At this point in self-isolation things start going crazy, off-piste. Somewhere between the half-way and three-quarter mark, people get wobbly. It happens to astronauts, cosmonauts and people wintering in Antartica. I blame the dreaded third-quarter for HAL9000 losing his shit. For us at home, it’s manifested itself as some very unusual interpretive dancing and an unhealthy obsession with hot sopressata. One of the last exhibitions I saw was John Akomfrah’s remarkable Future H
Art in a time of coronavirus. For me, the strangest thing about living the COVID-19 pandemic is how normal things take on a strange tilt. Thinking about heading to the supermarket, I say “Let’s wait and see how many deaths there are today before we go.” Everything normal is slightly askew, awry. Last week, the supermarket wouldn’t touch the bags we brought. No surprises there. This week, a huge sheet of plexiglass was set up in front of the check-out operator. The floor is ma
What the Australian bushfires taught me about making decisions in a time of coronavirus (COVID-19). I’m one of those people that likes to be prepared. I check the exits on a airplane. I feel under my seat to make sure there’s a life jacket there. So when the mountains burst into flames behind my house in November 2019, I planned to leave. I love my home at Riverbend, it’s insured, it’s replaceable. I didn’t want to be one of those people to die with a garden hose in my hand.