Crisp, my aged companion, had a thing for art galleries. We came across one in the visitors centre and Crisp was eager to visit to Kempingville to see what the brochure described as ‘innovative and cutting edge’.
I looked down at the pile of rubble on the floor, puzzled as to why the mess wasn’t cleaned up before they opened the doors.
“It’s an installation,” Crisp explained, “the artist has depicted the loss of innocence and the destruction of the environment in one beautiful piece.”
“He has?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” replied Crisp the level of enthusiasm in her voice was positively enlightening. She proceeded to walk around the floor viewing the rubble from all angles. “Wonderful, just wonderful,” she exclaimed.
I tried to see the work from her perspective but no matter how hard I tried my most primitive instinct was to go find a broom.