An essay I wrote on working in the city for Bed Therapy, Georges Mora Fellow Inez de Vega’s remarkable ACCA art installation.
Why erect a warm, cosy bed in a shipping container where a total stranger can unload their fears, hopes and troubles to another total stranger?
Why create a bubble of calm and connection, a soft warm space in the middle of a cold, hard, grey, steel city?
Get a real job. A proper job. A job that helps people. Go work in a bank.
A bed where you can exhale. Where you can talk to a total stranger who asks nothing of you other than to be given the opportunity to comfort. A space to exhale, unwind, decompress, restore to factory settings.
What a waste of money.
Is it art? Is it porn?
My five year old could have done that.
What’s the point?
There is nothing colder, sadder or more lonely than a city full of people trying to act normal when you feel broken, vulnerable and raw.
Let me tell you a secret. Most of the people sitting next to you on the train, waiting at the lights, rushing to work in throngs who look as if they are keeping it together are as falling apart as you are.
A friend of mine is a psychiatrist. She says people spend the majority of their time and energy just trying to act normal. Her included.
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