Nightlife is a kind of improvised performance—collaborative and ephemeral, utilizing the same tools as theatre or dance and often the same venues. It's a reflexive genre where the actors and the audience are one in the same—if you don't show up to the party, that performance never took place. To some degree, to “go out” is to look inward, to see yourself reflected in the mirror of others and to be a mirror in turn. It isn’t the kind of chaos that marks post-modern non-objectivism but rather aims to satisfy an unknowable number of overlapping and competing objectives, engendering the wide range of human expression and emotion.
On one of those "you're-out-so-late-it’s-early" nights in NYC, I came home, exhausted from dancing, music still ringing in my ears. I tried to sleep but when I closed my eyes, I could still see the nightclub in bright flashes of kaleidoscoping images, all moving to the beat of the blood in my carotid artery, rhythmically surging past my ear. "If so little music can create such vivid images," I wondered, "is it possible for the phenomenon to occur in reverse?"