A Strong Urge to Misbehave

Art galleries make me feel naughty. I'm not entirely sure where it's stemmed from, possibly the hawk-like supervision I was subjected to on various Visual Arts excursions during my schooling days, and now it's some sort of revolt against the powers that be. The silent rooms are just begging for trouble, and the security-folk need a bit of excitement in their working day I am sure.

Attending galleries now, on my own free will, I feel even more compelled to touch the pretty things. I just want to know what that painting worth thousands of dollars feels like. And installation artists shouldn't create cloud-like balloons unless they want them to be jumped on. Kusama, I'm looking at you.

A recent trip to see some contemporary art was a delightful one. After my last visit I swiped a small piece of a large installation, to keep for my personal collection. It wasn't anything detrimental, and I'm quite sure no-one noticed. And I still have it. While it's not as though I am drawing moustaches onto the Mona Lisa, I probably shouldn't convince others to join me in my artscapades... my new favourite was quite willing to steal glow-in the dark dots from the black-room, and our mobile phones have now enjoyed a bit of a spotty-spruce up. It's all part of the viewer experience, right?

Art should be felt and touched and enjoyed.

And stolen.

It's the only way to do it.

Keep on dancing.