I just came back from a ballet performance that took my breath away. It was not the smooth beauty of classic ballet - it was eerie, chilling, grotesque.
They used the exceptional flexibility of the dancers and their incredible precision of movement to emulate insects.
It began with a birth, jagged and twitchy movements until she took full form. Whispered voices of women, and the convulsive movements of men, overlaid by the sound of marching, buzzing, a high pitch swoon that reminded me of crystal glasses being played as instruments.
The whole time I had waves of physical sensation moving through my body, hairs standing on end, goose bumps raining down my skin. It was unbelievable.
The hive mind had come to life.
And yet I seemed to be one of the few people on the edge of my seat. There was maybe a handful that were obviously as enraptured by the performance as I was - the rest were much more keen about the Tchaikovsky piece.
I suppose modern art isn't for everyone. In my eyes at least, it's meant to move you, to make you feel heights and extremes. It doesn't always have to be beautiful, soft and warm - the shadows are just as fascinating.