The conversation falters. We both look away and I realise anew how cacophonous, how teeming, the room is. It’s the very opposite of the dignified and calm NGV.

‘Congratulations on your vaginas,’ I say and walk away.

I spend a few minutes trying to tunnel my way over to Natalia, who seems to have completely forgotten that she was the one who invited me to this thing, but give up after taking several elbows to my ribs.

Instead I do something radical. I look at the art.

I shut out everything around me. If I did ever decide to study art—as if I would ever do a course so guaranteed to leave me poor—this would be the kind of company I would be in.

In one corner is a pile of dirty rags, a stack of sticks and an old TV playing a video of a guy smearing mud on his face. It doesn’t do much for me.

The next artist is devoted to painting highways and concrete flyovers.

There’s a set of guns and other weapons made using a 3D printer.

I’ve almost circled the gallery when I find something that interests me, in one of the smaller rooms leading off the main one.

It’s a collection of photos—studio portraits of the South Sudanese artist and her family and friends, posed on sets in a formal style. The subjects wear a combination of traditional dress, retro work uniforms, modern streetwear, beaded necklaces, head wraps, sunglasses and white trainers. Bright print fabric covers every surface, punctuated by bunches of flowers in vases.

I find myself lingering on one photo, of two girls who are posed so closely they must be sisters or best friends. They look close but individual; they look like they have each other’s back. I look closer—I think the artist has started with a monochrome photo and coloured it digitally, to create the very effect I’ve been chasing.

The room is full of the artist’s vision and personality. Pattern and colour everywhere. Confidence. The labels on the wall list the artist’s first name, Adut, the titles of the works, and nothing more.

My heart thumps in my chest, my fingers tingle. My eyes open to possibility. It’s the same feeling I got in the pine forest during cross-country, so I recognise it now. I take photos on my phone so I can carry the feeling home with me.

I can’t even imagine creating such a series that hangs together so well.

When I return to the main room it’s an abomination, a brawl of posing people. The inspiration and tingles drip away.

I try to move and somehow find myself near the door to the outside world. I am carried down the breakneck stairs and out onto the street.

The outside air hits my relieved lungs. It’s good to be away from hot, sweaty bodies.