Like most people, I've dabbled with meditation. And, like most people, believe it is as handy as a house-key. There's no doubt that a quiet sit can calm the tide of stuff going on. And that, with practice, it can even make us perpetually happy. But there's the rub. Practice...

Who has the time?

A shortcut to that sublime stillness that is usually only attained with years of meditation is through the door at NGV: International. Up the escalator, and to Mark Rothko's No.37 (Red). This enormous red smudge epitomises simplicity. It demonstrates no likeness to anything in this world. There are no figures in it. There is no particular reference to the craft of painting and its conventions. It just hovers there in sublime, detached simplicity.

It's impossible to not feel connected to it. And, so the whole world slows down. Stops. So that the only thing that exists is this feeling. This red, vortex of stillness.


by guest: Harriet

Deeply ensconced within the cavern of the Black in Fashion exhibit, I feel as though I have been suspended in thick tar. Darkly brooding music is draped over my shoulders like the German embroidered cape, dimly lit behind glass.

This is a stark contrast to my loud, brash, hectic life.

Working in a call centre, every minute is calculated and accounted for. There is a desperate need to keep each call between 165 and 200 seconds to maximise call volumes and help the greatest number of clients possible. At work, even bathroom breaks are timed. So I headed to the NGV with the express intention of taking things slow.

In the dark corridors of this exhibit, time stands still. The shrouds and gowns of mourning represent frozen moments in time. Within the small confines, night has descended, making one forget the daily rigours left outside in the harsh daylight.

Night brings tranquillity and a slowness that is lacking from my every day; immediately I am stilled. I move slowly from piece to exquisitely crafted piece, shuffling my feet as though sleepwalking. Today I am wearing red, but for now, my blood has stilled and in the slowness of breath, I find tranquillity.

by guest, Teague Leigh

Just getting to the NGV is Slow for me. I pass it every other week, but stopped seeing it...not sure how long ago. That's like being asked where you lost something. Seeing the NGV on Slow Guides made me realise that I had never actually been in. I'd passed Fed Square's hulking kaleidoscopic mass so many times that I stopped seeing it. As if I gradually rubbed it out with each pass. I met any mention of the Gallery with a yeah-yeah-tell-me-something-I-don't-know degree of attentiveness. I had never stopped to think that I hadn't been to our state art gallery, let alone stopped to go in.

So I visited. It's huge. The works (and the Gallery's cards beneath) served as windows into a whole other dimension. You'll be pleased to know I didn't try to see it all. That would be rushing it. I'll try to get back there. Heaven's knows I pass it every other week...


By guest: Ned