Conceptual Art.

Had some spare time today in London, so decided on an impulse to go visit Tate Modern - and since I'd already visited the free sections decided to fork out for the two paid ones.

I must say I was suitably impressed by both of them, particularly the one by Cildo Meireles; in fact, I'd say my impression of conceptual art, and modern art in general, has really changed. In the sense that not all conceptual art is rubbish, recycled or otherwise.

Seriously, there were quite a few pieces of his, which as he describes, were 'instantly seductive' - in other words, they required no pompous self-gratifying smugness in your knowledge of art, but offered total immersion in the pieces, utilising not just the five senses, but also the physiological advantages that fear brings out in us.

Oh and the final installation in the exhibition was, in my opinion, the best - you had to enter a dark room on bare feet (boots available for the squeamish), which was totally dark save for a faint glow from an adjoining room, and treading slowly on some powder-like substance of unknown origin, you were forced to wander towards the source of light - revealed to be a solitary candle burning near at the end of the room.

Now it was only when I came back and researched more about it (it's called 'Volatile') that I found out the powder-like substance wasn't talcuum (or SAF foot) powder, but ash, and there was a smell of gas pumped constantly in the room, which due to my blocked nose I had completely missed.

But at that moment, after trudging pecariously from the dark room, and upon seeing the burning candle, I swear I had a spiritual experience - I realised at once why wasps gravitate towards light, why the British stress so much over the 'handling' of their cars when better 'feel'+crap roads=more discomfort. and why religion seems so enticing when you're lost, fearful and have no straws to clutch for comfort.

Making sense of it all.

I can't, really. And I know that's grammatically incorrect, but to hecklers' hell grammar school with that when chocolate, coffee and coca-cola can't solve the world's biggest problems today, and the substitute for love's labour proves ultimately as worthless as that lonesome STOP sign at the deserted junction ahead?

When, for whom and for what reason shall we all stop? This madness, this mindless scurrying round circles with no end?

Maybe I should move to Switzerland, eh.

Hospital.

Ever wondered why the words 'hospital' and 'hospitality' seem so similar in spelling and structure?

Obviously it's quite impossible to be hospitable to every single patient who demands the best service for the lowest price possible (in my case, for free) but it's interesting to see it this way, don't you think? Being hosts to visitors who've come to visit in times of need.

Cup of tea, anyone?