I'm a work of art

Yes, my friends, I believe I will resume this blog once more. Things are in need of being said and I have some spare time on my hands.

So I am, in actual fact, a work of art. An important work of art, mind.

Lazing about one Sunday morning a couple weeks back now, Laurie and I got an urgent call. That call, dear readers, was from Art. And Art said: "Celina and Laurie. There's an emergency down at the Tate Modern. I need you save me. Will you come and save the day for me, Art?"

"It's nothing naked is it?" I asked, having studied a little bit of art in first year.

"There will be semi-naked people there, but you won't be naked," Art said.

"Well Art", said we. "Art, if you're in a bind we'll see what we can do. I think you're in luck, Art. I think you just might be in luck."

A slow breakfast, four coffees and two thirds of the Sunday papers later we raced down to the Tate Modern to see what it was that Art required us to do.

We arrived at the Tate Modern to see our friends Richard and Cleuci, acting as agents of Art. Cleuci was part of a team organising a performance art weekend at the Tate featuring key works since the early days of performance art being re-performed in one performance art bonanza. When, if I recall my lectures correctly, there was a lot of naked.

Art ushered us over to a corner in the Turbine Hall. An old German artist - who looked significantly more like a carpenter than a revolutionary performance art mastermind - took us through our paces. There were 5 of us in all. A crowd started to gather around us and I thought, my how casual this is of Art. People can come right up and touch us. How democratic. How nice for the people.

And then, I became art.

By holding up a canvas in the shape of a half completed tent. And then, when my arm got too tired, I knelt down at the semi-tent and looked at it as if, I believe, to convey deep contemplation.

I was art for about 10 - 15 minutes.

I should also mention that on this day I had not realised that we would be kneeling for the duration of the performance and so, it is quite likely, that given these damn low cut jeans, it is fairly probable that on that day, Art had arse crack.

And, sadly, people had cameras.

But while it lasted only 15 minutes, if there is anything I have learned from my work as Art it is that Art is both ephemeral and eternal. Yes, it was fleeting. But how many lives did I touch? How many little children watching me as Art will go on to produce great works of Art themselves?

It is one of the small, but many, contributions I like to think I have made to the advancement of humankind as a spiritual force.

Other things that were Art that day included: