I went to see the Louise Bourgeois exhibition at the Tate Modern yesterday. There were too many people there! It was very difficult to see the art. The gallery floors were filled with strollers. There were babies everywhere - crawling on the floor, rolling out of their seats, crying on their parent's laps, screaming as they have dropped their toys onto the floor, hiding behind the free standing sculptures, bumping into my legs, cutting me off as I tried to walk, trying to touch the art with their little hands, yelling at the artworks, which were obviously not responding back to them. I was very distracted. Angry almost.
Bourgeois' body of work draws on the themes of motherhood, reproduction, domesticity, childhood and family life. I was trapped in the middle of art meets life situation. I didn't want to leave the space because it was the last day to view the exhibition. So there I was, strategically walking along the paths with the least amount of strollers in them, wandering about how my expectations of a gallery visitation ritual became betrayed by the presence of these little beings.
I guess I have always secretly thought of public art galleries as private spaces.
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