Yesterday morning I went jogging around Edinburgh Gardens, and experienced more fog than I have for years in Melbourne. I felt like I could be in one of Ann Veronica Janssens’ mist sculptures: completely disorientated, with no horizon line and none of the usual markers that indicate space and direction. The green field of grass on the oval merged into opaque and woolly whiteness, and the ghostly figures of other joggers emerged and disappeared between faint outlines of trees in the park. As I moved through the thick, moist air (with water droplets gathering on eyelashes) it almost felt as if the perceptual disruption lay in the process of vision rather than with the environment itself; as if my eyes were fogging over.
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