It is typically an hourless summer evening (sadly, there’ve been so few of those of late). The sort where every possibility is bathed in the deceptive mirage of infinite time.
I’ll stroll across Kensington Gardens to one of my favourite haunts. The Serpentine Gallery.
Sometimes I’ll go in. But more often than not, I’ll sit outside in the moody evening twilight, staring into space, listening to Cohen. Last summer I whiled away many an hour in Peter Zumthor’s secret garden- a painted black box with a dark labyrinth leading to a heart of trees and flowers .
This year, a new exhibit by Yoko Ono has caught my imagination. To put it simply, it is a tree of wishes. Take a piece of paper and write on it anything your heart desires. Then hang it on the tree for the world to read. And walk away. Like most wishes, it will flutter in the wind, the downpours will drain the ink of its colour and the sun will yellow and curl the paper. Some of the wishes like “I wish I had a Mom” or “We wish that Granpa remains happy and feels no pain” left me with a lump in my throat. Others like “I wish my family had a museum of dogs” made me laugh and nod in sympathetic understanding. However, you’ll only guess mine if it’s meant for you.