In February I went to Paris with my Dad. Yes, it was for Valentines Day, and yes, I did not have a real Valentines, and yes, this is because I am one of those people who pretends not to like Valentines Day because they are single. Anyway, the reason I am writing about Paris isn't because I'm cultured and exciting, but because nothing else including pictures happened to me this year. So I shall begin with an extract from my diary.
'Paris was lovely- although my choice of shoe was a huge mistake, couldn't physically walk and had to sit down in the Dorsay for three hours. But the art was amazing, did lots of mincing around pretending to understand it but secretly having to read all the little plaques to find the hidden meaning/ importance/ what the hell it actually was - oh, a giant vagina.' Re-reading this again I'm not actually sure if I saw said 'giant vagina', or if this was written for comic purposes.
On first impressions, this piece of art may conjour up ideas of fairgrounds and/ or playgrounds. However, much to my disturbance it is meant to symbolise the human body. (Still looks like a tent though.) Apparently the maze-like structure and I quote 'fleshy tones' have something to do with it. I will leave the rest to your imagination.
The picture on the left was one of my favourites, which probably has something to do with the fact that I still have no idea what it is. The fan at the top kept the tape moving in a constant circle which never flew away, and was strangely hypnotic. It probably has something to do with the space time continuum.