Today's late performance in Tate Britain was a good excuse to revisit the usual exhibition but without the usual crowds.
Maybe it was wine that made me sleepy and apathetic too soon (it seems to be a usual thing to serve alcohol on late events in museums, a tradition I truly admire), but apart from that I can't say I really experienced anything new from the performances themselves. "Define what art is by writing you thoughts down on this large sheet of paper, all together". Meh. Sometimes being creative turns into being creative in a predictable way.