Crying in commercial art galleries isn't new for me. But I'm not sure eyes watering at the price tags actually counts. Tonight was something else. Tonight was in a space upstairs, above the art, in a performance area. Here in this tiny space was a one-woman show about a woman dealing with her mum's dementia. It was beautiful and took me straight back 15 years to my dad and his battle. It was told with such beauty. It was in itself a work of art. And because I needed time to personally debrief I walked past the old shops in The Gabba peering in for a glimpse at what was inside.
This is where I was going to take a photo a day in 2012 but forgot to stop. I also write something random to give you an insight into the craziness that is Susan's mind.
Thursday, August 1, 2019
August 1. Day 212. Art imitates life
Crying in commercial art galleries isn't new for me. But I'm not sure eyes watering at the price tags actually counts. Tonight was something else. Tonight was in a space upstairs, above the art, in a performance area. Here in this tiny space was a one-woman show about a woman dealing with her mum's dementia. It was beautiful and took me straight back 15 years to my dad and his battle. It was told with such beauty. It was in itself a work of art. And because I needed time to personally debrief I walked past the old shops in The Gabba peering in for a glimpse at what was inside.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment