French Masters

Just returned from the French Masters art exhibition in Canberra where it seems the entire population of Adelaide had converged on town. The parking was of Sydney proportions Рaka  impossible Рand the queue for the Masters spilled way out the front door, like a piece of multi-coloured human spaghetti.

But it was all good natured, even though the temperature was verging on catastrophic. No jostling, just a good natured acceptance that we should have bought the premium tickets and got special entry at 9am. Once inside, people gathered like a media scrum around the big guns – Van Gogh and Monet. But again, even though easy to get an elbow wedged in your armpit or a handbag wedged up your nostril, it still felt cruisy.

In a way it’s good to see so many people interested in the arts, even if like me, they wouldn’t know an etching from a sketching or a mosaic from a fake. I’ve read somewhere that more Australians go to museums or art galleries per head of population than anywhere. Even if that is a giant exaggeration, it seems art is not just for old fogies or poseurs – it’s for everyone.