Ten weeks
after my foot surgery, it was my birthday, and Nigel and I made a trip to meet Perran and Carenza at the Turner Prize Exhibition at the Tate Britain.
Life on
crutches has been limiting, but on the journey, I felt like Dorothy in The
Wizard of Oz, when the world changes to Technicolor.
In the
tunnels of the London underground, I spotted a young woman carrying in front of
her a homemade birthday cake topped with glistening white icing and silver balls. She obviously lacked suitable tupperware as
the cake was uncovered. Her face was shining, and I wanted very much to see the
end of her journey when her friend received the cake, hopefully unharmed.
But the
press of people carried her on.
Then on the
platform were two young men. One was
showing the other a gift that he had wrapped for their friend. Inside the parcel was a large piece of art. I couldn’t see the picture, of course. However, I could admire the way he had carefully
cut and folded several different sheets of colourful paper to make an ingenious
pattern.
When we met Perran and Carenza, I told them about these Birthday-themed sightings.
And after
the Turner prize exhibition, there was one more. I thought I had left it too late and missed
Anthea Hamilton’s mischievous Squash, creating havoc in the main hallway.
But there it was, a performer dressed as a
gourd, loitering and lounging among the older Tate exhibits.
Carenza
said that when she saw the Squash before, it had been much more lively. We wondered whether it was perhaps a hung-over
Squash today.
Maybe it
had had a birthday too.
