I do love a good move.

I don’t mean a move-move, like sending over a glass of champagne to a lovely-looking, quite possibly absolutely psycho, but definitely unsuspecti­ng lady (or man, since this is the 21st century) at a cocktail bar, followed by the hopeful wink and inviting sideways-puppy-head glance.

No, I actually mean a house move.

I realize that for the majority of the sane population this would be equivalent to having their entire mouthful of teeth pulled without intravenou­s anaesthesi­a, but I really do rather love upheaval, honestly. Admittedly, to friends I announce that I am in ‘moving hell’ when they enquire after my current well-being, because I understand that if I told them that I am in fact in ‘moving heaven’ this would create immense puzzlement and they would be forced to conclude that I might be even weirder than they already know me to be.

So, for the sake of appearing to resemble a normal, angsty human being and not rocking the boat (or rather the moving truck), I pretend to be highly stressed and miserable.

But the truth is, I adore changing the energies in my surroundin­gs and giving art, sculptures, objects, and the 40-year-old wooden spoons in my kitchen and the ancient studded boots in my closet a new lease of life. A new start, something we all deserve.

Granted, the process of rifling through the shadowy, spider-webby depths of cupboards where, for 27 years, items were parked and untouched, is overwhelmi­ng. But the plethora of memories that comes flooding out of those black holes also triggers a delicious nostalgia which, I believe, should be celebrated, even if some of the recollecti­ons are not so great or perhaps difficult to digest. Although I believe in looking forwards as much as possible in life, there is always a certain re-grounding and re-rooting in visiting one’s past and being reminded of what was important at various stages in one’s life. Why did we choose to hang on to certain things, why were they significan­t? I like looking at my past, I realize that I am lucky there.

Unless we’re hoarders of course, this was discussed in a previous article at length. And just to be absolutely clear, no empty yoghurt pots have yet emerged from my cupboards.

For me, installing artwork on new walls is the pinnacle of excitement as my babies get to walk out onto a new stage, into new spotlights within a new theatre. I love to watch them animatedly snuggle and settle into their new roles. It’s as if they learned a new language in preparatio­n for the production and are now calling out ‘Na Zdorovie’ to each other and giggling at the after-party.

This is why galleries and museums change their curations periodical­ly, either by moving pieces around or by dipping into the treasures from their vast vaults, to keep it fresh. Suddenly, buyers and museum stalwarts discover something that they had never ‘noticed’ before. By changing it up, these institutio­ns can literally manipulate viewers’ peripheral visions and write new stories in existing spaces. They create the illusion that everything has changed. It is a most clever trickery.

By the same sorcery, every time I walk into my new home as the move progresses, I hear the most wonderful, deafening chatter within its walls. The contents of my existing home have been turned upsidedown and re-arranged and everyone is getting to know one another anew. Pieces that were separated for decades have been worked into new vignettes and the narratives are fresh and fun and make me feel so alive.

Prudish 17th Century Old Masters’ ladies are blushing at the open legs of a contempora­ry nude on the opposite wall, while the giant wooden Burmese Monks in between them (not in between their legs… obviously) are chuckling in spite of their vows of chastity. It is an amusing (but in no way disrespect­ful) dynamic and whole new love affairs have begun. The energy is mind-blowing!

Then there are the deeply moving moments when I unearth letters, photograph­s, or gifts from loved ones that have passed on and I ponder on the truth and reality that, if it weren’t for this upheaval in our lives, these might not have seen the light of day for many more years. I feel truly blessed to be in their presence once more.

Change is good – we all know this ambiguous expression. There is small, big, good, and also awful change. But what we do with that change is what will define our next chapter. I am choosing to welcome the many recent changes in my life, approachin­g them like a bold and brave new museum curator, as my household wakes up around me and, in turn, so do I.

Spiderwebs be gone! But I will take that glass of champagne, thank you very much young stranger…

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