I can last about two hours in a gallery without needing to leave and look at the sky. And a visit to the Pompidou Centre proved no exception. I was taken by Yayoi Kasuma’s retrospective, a Japanese artist I have greatly admired since seeing her work at Sydney’s MCA a few years ago. She seeks obliteration – of herself and the environment around her – by covering it in exquisite dots.
But it was a piece of work from Jan Mancuska that grabbed me by the throat. The same conversation, told three ways, colliding in the middle. I don’t know why I loved it so much, but that’s the great thing about art. It doesn’t need a reason.