Mitch Cairns has a series of huge shows as an immensely successful artist. I attend an artists' talk at his National Gallery of Australia survey show in Canberra. He is clumsy and inarticulate and utterly charms everyone, including me. His works keep breaking and falling off the wall but somehow this seems to be part of what they're supposed to be like. He stresses out and takes off - I try to follow/find him through all that labyrinthine concrete architecture. No-one else is around. I realise the gallery is a space station, which strangely relaxes me because at least the art scene has disappeared.
Sorry Mitch, I don't know that this has anything to do with you. I can only claim the license of unconsciousness.
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I dreamt the other night that you were a student/artist in residence at a university on the far flung outer reaches of Melbourne. I went out to visit you and brought you some shampoo, because you had run out. You had a cloistered, monastic room/studio with a view of a river and seemed very peaceful and content there.
There was complex, shadowy intrigue going on in other parts of the dream and you seemed to be at the centre of it all, but above and apart from it at the same time; it was beneath you.
Hmmm ... I like it. I'm going to channel that energy into my daily existence. *concentrates on channeling*
Rivers are the best.
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