Last night I participated in an event called the Wandering Cricket Night Market. DigBOSTON put together an article explaining what it’s all about.
“Here’s the basic Night Market idea: a time and place is selected by The Manager, who then alerts volunteer proprietors who plan to rent and trick out a mover’s truck for one night of revelry and self-expression. The details of the date and location are kept very hush-hush, as a Market is meant to be “a confidential event in a public location.” -DigBOSTON
I attended the event, among other reasons, because I thought it may relate to the direction I’m moving toward in thesis. The event is essentially a temporary intervention inserted into the existing urban fabric that promotes social interaction amongst (trusted) strangers. I’m not sure if this could be considered architecture, but I’m finding that how I define architecture is changing.
My account of events that night
I won’t specifically say where the event was held, but it was in an area of the city that I would be uncomfortable walking around by myself at night. I went with three friends and their guests. Although our large group quickly broke up, for most of the event I was with people I knew. I should go again and explore more on my own to get a more genuine sense of that interaction amongst strangers.
The trucks were located on a side street off of a major road in this part of the city. It was raining steadily that night so when we arrived shortly after the scheduled start time, some trucks were still setting up and troubleshooting problems. Our group first elected to go inside the comedy club truck. I was abit uncomfortable going into the back of a U-Haul, having a heavy curtain close behind me, and having my back face the three helpers by the exit. I think that was just because they were bigger guys dressed in all black and looked pretty serious, at first. That built up anxiety quickly subsided after the act started.
About five minutes into it the police showed up and that anxiety resurfaced. I didn’t know the specific legalities behind putting on an event like this, so I was concerned. When one officer came up to the next truck I was in and asked what we were doing, our response seemed to be a turning point in our relationship with the police for the night.
“We’re playing twister!”
We were. Each of the surfaces inside the U-Haul (floor, walls, and ceiling) were covered in colored circles, and the three girls managing that truck had red dots taped onto the front and back of their t-shirts. I asked if their shirts counted as part of the game. They said sure, but if we elected to use them and they decided to move, we were going to have a harder time staying up. This version of Twister was in pairs, so you and a partner stood side by side and had your inner hand and foot tied together. We were encouraged to do the twist while we played. It’s easier to do when at least one of your feet are touching the ground (instead of on a wall, or ceiling). I only knew two people in the truck but I felt very comfortable and at home the entire time I was there.
Unfortunately, several of the trucks weren’t able to get their generators running, so all the trucks with the fantastical light shows were a no-go. I did find a truck where the inside was covered in a white faux-fur and had a person in a bunny costume lounging on the floor. One group that had a backup power source organized a truck in which you had lights that alternated among several colors and brightnesses. They were projected onto a wall which you could paint on. The mural looked about 10’x7′ by the time I saw it. Another truck had a matrix of rope that you were encouraged to climb.
I think the event was a success. The organizers took a street that would have otherwise been deserted and transformed it to accommodate social activity using relatively simple means (vehicles). It was innocent, playful, and made us consciously rethink what you can do with a pubic space.