On Thursday evening I went to see the Ars 11 exibithion at the Kiasma museum of modern art in Helsinki.On a whole, it was absolutely beautiful (and a most welcome contrast to my oh so suit-clad and buried in documents everyday life).
Somewhere between the stunning photographs by J.D. Okhai Ojeikere and Patrizia Guerresi Maïmouna and and an installation by Nandipha Mntambo (top picture), which in all its weirdishness might have been my favourite piece, two things struck me.
First, the disdainful suspicion with wich I have regarded Kiasma ever since utterly failing to understand the inner meaning of a bowl of slowly souring milk during a high school excursion there way back in the late nineties may actually have been entirely misguided. Oops. Ok, so Kiasma is still no Fondation Maeght or Guggenheim, but from now on I'll be good and a bit less prejudiced when it comes to the Finnish art scene. Especially when such lack of prejudice comes with a glass of wine and adorable baby eagle owls on a rooftop across the road (only in Helsinki, I know), that is.
Second, I was absolutely out of place in my tailored shift dress and pearls, the natural habitat of which clearly ends where the party begins. Judging from the amount of colours and bold patterns surrounding me, art folks have a lot more fun getting dressed in the morning than us pinstriped business types.
And now I just cannot get out of my mind the thought that I too want to wear stripes and red lipstick to work.
Somewhere between the stunning photographs by J.D. Okhai Ojeikere and Patrizia Guerresi Maïmouna and and an installation by Nandipha Mntambo (top picture), which in all its weirdishness might have been my favourite piece, two things struck me.
First, the disdainful suspicion with wich I have regarded Kiasma ever since utterly failing to understand the inner meaning of a bowl of slowly souring milk during a high school excursion there way back in the late nineties may actually have been entirely misguided. Oops. Ok, so Kiasma is still no Fondation Maeght or Guggenheim, but from now on I'll be good and a bit less prejudiced when it comes to the Finnish art scene. Especially when such lack of prejudice comes with a glass of wine and adorable baby eagle owls on a rooftop across the road (only in Helsinki, I know), that is.
Second, I was absolutely out of place in my tailored shift dress and pearls, the natural habitat of which clearly ends where the party begins. Judging from the amount of colours and bold patterns surrounding me, art folks have a lot more fun getting dressed in the morning than us pinstriped business types.
And now I just cannot get out of my mind the thought that I too want to wear stripes and red lipstick to work.
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