[caption id="attachment_3900" align="alignnone" width="600" caption="Sarah Street block party, summer 2009"][/caption] HALIFAX - I know a few things about the city of Portland; I’ve heard about the bridges that cross the river, distinct little neighborhoods that make up the greater urban network, and that in addition to a notably liberal-minded community, the place is known for its play-fullness. Rumor has it that steep city streets are closed down on days of record snowfall — not for safety and convenience, but because they are prime slopes for sledding. It is policies like these that are the growing trend in the contemporary approach to city living, fueled by an understanding that playful places promote creative thought, and in turn, creative urban development. The idea of play, however, is not as simple as it sounds. It requires a discussion of the types of activities that engage individuals, and demands that we honestly consider what playful acts look like, what enables them, and how they manifest themselves. It is with this attitude that the Dalhousie School of Planning held its annual conference, titled Play! On March 18th and 19th, students, professors and interested community members speckled auditoriums for a series of lectures, discussions and performances on the topic.

HALIFAX - Last Saturday’s crisp October night saw people take to the streets to explore the city for its annual Nocturne event.  With open doors, and outdoor installations, the event turned the city inside out.   Introducing new artists and their interdisciplinary work, the event also presented opportunities to experience urban architecture as new artistic landscapes. Among the many impactful pieces, wide-eyed wanderers took bold steps participating in Jesse Walker's Parkade Project. The project set in the multi-level parking garage at Blowers and Granville Street, sought to lower the heart rate, and reclaim humanity in a building designed for cars. The project began with a precession where participants filed into the stairwell led in rhythmic two-by-two steps by a pea-coat clad Howard Beye. Each pair of steps was interspliced with erratic tapping patterns made by other facilitators on the metal railings. The echoing tapping sounds were indecipherable in origin and constantly changing - unpracticed cues to march.  As participants ascended the zigzag stairwell, they exchanged silent communicative looks. These quiet conversations, coupled with the mass march, questioned the space itself.  Discussions wondered:  how far to the top? How far down did the stairwell go? Was the tapping coming from the bottom, top, both? How many steps could one tackle with each beat? What accounted for the inconsistent flow?