Home is where the art is
Posted by cacophony in : Where I Live , 4 comments
Walking by the Yarra tonight, as I do most nights, I saw a wedge of swans cruising up our famed brown river and I got to thinking of how beautiful Melbourne is at night. The sun was setting behind Nadim Karam’s beautiful Travellers sculptures on the Sandridge Bridge and the lights of the city were reflected in the clear water. A Japanese guitarist’s flamenco rhythms echoed up at me from underneath the Arts Centre. A teenager on the Princes Bridge smiled as I ambled past. “This is nice,” I said to myself. “Have I found my home?”
I’ve been here two years and I have some good friends but, like Chaplin, I consider myself a “citizen of the world”. We moved around a lot when I was a kid so I don’t have a home town or a house full of memories. I came to Melbourne on a whim because it seemed like a cool place to be; which it is but does that make it home?
What makes a place home? Is it a house? Family? A good local pub? Is it the special places you go to escape? Can home be a person?
And why is it so important to us?
