In times of struggle it is vital to remember what makes the difference in life. What makes each of us unique. At the end of the day we might never figure it out. But we can feel it, we can sense when there is a change in perception across the room. When the eyes of the man standing in the corner light up because he watches you walk towards him. That is a shift. There may not be anybody else in that moment who feels it exactly as you do. Which in itself is all the more proof of love always being passed around. Often unnoticed.


I have decided that love is what I want to write about. There are countless types and shapes of love and I do not believe any of us will ever run out. I choose not to believe in loveless existence. Equally no point in defining love but, of course, I will try. It will always remain the topmost of our list of conversational topics. Simply because, well, love is what defines us.


To kick off I want to mention a particularly striking piece of art: Magritte's ''The Lovers I'', 1928. When it comes to art it is a newly discovered love I speak of. As a young girl I nourished my fancies predominantly in movies and music, still do, but perception altered. When it comes to the fine arts, the paintings and sculpture of this world, I now appreciate their stillness. Artwork acts as an antidote to the hectic importance of always being available, fleeting images of who we really are. To remind myself of this I go see art. Recently I have fallen in love simply by rooting my feet to the ground and staring at a painting. Never thought this could happen and it is most definitely not an exclusive relationship. I don't seem to flourish on those anyway. But I suspect a tendency towards surrealism and hyperrealism. Those movements produce the most beautiful in my opinion.


Magritte's The Lovers I is said to be housed in the Australian National Gallery so you can assume that I did not visit it. I came across it on Twitter. Believe me, I wish it wasn't so, but there you go. Now I can marvel at a download of it hoping that one day I'll see it in person. Our virtual acquaintance leaves me with a distant yearning.


So I practice patience. I am not a patient person. My heart jumps out first and I read between the lines later. But then, what could be the harm in that?


Wishing you a loving -