You're Never Alone...

I surrendered. Instead of trying to avoid other visitors - sidestepping around the walls from painting to painting at different speeds as someone caught up or hanging back til the person at the next painting moved off - I viewed the other onlookers as part of the works. It brought a whole new context to the experience, which was less earnest than the usual visit.

In the darkened Antiquities room, a cleaner uncovered some bygone treasure, brushing away fingerprints with the deftness of an archaeologist. I stepped over bodies in the Great Hall; these prostrate figures worshipping Leonard French's glass ceiling had an Alice in Wonderland effect, like the room had been turned 90-degrees. Out in the Grollo Equiset Garden, I noticed a woman breastfeeding her son. I don't think she realised she was next to a sculpture of a woman breastfeeding. Nearby, a gallery attendant looked as though he had defiantly turned his back on his girlfriend - a giant seated bronze statue.

Back inside, Yayoi Kusama's Tender are the stairs to heaven installation - a neon ladder with mirrors at either end so that it appears to be neverending - gains gravitas with a small circle of onlookers quizzically peering up then down, as though wondering in which direction they'll eventually head. Even the people rendered hundreds of years ago, in the 17th and 18th Century section, seem self-consciously aware of their onlookers' gaze: holding that polite pose until the lights in the gallery go out and they can once more peel off that wig and those knickerbockers.

Instead of suspending disbelief, much like what's required from audiences of traditional theatre, viewing the whole shebang - other people and all - brought a lighthearted context to the works at NGV:I, more like contemporary theatre I guess. I loved the experience. But refrained from applauding.