting events seemed to be happening in the 4th arrondissement, I decided to focus on that area. But before the 4th, there was something in the 11th that had caught my attention.
I took line 1 of the metro and headed to the 11th arrondissement in the east of Paris. This particular event was in a warehouse-looking bar with a high ceiling, exposed walls and metal frames. It looked almost like an abandoned railway station, minus the usual tracks on the ground. A young woman was playing an electric violin. Behind her, a man was playing notes on a keyboard. The music was at turns gentle and eerie — like an ambient piece in a thriller movie. In front of them were a bunch of pots arranged in a circle that, for some reason, triggered the image of a Satanic ritual.
I walked past the musicians and headed up a spiral staircase, where I saw some sculptures, as well as some plants hanging from the ceiling. Coloured lights were being projected onto them, creating a dreamy effect. Every time someone walked past the lights, you could see their shadows on the walls.
WARNING: FLASHING LIGHTS UP AHEAD. PROCEED WITH CAUTION
I left the bar and headed towards the Hôtel de Ville, the city hall off Rue de Rivoli in the centre of Paris. There, I saw a large black rectangular prism standing in the middle of the square. At first glance, it appeared like the Monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey, but from time to time it would flash white, engulfing the immediate surroundings in a strong white light.
Over time, the light would appear more and more regularly until eventually all you could see was a permanent white everywhere. People had their phones out recording the action. Others were sitting on seats next to the Monolith, taking selfies while their faces shone bright. If you didn’t know any better, you could imagine the Monolith being on the verge of exploding, so bright was its hue. Though Notre Dame was visible in the distance, it had nothing on this cuboid-shaped creation, and as the sky continued to darken, it stood out all the more.
Given how bright and flashy it was, I couldn’t help but wonder if it posed a menace to anyone sensitive to flashing lights. It just looked like a health emergency waiting to happen. If the Monolith in 2001 fascinated the primates, this thing could cause them to have a seizure.
In the square, a stall was selling merguez sandwiches. The smell of sausages frying on the grill was making me hungry. But unfortunately, they didn’t accept debit cards and I didn’t have any cash on me, so dinner would have to wait.
I walked down the Rue de Rivoli, passing the Hôtel de Ville along the way. People were queuing up to get inside it. I could see safety checks in the entranceway — the kind you see in airports consisting of metal detector door frames and x-ray scanners.
The street was packed like I’d never seen before, and I had to weave my way through the crowd to get anywhere.
I eventually reached the Académie du Climat, a large building seemingly dedicated to climate research, where an installation called Purple Rain was taking place. Based on what I’d read, you’d stand inside and hold an umbrella as rain fell down from the ceiling and Prince’s Purple Rain played on speakers. It sounded like the most interesting exhibition by far, which was what brought me here. But seeing the queue stretching down the entire length and half a width of the building, I realised that I wouldn’t get inside for at least two hours, so I decided not to wait around.
I turned around and headed back down the direction I had come. The Hôtel de Ville was now darker than ever. Under the night sky, the Monolith was even brighter than before.
I continued down the Rue de Rivoli, then turned right and then left again. The streets around here were packed with people — more than I’d ever seen in Paris before. I zigzagged around a million people, passing dozens of packed bars and restaurants along the way.
Eventually, I reached the Centre Pompidou, the large modern museum that famously has pipes on its exterior. There was a massive crowd standing around looking at something, but what that something was wasn’t clear. I stood a bit closer to see what everyone was looking at, but I couldn’t see anything. So I went closer to the middle of the square to see what all the fuss was about. As it turned out, people were waiting for the vertical pipes from underground to leak some foam. The foam was scheduled to commence soon.
I stood around and waited. Twenty minutes passed by, but there was still no sign of foam.
Finally, as foam started pouring out of the pipe to my right, the crowd went wild and held up their phones to capture the action. To be completely honest, though, I was actually rather disappointed. After waiting for so long, this was it?
I could hear hip hop music emanating from the bottom of Les Halles but I couldn’t see a thing. There were crowds of people standing around the stairs that led down to the square, but there were so many people, it was impossible to see above them.
I gave up and walked towards the square. People were standing around, watching things on screen. As I got closer, I could see a huge array of cartoonish figures on a fantasy background. The composition looked vaguely like the Garden of Earthly Delights by Hieronymus Bosch, but I couldn’t tell for sure if it had been a source of inspiration.
I turned and walked inside the Saint-Eustache cathedral. It was quite dim inside but a few spotlights were lighting up paintings on the walls. If you walked next to the spotlights, your shadow would be cast on the walls above. A crowd was watching a dancer dancing in a kind of slow, jerky manner to classical music. She would stare at the crowd, as if demanding something of them. Behind her, a screen was projecting CGI images of a guy wearing a VR headset. What the screen had to do with the dancer, I had no idea.
I walked around the cathedral. At the back, a guy dressed as an astronaut was sitting on a step in front of a curious crowd. His arm outstretched, he was holding a bunch of pebbles in his right hand. Every few seconds, he would gently tilt his hand, causing some pebbles to fall to the ground. His assistant would go around the crowd and give them pebbles. Someone would then go up to the astronaut and put some pebbles in his hand, which he would then drop to the ground again.
It was a pretty bizarre spectacle. I could only assume that the astronauts meant to represent humanity being alienated from the world, and the dropping of pebbles on the ground as a metaphor for overconsumption, but that’s the best interpretation I could muster.
I left the cathedral and headed for the metro. It was going to be a late dinner.
