Artsy adventuresStanding in the park, the boxes shout stories at us. On the street corner, similar noises prevail. At first we wonder what is happening, then the statement fills in the blanks. Context, as we know, is everything.
The junk looks like the piles I'd left on the red rug in that dark room in my parent's basement. Everything is covered in memories. Each moment is captured in wood, in plastic, in glass. People are recorded on digital film. They play on loop, trapped in the boxes.
Smoke rises from the second street corner sculpture. Colours fill the interior first, then smoke. The images sound like they're about to commit suicide. Onlookers scratch their heads. The streetcar clears out part of the crowd.
Later we wander inside the gallery, through the gift shop and onto the work that is new to him and an old friend to me. To cap the night we take a tour, that is not really a tour. Conceptual art is like that, or so we're told.
Click here for the full story, on Newsfix this morning.
The junk looks like the piles I'd left on the red rug in that dark room in my parent's basement. Everything is covered in memories. Each moment is captured in wood, in plastic, in glass. People are recorded on digital film. They play on loop, trapped in the boxes.
Smoke rises from the second street corner sculpture. Colours fill the interior first, then smoke. The images sound like they're about to commit suicide. Onlookers scratch their heads. The streetcar clears out part of the crowd.
Later we wander inside the gallery, through the gift shop and onto the work that is new to him and an old friend to me. To cap the night we take a tour, that is not really a tour. Conceptual art is like that, or so we're told.
Click here for the full story, on Newsfix this morning.
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