The Johannesburg Art Gallery (JAG) sits forlorn in the midst of Johannesburg as a shadow of its former grandeur. The vocabulary of its architecture, the bulk of its sandstone frame with entablature and great pillars, carry a nostalgia for the empire on whose back and in whose image it was built. A deteriorating train rustles past in the trench just  beyond the front boundary of the gallery grounds, not four meters away from the base of the sandstone steps leading up to its pillars. The rickety train resembles the gallery in age and lack of maintenance. The shaky old vehicle made of tin and wheels is full to the brim, ushering in throngs of commuters from homes in the outlaying areas of the city. The train remains an everyday necessity for people who bring the city space to life while the gallery sits quiet and almost forgotten, an island of sad neglect in the centre of a city overflowing with life around it.