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After an idyllic Sunday afternoon in the garden with lots of babies. I was in for another treat of earthly delights at the Tate.
I was not sure if I was to pray or look. Damien Hirst’s show at the Tate appears before me like a majestic cloak of gold. I am immersed in something nearing toward euphoria. One room set after another curated by Anne Gallagher. The installations are so theatrical and sparkling and fresh. Damien is nearing 50 and has shown us that he is magnificent. I hope I live to see what he achieves in the next 50 years. In and out of Love stunned me, a room full of live butterflies, one of the most beautiful art works I have ever seen.
The security were more caring than the audience, they moved the butterflies with care to safety.
All the mid-career dealers were reminiscing on the good old days as was Ivor Braka with Matt Collishaw.
The rooms were magnificent, almost Godly, places of worship. Black Sun, a round canvas with a load of flies on it and a black sheep stood together in unison.
Doorways to the Kingdom of Heaven and the Anatomy of Angel happily sitting side by side.
The next day we all take a break on Jay Jopling's comfortable sofa. Muriel, myself, Susan, Ann and Frances
