After the drive home last weekend, I arrived back in Auckland with a surfeit of creative energy. My synapses were firing on all cylinders, and a few I didn’t even know I had.
I didn’t know what I would do with it all – maybe write a blog post! Or several! Finish another book! Take up oil painting! Or performance art with startling application of fish!
Unaccountably, I decided to channel this energy into defrosting the fridge. I’m not sure why. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
You could argue that, under the circumstances, defrosting a fridge was an exceptionally creative action. Following a six-hour drive from Turangi, it was certainly unexpected. And, like any creative endeavor of great genius, its inherent explicability emerges the more one considers it (the fridge, after all, was empty but for the glacier burgeoning out of the fan).
Unfortunately, I had forgotten the time commitment involved in hacking through three feet of ice; the energy required to hold back the raging flood that threatened to swamp the kitchen; the emotional toll in discovering long-forgotten iced-in jam-jars, their ghastly entrails speaking of horrible ends.
The work is called ‘Fridge Liberated of Frost’.
I am open to sensible offers from The Tate.
[Note to Tate: please don’t insult me with anything less than six figures or more. For example, seven, eight etc.]
Prior to commencing this four-hour project, the conflagration of creativity threatened to incinerate me and everything in my immediate presence. Turns out defrosting the fridge effectively addressed that concern.