Having believed the weather liars, we packed the family up for a day of fun and carnival atmosphere on the South Bank. Our balmy day of bliss was blighted by a light mist and overcast skies – so we headed for Tate Modern and its vast indoor spaces.
Our toddler hasn’t been to Tate Modern since he could toddle and we were hoping for a good turbine hall display. But it was empty, bar the other families with very young children, I suppose it’s between displays or perhaps it was an artistic commentary on the emptiness and futilityof modern life. Simon and I discussed where the empty hall placed in our mental ranking of exhibitions. Definitely below The Weather Project, a bit below the giant spidery things that were the first installations in the hall, but well above that weird audio installation and the crack in the floor. (I ranked it below the q-bert boxes, but Simon disagreed).
Our boy decided to get into the artistic spirit and created his own performance piece on the mezzanine. Hope there’s a lottery grant forthcoming.
As per usual, the boy wreaked havoc in public spaces, literally crawling through one exhibit of enamel metal boxes. Museum staff said nothing, although I was warned fiercely against photographing any of the art.
At one point, he screamed Dada and then sat down in a shiny red pod to watch a film on just that movement, hurling red cushions in a suitably anti-conformist fashion. Clever boy.