I gave myself the afternoon off and strolled around (the free bit of) Tate Modern today.
I ended up sitting by this exhibit. I don't know who it's by, I don't know what it's called, I don't know what it's meant to mean, but I know that it affected me greatly.
I really wanted to push the whole pile over onto the floor. I fantasised about it for about ten minutes. Pushing it from different sides, pushing one tower to hit the other, what might happen, whether anyone might get hurt, whether it would fall apart or was the mortar super strong, how quickly I'd need to make a getaway given that there was only one security person in the whole room. And what would happen to me if I was caught? What would they charge me with? Criminal damage? Art terrorism? Extreme naughtiness in a public place?
And I posted this picture to Instagram with the caption "I so want to push these over (the bricks, not the people)"
And then my paranoia kicked in. Because a new security guy came in and one of the black-shirted "helpers" and they seemed to be watching me. So I got up and went and stood nearer the towers. And the black-shirt seemed to get even jumpier - do they monitor social media for this kind of thing, people "joking" about damaging art works, and then get ready to apprehend them before they do anything. Was he about to jump me?
So I stood there for a while just looking at the bricks and the feeling of wanting to push them over intensified. It's like that thing where you're standing on an edge, really high up and you have the urge (although it would be crazy) to jump. So I just accepted it and let it be and enjoyed the feeling and it subsided (all the while keeping an eye out for the helper who now I was convinced really wanted to rugby-tackle me to the floor) and I walked out into the sunshine, very relieved to have curbed my temptation.
