What makes the city you live in work?
What is its persona?
How does it differ from other cities?

These are the things that I wonder as I walk down the street. These walks fuel my creativity as I watch and look and learn and listen.

***

Even though it may be awkward at times, I am constantly seduced by the dance of the urban. I am amazed at how I jerk and jolt at the touch of certain things and enjoy that of others. Walking down Oxford Street, I find myself weaving in and out of the human traffic- twisting my torso, bending my arms, stooping beneath umbrellas, it all takes an a certain grace that is unparalleled.

As Jane Jacobs wrote in Marshall Berman’s, All That is Solid Melts Into Air, �The stretch of Hudson Street where I live is each day the scene of an intricate sidewalk ballet.� There is a sort of dance that goes on during certain times of the day like rush hour on busy city streets, everyone trying to get to individual destinations without touching anyone else. Like some sort of waltz that involves extra steps, careful judgment in regards to timing and the precipitation of the actions of others around you.

Of course, there are always the individuals who want to gain contact, and suddenly you find an errant hand on your ass and no �excuse me.� Elbows are always the best weapon in this situation, but I have heard a nice Thatcherite handbag works a treat as well. As we all navigate and manoeuvre away from each other en masse it takes on a certain sense of beauty. Briefcases and cups of coffee being piloted to nearly miss umbrellas and carrier bags full of shopping. Urban life takes on a quick minute of joviality that is breathtaking.

But do we remain mainly unaware of this urban dance? Or are we just in denial with our hands in our pockets and eyes on the ground? Why? Because as Gargi Bhattacharyya writes in City A-Z, “In the city, who knows whom you might meet?�Every new face which turns to us unexpectedly might signal a new start, a life-changing revelation, the one we have been waiting for, the beginning of the rest of our lives.”

Or perhaps that along with forgetting about our sense of touch, we have forgotten about the possibilities around us as well. We lock ourselves in our houses, secluding ourselves from our environment. Once tucked away in my bubble, I can turn the radio up, pull the blinds down and dance- unconsciously mimicking what is going on in the street outside. I am hidden away from the gaze of others, I can shimmy and shake around the flat, sing off-key and with the wrong words.

There is no one to watch me, I am alone. But it is such seclusion that keeps us sheltered from the urban, although home is a nice place to relax, all too often I forget about the performativity of the street and watch television. Even when I venture off of the sofa, society is working against human-to-human contact with ever-widening grocery aisles, self-checkouts, automated everything. Sometimes I actually flinch when a cashier�s hand touches mine as I purchase something, not because it is necessarily unwelcome, it is just becoming rarer and rarer.

We are becoming more alienated through less access to touch. Building on the work of Desmond Morris, Anthony Synott argues that in light of this we seek touch through various methods such as �professional touchers� (masseurs, hairstylists), household pets and fur coats. Touch is becoming less and less of an importance in our lives as we get busier and busier, so we find ways of soothing ourselves.

At night, if we venture out of the house, we rely on streetlights to guide us to our (or others) front stoops, but sometimes they are not as well placed as we would like. So we step out carefully in order not to misjudge a kerb or a pothole, gingerly navigating a city that suddenly becomes troublesome and no longer something for us to master. In darkness, the city masters us, its supposed architects.

We built this city, not on rock and roll, but on dreams and visions. The darkness levels everyone, making everything more mysterious, sometimes more terrifying. It is this darkness where the importance of the visual becomes apparent. As it has been taken away, we begin to realize just how much we depend on it. �All will become clear in the morning,� is something that people often say when a ready answer is not apparent. Is that because the darkness impairs our judgment? Our sense of invincibility? That its cloak envelops us into either a frenzy of fear or a false sense of security? Or is it that our reliance on our other senses is not steady enough?

By taking away the visual, we are forced to see our environment in new ways and development new strengths, at least until dawn.

***

I wrote the above last year, but I always think about it when I’m out in town amidst briefcases and suits and the hurryhurryhurry that has become so characteristic of modernity. How the city’s persona creates how we live our lives. In the neighborhood where I am now, people are afraid to walk on the street at night. Not because there is any real danger, just perceived danger. I like to imagine that one day people will drop that shield from their eyes and open their doors when night falls daring to be enveloped by the coolness of the night and by the light of the moon.