“Women artists recognise that funding from the arts board is on the decrease,” says Ceri Hands of make, the magazine of women’s art. The availability of sponsorship ensures that less-than-mainstream art continues to be supported and publicised.The next product to be associated with the arts is Dove soap, which will be launching its own exhibition soon. According to Colin Tweedy, chief executive of Arts & Business, “If done with style and verve, sponsorship of the arts is a cheap and effective way of associating a brand with an upmarket image.” He does point out, though, that it needs to be handled carefully so that the foyer does not end up looking like a shop. So next time someone tells you you’re shallow for spending too much on make-up, tell them you’re moisturising your mind.The 1999 Olay Vision Award is at the Lux Gallery, 2-4 Hoxton Square, London N1, from 21 May to 20 June (tel: 0171 684 0201).. NO

I couldn’t stand him, says URSULA KENNY
Aged 26, I went on an extended break to Sydney in Australia and was, temporarily, knocked senseless by love His name was (and probably still is) Brad.

We met through a friend, and for weeks I worshipped from afar, until our mutual friend stepped in and told him how I felt. I can remember feeling sick with nerves in another room, and then he came in and the first date was arranged We went to see Stranger Than Paradise.And then it was bliss. There are many kinds of love; this kind made me feel giddy with joy. I can remember, maybe a month down the line, walking along a Sydney street revelling in just how unbelievably happy I was, doing deals with God if he’d let me live a very long time. With Brad.I really thought that I had met the person I would and could spend a lifetime with, doing ordinary things that were rendered extraordinary as long as he was there doing them with me.

I say this in self-defence because I really did love him then, in spite of what happened later.Anyway, I returned to London, to work, to my old life, to tell everyone about this man I had met who was wonderful and would be joining me just as soon as he had (I still wince at the memory) wound down his life in Australia. He was the one who had never travelled, who didn’t like his job, so it made sense that he should come here. He didn’t come straightaway, which probably didn’t help; we spent six months on the phone, swapping love letters and parcels, reaching a fever pitch of anticipation. Love in limbo works; we had now spent longer apart than together.Then D-Day came and I sat in Arrivals for an age, wondering what was holding him up, until I registered that the message coming across the tannoy was for me. There’s nothing more sobering than being taken in to an interview room in Heathrow and probed about the nature of your relationship.

Eventually it transpired that he was being held because immigration officers suspected that he had plans to work and hadn’t just come here on holiday.Finally I got to see him but I knew almost immediately that, for me at least, it was over. I can’t explain this except to point out that it wasn’t the best of beginnings. Months later my friend Janice and I laughed until we cried about the damage a pair of cowboy boots can do, but although they didn’t help I’m not quite that shallow.The truth is our relationship, such as it was, wasn’t really up to this sort of “real” stuff. We were reunited in the presence of immigration officers, and he was crumpled and confused and really, really fed-up and I was angry. Why had he dealt with this so badly? Why hadn’t we thought things through properly? Why was he so defeated? I now felt responsible for him but I didn’t want to.Eventually we got back to my flat and I immediately left for a stiff drink and a “What the hell have I done?” chat with a bemused neighbour The following days were farcical. I had to keep telling people what had happened over and over again Friends called with advice about how to fight deportation.