When Ken Unsworth celebrated the life of his wife Elizabeth after her death in 2007, he staged an exhibition in the Turbine Hall at Cockatoo Island consisting of installations in various rooms plus a special event on opening night.
At the launch of the exhibition, Unsworth guided a group of invitation-only, black-tied, evening-gowned guests through the various rooms culminating in a formal dinner in a specially constructed ballroom with an orchestra, candelabra, miles of burgundy velvet, and the promise of an evening not to be forgotten: the guests could only accept their invitations on the condition they would attend dancing lessons for a specified period to ensure they could join in Viennese waltzes and German operettas.
Thinking of Delacroix’s idea of “condensed emotion” brought to life by the beholder (in this case the guest), I rang someone I know who attended that night and asked him if he thought the formal dinner and dance was part of the overall work of art.
His response was swift and economical, “It was like something out of this planet.” It ticked the box of a work of art allowing a transcendental experience. It also ticked the box for the imagination in and impact of the installations.
However, he still didn’t answer the question.
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