Review: Mummy's Milk

From the outside this installation looks like a fake brick pop up stall next to a toilet block. Inside, it’s an oasis of tranquiity where vulnerability is rewarded with a memorable performance.

The door is guarded by a leather clad Daddy bearing a clipboard with an unusual waiver form. 'Do you agree to surrender your ego on the doorway to Mummy’s living room?' it asks. Ego checked and consent granted, I enter and am greeted by a woman with bright red hair in curlers and a dressing gown tied loosely together. Mummy is comfortable in her living room, and she wants me to be at ease too.

It’s just the two of us, and she tells me that the direction we take will be determined by how open I am to the experience. What follows is an intimate 15 minute interaction that’s as much partnership as performance. Mummy’s Milk mixes late night drunken philosophy with genuine tenderness. When she offers to channel the aforementioned deity and share her wisdom, the question is as important as the answer.

“Come in with an open mind and she’ll reciprocate,” Daddy told me on my way in. It was apt advice. Presumably each performance of this deeply personal work will be different; mine was gentle, reflective and lingered long after it was over.