“I think this must be the way,” said Debbie Williams, leading the other two women down the thin corridor.

The three women had stood in the large reception area for ten minutes waiting for someone to help them, before deciding to wander off by themselves.

The two areas were in stark contrast to each other.   The reception area looked like an American television caricature of a football team’s changing room: the walls covered from floor to ceiling with plaques and pendants.   The much smaller corridor, on the other hands was too thin for two people to stand side by side, and both walls were painted lemon yellow and covered from floor to ceiling in ultra-modern frescos, collages and abstract paintings.   Every few metres along the wall were inlaid small niches to hold small sculptures, some in the traditional vein, others looking like nothing more than handfuls of clay thrown together then toasted in a kiln.

At the entrance to the corridor, near the reception area, hung a black plaque with a yellow arrow pointing down the corridor.   It was this that had led Debbie to make her remark.

“How do you know?” asked the third woman, “It might be just another weirdo painting.”

Norma laughed, remembering her one other expedition into a place of higher learning.   Norma, her husband, Jack, Jack’s brother, Kevin Smith, and Kevin’s wife, Pauline, had attended a college arts display, which included a statuette by Kevin and Pauline’s daughter, Jamie.   Kevin Smith had shocked the campus intelligentsia by referring to one of the displays as, “A classic example of neo-surrealistic bullshit,” to the chagrin of Pauline Smith (who considered herself a minor authority on modern art), since none of them had ever been invited back to the college.

Norma hoped things would get off to a more auspicious beginning this time.

The three women walked for ten minutes, rounding three corners, before reaching a door.   Norma wondered whether the entire labyrinth-like walk had been constructed solely to ensure that the college had enough wall space to cope with the creations of all of the budding young artists who passed through the school?   Or whether it was an example of what the television tourist companies referred to as a scenic walk?