I LIKE art. I know what I like. Something beautiful, clever, stimulating, colourful, original and slightly mind-bending. But I don't like the Biennale.

When I read it is that year again, I feel cross at the prospect of more biennial irritation. I've had it 15 times. That's more than enough attempts to see beauty, cleverness and originality in works that are, at best, more than just slightly mind-bending.

I don't go to see the contemporary arts festival these days but I'm still terrified I will run into an exhibit by mistake.

This year is the worst. There are many venues to avoid and you can get caught unawares. It's happened this time around. Out with a clutch of grandchildren, one needed the toilet and the Museum of Contemporary Art was nearby.

We went in furtively and there was Christ, impaled, poor lamb, on a fighter aircraft, with a stuffed horse suspended from the ceiling by leather slings. We fled. My equestrienne granddaughter is recovering, thank you, but quite slowly.

But it was still a shock last week when I carefully slid into the Art Gallery of NSW. I thought I was safe. I had gone to see Harold Cazneaux's beautiful photographs.

But as I climbed the front steps, I raised my eyes and saw, to my horror, chalk graffiti. I trotted towards the information desk to tell them about the graffiti but in the foyer, too, the gallery was under attack. There were two painters, scraping down the walls amid clouds of dust and scratching noise.

"I'm sorry to bother you," I said to the cheerful volunteers behind the desk, "but what is going on here?"

"Well, it's part of the Biennale," said one. "They are painting it all black. And when it's done, they'll paint it white. It does seem odd, particularly when we need the members' lounge repainted."

I quivered dangerously. The volunteer read from the Biennale guide. "The artist requires the walls to be constantly repainted for the duration of the exhibition. It's his project. A Life (Black & White). He's been doing it since 1999 and presumably, it will continue forever - round and round in an endless loop … perhaps a comment on the futility of too much intentionality in life."

I turned white. The room went black. The 16th Biennale of Sydney had claimed another victim.

Ann Savill