I went to the MOCCA on one of the nicest days this week- Tuesday. It was sunny and crisp, the sky was a cloudless bright blue and the trees were vibrant orange and yellow in Trinity Bellwoods. I got to the museum wondering if any other Interactive New Media students would be there and if it would be the sort of exhibit where I would even potentially get to interact with other viewers/listeners/observers. I knew nothing about the exhibit and it was my first time at the MOCCA.
I like trying new things.
I walked in and a man at a desk politely welcomed me and let me know that there was a "school group sort of holding things up" inside. This was automatically interesting, what sort of 'interactive' exhibit was better viewed with less people around? I grabbed a long glossy piece of paper that I could see said the name David Hoffos on it. I hadn't even heard the name of the exhibit yet, and the piece of paper had a freaky image of a creepy looking room on it that I studied for as long as possible: speculations filled my mind and the words "Dream" and "House" so close together were insanely enticing.
One young lady sat next to me on a bench by the entrance. I wondered if she was a York student as well. A second later the gentleman told us it would probably be a little bit less empty by now and a second man motioned us to the entrance and through a dark curtain. He stood in front of a box and explained how the room was very dark and to look for frames on the wall. He recommended if someone was in front of us to wait a moment before looking into the frames, as we might miss something. I listened as I watched a zeppelin fly over a moving city. My senses were buzzing.
Myself and the young lady-- my bench waiting partner, had a strange five minute relationship. We were both alone and suddenly in a dark room for an exhibit I assumed we both knew nothing about. I wandered ahead to the next frame but was aware of her presence and didn't want to selfishly or eagerly hog the moment, but very quickly our relationship diminished and my relationship with every part of the room developed.
A holographic person in the corner, at a table, scared the crap out of me. It took me several minutes to distinguish it as a part of the exhibit. I had just come very close to two panes of glass and seen tiny worlds breathing life before my eyes. I think it was this mysterious person in the corner ("Absinthe Bar") that really brought me into that room:
I think now about all the things I see on a day-to-day; people passively partaking in mundane tasks, or how those same tasks are portrayed in films. Even in movies where people are doing much more ridiculous sense-provoking things, few of them have got me close to how I felt when I first noticed him. But somehow in the darkness of the room I was exposed to an environment where things as subtle could take me far away from the conditioning of day-to-day. I'm actually trying to reflect on all the things I felt at that moment, but the best I can do is remember suddenly wishing I had said something to the young lady on the bench because I was suddenly very vulnerable and aware that this exhibit was probably not what I expected.
When I walked away from the man, after accepting reality for a quick second, I noticed he had a bar soundtrack that faded into the distance. The following dioramas and they're beautifully subtle but incredibly effective life-forms also had a soundtrack.
My favorite shift went from watching a shaken hologram camper emerge from a model-sized trailer in a spooky moonlight-woods. The woods were filled with animal howls, cold wind and heavy breathing. Suddenly I was in front of an AM radio filled airport hotel room. A woman appeared in a bathrobe following ambient room-sounds.
At no point did the TVs playing the videos of the "holograms" really detract from the scenes in front of me; there was no divide. The technology camouflaged with the room seamlessly and though it was there to observe managed not to explain the over all effect of the piece. I was expecting anything, and to be completely honest got really scared at some points awaiting something beyond my imagination. There was one scene, the biggest one there that I didn't actually get to take a good look at the first time because it made me so uncomfortable. I passed over it the first time I saw the exhibit. But finally got to see it again the second time I went through.
David Hoffos used an unbelievable number of elements to create the imaginative moods and surrealistic moments portrayed in "Scenes from the House Dream". This craftsmanship created a feeling of uncomfortable but safe; where I was face first in a creepy new world every time I turned the corner. It was surprisingly exhilirating to have all my senses be so vulnerable.
I left the exhibit into the bright afternoon, I had been moved, and the part of me leaving the building gave a laugh to the person I left at the door. I called up a friend and insisted he come down to check it out. I waited an hour for him to get there, and went back in again.
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