What I talk about when I talk about art

Those of you who have been following my adventures in art (all one of you) will know how much fun I’ve had at the Art Gallery of NSW. You’ll also know I’m prone to oversharing on LinkedIn. But I’m not on Facebook so I have to overshare somewhere.

Last night brought a close to two months of bonding with some very fine people over an appreciation of art and a desire to change things up in our lives.

We ended with a group chat, and an unexpectedly poignant display of photos taken during the program. It was moving as hell, assuming hell is moving.

And while this was a group program, it was absolutely individual. And the thing I learned was reinforcement of what I know – that when I’m doing things with my hands, all is right with the world. Painting, writing, physically ‘doing’ is my drug. Last weekend, I pulled out my paintbrushes and flew through two oil sketches with music pumping (me on vocals – one song away from a visit from the cops). When I break into song, that works for nobody but me. But man, it WORKS for me.

So I’m going to call myself out and declare I’m entering the Archibald Prize next year and I’m going to have a crack at the Wynne too. I’ve entered the Archibald before because it’s a rush, but this year the amp will be turned to ear-splitting. Honestly, I could not be more pumped about chasing such a futile thing. This is living. If you haven’t been to an art gallery lately, go. Go, go, go, go. And then we should talk.