I tend to find myself in an art gallery when I feel as if all the forces of life are against me. It’s like gravity is pushing a little harder on me compared to everyone else. I try my best to plough through but, the hands of life clasp a little tighter around my neck with every step and at times I find it hard to breathe, it’s difficult to try and keep my head above all the problems I’m drowning in.
When I walk into an art gallery, the hands loosen their grip and slide down to my feet. I feel grounded. This white room filled with art is my extraterrestrial place.
When I admire each piece, I don’t read the caption until last because I don’t want someone telling me what I should be seeing or thinking; I want to feel whatever I feel, think whatever think and see whatever I see.