orange art

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I love art exhibition openings. Not only is there wine on tap and nibbles of bree and baguette, but there is also very interestingly dressed members of society wandering around the gallery with thoughtful expressions on their faces as they ponder the meaning of life while looking at a canvas and sipping slowly on their glass of pinot-noir.

It was my friend Bess Kenway’s exhibition at the Janet Clayton gallery and I was looking forward to an evening of feeling cool and cultured (or at least trying to appear cool and cultured.) I arrived slightly late, enthusiastically thanked the barman as he handed me a glass of red and joined the circle of people who were looking on in puzzlement.

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An opera singer was literally singing for her supper, while orange slithers of confetti were gently showered on her from above, against the back-drop of a wall that had the peelings of 120kilos of very orange oranges. I was speechless.

I had no idea what was going on.

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Thank goodness Bess likes questions and she happily explained her fascination with the ephemeral: art (and life) constantly changing. Her vision of art was not only concerned with the ‘deep and meaningful’, her art was also about the viewer actively getting involved: with their sight, smell and touch.

I wanted to eat the wall.

Not the one with orange peels, but the one next to it that had over 300 pink sugar biscuits stuck onto it.

Does everything always have to mean something? Does everyone always have to change someone?

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I have no answers but simply a new appreciation for

Orange. Opera. Art.

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