It was late evening when I walked through the corridor, which doubles as an exhibition space for creative arts students, to the university car park. Strewn on the floor were a hammer, a jar of nails and a discarded picture frame. Hmm, what if I set the hammer upright on the open jar of nails, and place my framed composition on a stained wooden chair beside a post-modern sculpture?

The next morning, walking through the corridor to my office, I saw some curious visitors musing at my random installation and pondering over its implicit connection – none intended - with the sculpture. Ahh, the perplexed pretentious gaze one sees at post-modern art exhibitions. My objet d’art would be as good as junk in my dingy garage. Indeed, context does matter. A nude photo on a toilet wall spells obscenity. The same photo hung on a gallery wall spells ‘art’.