Upon Encountering Contemporary Art

 Upon Encountering Contemporary Art

 

A woman walks into a gallery. This is an ordinary, down-to-earth woman who may have simply strayed into a modern art gallery to escape the rain. She contemplates the piece ‘Iron Bar’ it has a label so she guesses that it must be part of the exhibition. It’s just a bar of metal on the floor. She concludes that a particularly witty janitor decided to create a label rather than hurt his back picking up and clearing away the heavy object. She leaves with a wry smile.

 

Another woman walks into the gallery. Sees the same exhibit. This woman likes art, has an interest in art and came to view some art. She scrutinizes the ‘Iron Bar’ believes that it must mean something but has no idea what. She shrugs and leaves the exhibit a tad disappointed.

 

A third woman walks into the gallery. This woman is familiar and au fait with the concepts of Modern Art. She stands spell-bound by the ‘Iron Bar’ knowing that it must represent man’s struggle against the tyranny of industrialism. That the rectangle form shows how people have been forced into homogeneous uniformity. The glean of the metal reflects the tears of generations of women. Even the shadow of the bar evokes the darkness mankind has suffered from. She leaves the gallery full of emotion, a changed person, and thinks that art is even better than sex.

How to Live Alone

 How to Live Alone

 

I used to live together. Now I live alone. As my dedicated bots and readers know I had a man, two children and a cat. I thought it was great. I knew nothing. The glories of living alone are myriad.

 When you live alone everything takes on no meaning. Everything is optional.

 

Cooking - if you feel like it but cereal is always good.

Cleaning - no one knows if you have become obsessively clean now no one makes a mess. Time spent polishing light switches is time well spent.

Laundry - down from two loads a day to once a fortnight and that’s only if you remember to put on clothes.

Smiling - only when you actually want to.

Being pissed off - only if a mechanical device goes wrong.

 

There is also the glory of flouting social convention. No danger of embarrassing the kids or being a bad mother. No danger of driving the man into the arms of yet another woman. Such joys include -

Never bothering to close the bathroom door.

Not bothering to get dressed.

Feeling free and unfettered by bodily functions, farting, belching, snoring at will are all now de rigour.

Making noise (see above).

Making more noise, like singing out of tune, talking to inanimate objects and illustrating one’s every move with appropriate grunts, moans and squeaks.

 

‘But,’ I hear you say, ‘aren’t you lonely? Even bots live in social groups!’

Yes, I confess I do have a new man in my life whom I spend weekends with. He’s with me all the way on the flouting. He’s free with the bodily functions, he’s an expert on making noise and he loves naked weekends. We’re very compatible. He’s three years old.