570,537.

That was how many people visited the Yayoi Kusama exhibition at the NGV, according to the Gallery’s website. The rusty cogwheels in my head doing some vague maths that lead me to the obvious conclusion that a helluva lot of $$$ was made in a span of four months.

I’m not surprised. The lines snaked around the queue poles in what seemed like an endless influx of visitors who could be categorised as the genuinely artsy type, the wannabe artsy type, and the just plain curious folks.

I fall in the middle: the genuinely wannabe artsy type. A fucking hybrid.

As soon as I found out about Yayoi Kusama’s exhbition before I even knew who Yayoi Kusama was back in December, I knew I wanted to go. It was the polka dots that drew me in.

“Hey Raven, can you be my Yayoi Kusama buddy?” I asked my daughter when no one else would take me up on my invite to join me for a little date. I need new friends and a new sister.

She was quite keen. Our verbal contract was pretty much set in stone. But life happened in between December and April — my work, her school, sister getting married, mother flying in for the occasion, blah, blah, blah — that before you know it, the exhibition was about to end.

We finally went three days before it did. As an added bonus, Jeff had the day off to come with us as well which was awesome because that meant we didn’t have to catch the train to the city. We had a driver and a photographer!

The plan was to have lunch in the city. A plan that was easily replaced with another one halfway through the drive as Jeff and I suddenly decided to eat at Glen Waverley instead. At this little Asian restaurant called Le Charme with their Chinese cuisine and the most perfect chopsticks I had ever handled with perfectly pointed tips that could pick up a single morsel of rice with great ease and comfort. They were my Goldilocks chopsticks.

Not like those bright green plastic ones with big blunt tips that make eating pho such a struggle as the noodles slip down the chopsticks before you can even bring them to your mouth so you grip your chopsticks with all your might you practically end up with calluses and carpal tunnel by the time you finish your meal.

On our first time there, I was this close to putting my chopsticks in my bag as a little memento. Jeff wanted to do the right thing and asked the staff if I could keep a pair and of course they said no for occupational health and safety reasons which I had no issues about whatsoever but yeah, I shouldn’t have told him. We were both too honest for our own good.

The first part of the exhibition featured the artist’s paintings, sculptures, and designs. I have to admit I don’t really have much knowledge about contemporary art but there were some pieces that I truly liked, based on instinct alone.

Like, I liked what I liked. There was no rationale to justify my attraction. Same way you fall for someone you shouldn’t but you’re there and they’re there and… you know what I mean.

In fairness to me, I did try to understand her art. Tried to make sense out of it, I should say. I remember looking at the massive Infinity Nets painting on the wall that looked all white. To be honest, it wasn’t one of those paintings that stand out and literally grab your attention. As far as I was concerned, it was quite the opposite. If I hadn’t paid good money to buy the tickets, I probably would’ve totally ignored it and carried on.

But I wanted to make the most out of it and decided now was the best time to pretend that I was, um, cultured. I took my sweet time standing in front of it, as if willing for any emotions to surface so I can truly appreciate it for the fine art that it supposedly was.

“If you stare at it long enough you’ll actually start to see patterns,” Jeff’s voice boomed from behind me. I and the other visitors around looked at him and then back at the painting, quietly embarrassed for not having noticed it sooner.

“I’M JUST JOKING!” he said, laughing.

Bastard.

The second part of the exhibition started with the infinity mirror room. I liked that room. It was trippy as. I must’ve lingered there longer because it was fascinating to see reflections of myself reflected everywhere else in a space filled with a million silver eyes, ever-seeing.

One of my favourite immersive rooms was called The Hope of the Polka Dots Buried in Infinity Will Eternally Cover the Universe.

I call it The Room That Gave Jeff a Migraine He Wanted to Throw Up.

“I don’t feel well,” Jeff told me all of a sudden. “I’m gonna sit this one out.”

Dude never recovered. He asked to get out of there so he can take a breather outside. Get some fresh air. He sat the rest of the exhibition out, literally.

“I like art but not like that,” he explained later when we were in the car on our way home. “That art was dark and you could tell the artist had mental health issues. She probably had schizophrenia or something. I didn’t like the whole vibe.”

I didn’t say anything. Mainly because I felt bad dragging him into it. Partly because art is purely subjective and everyone is entitled to their own opinion (which is exactly why I try to expose Raven to different kinds of art so she can decide for herself what she likes and doesn’t like).

Also, I had never known Jeff to have vision issues apart from when he can’t see what he’s looking for that’s sitting right in front of him and he’s shouting from another room asking me where it is.

“That’s why I don’t play video games where I’m the shooter and the screen is moving,” he explained. “It makes me nauseous.”

Meanwhile, there was Raven and me happily exploring the rest of the exhibitions.

Me and my little Yayoi Kusama buddy.

*Raven at 8 years old