For 17 days as the sun switches off, the metropolis switches on like clockwork. Energy surges through the copper veins of the city, turning on everything and everyone in its path. Sydney, in an instant, is transformed into a playground-for-all where children and adults share the same excitement and wonder.
Words EILEEN B. RIVERA | Photography CHIPPY RIVERA
In the beginning, there was darkness.
Depending on your belief system, what happens next could have gone one of two ways. Either a) God created light and saw that it was good, called the light “Day,” the darkness “Night,” and separated the two, or b) an infinitely dense singularity exploded and formed the solar system, with one fiery ball of mostly hydrogen and helium at its center.
Eventually, man arrived. Eventually, a wise man realized that he could create his own light. The spark stolen by Prometheus from Olympus evolved into torches, candles, and gasoline-powered lamps.
And then, electricity jolted the world.
WHEN LIGHT IS NOT A COMMODITY
When Thomas Edison introduced the first commercially viable light bulb in 1878, he flooded the world with so much light that darkness became “unnatural,” something that needed to be remedied. His work, along with his contemporaries, made artificial light such an integral and necessary part of our routines that it’s unimaginable to live without it.
Electric light, or any artificial light in general, is one that helps bring focus; it’s never usually the subject. In 1964, Marshall Mcluhan, Canadian philosopher of communication theory and predictor of the World Wide Web 30 years before its invention, published a book that challenged this idea. Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man would become a pioneering study and cornerstone of media theory.
McLuhan wrote: “The electric light escapes attention as a communication medium just because it has no ‘content.’ And this makes it an invaluable instance of how people fail to study media at all. […] The message of the electric light is like the message of electric power in industry, totally radical, pervasive and decentralized. For electric light and power are separate from their uses, yet they eliminate time and space factors in human association exactly as do radio, telegraph, telephone and TV, creating involvement in depth.”
He expounds by citing the light bulb as without content, as opposed to a newspaper, and yet its social effects can clearly be seen. As it lights up a room, providing illumination where otherwise there would be darkness, “a light bulb creates an environment by its mere presence.”
Man-made light has traveled a long way from its utilitarian beginnings. The marriage of electric light and computer technology—compounded by man’s endless wonder and experimentation—has given rise to a creative renaissance.
Australia has Vivid Sydney, an annual event of light, music and ideas, that turns the popular city into an outdoor gallery of amazing lighting sculptures.
One of its many highlights (pun intended) is the spectacular illumination of the world-famous Sydney Opera House. This is a festival where light is the cynosure.
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For 17 days as the sun switches off, the metropolis switches on like clockwork. Energy surges through the copper veins of the city, turning on everything and everyone in its path. Sydney, in an instant, is transformed into a playground-for-all where children and adults share the same excitement and wonder. The skyline bursts into rainbows of high-powered lights and building walls turn into outdoor cinemas that transport you to different worlds. Unlike most galleries where there are strict rules of engagement with the art, here true appreciation comes only with complete sensorial interaction.
Affinity by amigo & amigo (Simone Chua & Renzo B. Larriviere) + S1T2 (Chris Panzetta & Naimul Khaled) is a large-scale lighting installation that attempts to depict the “complexity and connectivity of the human brain.” It encourages us to “explore the mysteries of our brains, where our most precious memories live.” Reminiscent of molecular models, these interconnected fluorescent orbs represent neurons. Once touched, they turn into different colors, emitting sound and shooting out bright hues that represent the rapid transmission of messages between brain cells.
Enchanted Sydney by the Spinifex Group is a projection of free-flowing images of the city’s fauna and flora onto the façade of the historic Customs House. Contoured specifically to the architecture of the 19th-century building, the artwork depicts Sydney’s natural environment through graphics “that integrate natural imagery with textures and colors that reflect the city in all its moods and seasons.”
Then there’s Lighting the Sails, an attraction that needs no further introduction. This year, the challenge and honor of creating the projected artwork for the UNESCO World Heritage-listed sails of the Sydney Opera House was given to multidisciplinary design collective Universal Everything, a company that has previously worked with the band Radiohead, Warp Records and the London 2012 Olympics. Their output was nothing short of spectacular, filled with fun colors and playful images.
With more than 80 light installations, projections, and illuminations scattered around the city, one cannot help but revel in man’s greatness. Gone are the nights of unproductivity, gone are evenings of black.
HUNTING AURORA
In a constantly illuminated world, absence of all artificial light is rarely achieved. In fact, our intense affinity for it has turned it into a pollutant. We have brightened the night sky so much with our man-made wonders that we are disrupting ecosystems, creating health problems, and interfering with astronomical observations. When the universe decides to show off and create her own spectacular light show, it’s harder to see because we are so preoccupied and blinded by our own.
Aurora, in Roman mythology, is sister to Sol (sun) and Luna (moon). She is also the goddess of dawn, rising into the sky at the start of each day, her rays of light dispersing the blanket of darkness. Beautiful and sensual, she is said to have ravished some of her lovers to far and distant lands. It is no surprise, then, that one of the most magnificent and unpredictable phenomena in our night sky is named after her.
In astronomy, Aurora is a natural light show in the sky created by the interaction of the sun’s particles with our atmosphere, usually seen closer to the poles. Beginning in 2014 and continuing for the next two to three years, this heavenly display is forecast to be at its strongest as the Earth hits the peak of its 11-year solar cycle. What this means is that the phenomenon can possibly be seen farther away from the poles, reaching lower parts of North America and higher parts of South America and Australia. After this window, the next time this is predicted to happen again at this intensity is in 15 years.
Thus began the quest of hunting down Aurora.
At the tail end of June, news broke that Aurora Australis, the Southern Lights, would be visible in mainland Australia for a few days. This was a definite treat since the only lottery winners are usually from Tasmania, the real “down under” and base of Antarctic research operations. Social media filled up with sightings. Photos of tie-dyed sunsets were uploaded from Sydney to Western Australia. It seemed everyone else had basked in her glory except for me.
More determined than ever, our search began in the Alpine region of Northeast Victoria, where it is currently winter and nights dip below zero. A lookout a kilometer or so above sea level was chosen as the point of contact. Except for the stars dotting the night sky, it was completely dark, completely silent. Insulated by layers of wool, we readied ourselves for the spectacular show. The camera was set on long exposure and mounted on a tripod. It clicked away as we stared at the sky. The Star of Bethlehem (the celestial convergence of Jupiter and Venus), Saturn and Leo made an appearance, but not her. We ended up spending an evening taking photos of star trails. Aurora was a no-show.
It took another couple of days before we made our next attempt. When the clouds finally cleared up, we chose a higher location. This time some trekking was involved. We arrived at our spot and prepared. It was even colder than the first night. But just like the first, the sky gave us nothing.
“Third time’s the charm,” they say. We hit the beach south of Melbourne as contacts had been posting images of pink and green night skies. The anticipation for Aurora was reaching its peak. The desire was so intense it bordered on obsession. Once again, we spent all evening gazing at the heavens, pointing at shooting stars, drinking more coffee than was healthy. And once again, Aurora, the big tease of the night, refused to perform on stage.
It’s a wonder how some enthusiasts can last 15 years searching for her, crossing seas and climbing mountains, for a glorious peep of a sensual light show like no other. I am bursting with impatience and it’s only been a fortnight. How heavenly must it feel to see nature break its laws of darkness, providing a magical display of colors. It’s amazing how light can make us feel so big and great, and also so small and powerless. We like to think that we control the night, but Aurora reminds us otherwise.
