I thought I was doing ok this morning, right up until I realised I wasn't. So I went out into the soul sucking humidity and went to see the purple balloons and ended up crying at the wall of mirrors, the shattered sparkling light splintering over the floor, my hands and my face. It was beautiful. I'm sorry the pictures are all so wonky, I even tried manually editing the html, but blogger said no. So wonky they stay unfortunately. It feels especially wrong for a post about art to be wonky though.
These photos are all from the current free exhibition at GoMA of Art in the first decade of the 21st century. I forgot to take my camera so they are all dodgy phone photos unfortunately. As I was about to walk out I remembered the childrens exhibit and folded a paper crane out of the pretend money. One more in my senbazuru. It made a lump come to my throat as I tied it to the cardboard tree. Then I stood there with a pencil in my hand and drew because I had to.
When I walked out it had turned dark and the sky was bruised, as if it had fought some valiant battle while I had been inside with the beauty and now wore the scars. As I tripped across the roads it got darker and darker, and the first ominous splashes of rain came. And then the deluge. And then the biggest lightning storm I've seen in years. One bolt hitting right near me and shuddering the Earth with a crash so loud that even my breath trembled.