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Hibernating is not the same as sleeping. Many hibernating animals raise their heart rate and body temperature in order to sleep, to rest.


The Hibernation Project is a domestic art intervention occurring weekly from Winter to Spring. A tool for embracing – and combating – Winter in Canada, each weekend an open community of artists, musicians, and participants respond to a theme, installing work in and around a house for the duration of one night. Intended as a gratifying, productive, and immediate experience, artworks are free from the pressure of bureaucracy and perfection. The Hibernation Project is a gestation period for concepts, for workshopping ideas, for snowy day projects, for the dreams of we who wake to sleep.


Learn more about the history of The Hibernation Project here.

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Balanced at the precipice between all our yesterdays and all our tomorrows

All our autumns and all our springs

We hibernate.

Not sleeping, we dream the dreams of in-betweens

of the stamen when the petals fold

of the trees while their friend the beaver sleeps

of the river frozen solid

waiting for thaw trickle to become roar.

 

These dreams are the sharpest

most violent, technicolour

evading our memory in deep slumber

but just below the skin

in hibernation.

They are angled, like geodes

They are set against the darkness

shadows in the cave

shadows of still more caves and shadows and caves and shadows

stretching outward, and in: all directions.

 

Do we wake from hibernation?

To sleep, to dream softer dreams?

Or do we bolt, upright and shivering,

starved for meat and togetherness

stumbling out into the light

and blinded once again

forgetting the sun

forgetting time by woke minute, hour, day

forgetting the pale expanse beyond our isolated, insulated

         interior world

 

wrapped in coats and blankets

searching the empty plains of nowhere

for each other

or anything

really

that isn’t ourselves?

 

We hibernate, forgetting

We hibernate, remembering something raw, celestial, and new

We close our eyes and slow our hearts and drop into nothing that is something

not dreaming, we see the future,

catch

and release it from our grasp

in exchange for return

                                                at the end of winter

                                                                        to a promise of waking.

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