Queueing to enter MONA art gallery on an idle Monday morning in Hobart, I dredged up a memory of that Kath and Kim episode where Kim gets a job as a door beetch. Not that the lovely door person bore any resemblance. I just didn’t have a timed release program into the gallery in my mind.
Turns out, MONA is hands-down a fantastic spot. Great architecture, curation, and gutsy art choices, meet to deliver a must-do for even the most un-art-curious type. Exhibit A: art-agnostic companion muttering suspiciously, “We can’t have been here for two hours, I’m not bored.”
The darkness and corridors leading asymmetrically from the central well are at the same time disorienting, and comforting, giving you the impression you are the only one in each room. The uneasiness extends to the works, particularly Wim Delvoye’s exhibition which had me in awe at the beauty, afraid for defenceless animals, and exercising my gag reflex on my morning walk the next day, when innocent pond scum and anything that looked like human waste entered vision.
Plan to get to MONA.