Sarah Broome
Mother of Grace

She typed in the name of the fellow art school alumnus into the social networking site. They became friends. Trawling the pages of the online album of personal photos, she was directed to the website and the CV, the pages of exhibitions, the residencies and the all important first solo show. The list was exhaustive. ‘I don’t have a list,’ she thought and tried to remember the words of the man she met at meditation, words about things not being real, about how we should try to be less attached to things. She tried to remember the feelings from Kenya… ‘all of this stuff is in my head- it’s as meaningless and transient as the red dust beneath my feet’. As an artist, she wondered if she was cut out for the art world.

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