Each night, on the lawns above the Museum of Old and New Art (MONA), the festival held the Mona Sessions, each comprising four musical acts. For me, the highlight was Shonen Knife, an all-women Japanese punk trio who – despite some line-up changes – have been performing together since the ’80s. Earlier that day I’d listened as each band went through their soundcheck, a strange peek behind the curtain that’s open to anyone curious to witness it.

There was also Faux Mo, an event that merged live performance, DJ sets and an immersive artwork, which took anyone game enough to participate into the heart of bureaucracy. For those who baulked at the 10.30pm start time (me), they also ran the event at noon on Sunday. Please. More daytime events. Some of us are sleepy.

Then there was Arka Kinari, a remarkable and unusual meditation on the climate emergency, performed at the docks on the very boat the artists used to sail to the festival from Indonesia. I watched the ebb and flow of the audience taking in this free event – a mix of those who had planned all along to be there, and passers-by who were drawn in.

It seems strange to suggest finding peace within noise; clarity amidst a barrage of new experiences. But art is not only a distraction from real life, a splash of colour between the darker moments. Art, when done well, mirrors what is going on around all of us – and within. A festival like Mona Foma, which floods you with music and performance and dance and visuals, washes away the distractions to make way for deeper contemplation for a few hours – or, if you’re lucky, for a few days.