![]() It’s a full-scale two-storey Victorian house with art flowing throughout, found in architectural details, hidden objects and the textures of floors and walls. It’s something like being Alice down the rabbit hole, tumbling into a kaleidoscope of colour, sound, light e story.Įach piece of art transitions into the next, with all of them woven together by an overarching story that evolves as we explore the first portion of the exhibit. Now, we’re inside that picture and are encouraged to manipulate it by opening doors, pulling levers and pressing buttons. ![]() Art is supposed to be hung on a wall and stared at. The whole idea of being inside art, swallowed up by it and able to experience it da within doesn’t fit into any of my preconceived notions. What we find once we go through the doors is that we aren’t stepping into a building, but rather, entering a 20,000 square foot explosion of all-encompassing art like I’d never imagined it could be. It stands boldly outside of what was once a bowling alley and is now Meow Wolf.Īn interesting introduction to the building. We follow our GPS straight to it and discover that it’s a metal statue of a giant red robot smelling a round-petalled flower. We decide to go and find out what it’s all about.Īs we get close to the building, we see something huge and red towering overtop of other structures. While it has that dreaded word attached to it, the two other words used to describe it-“immersive” and “experience”-are what draw me in. Martin ( A Game of Thrones creator and Santa Fe resident) has generously supported financially. All we know is that it’s a huge immersive art experience that George R. It isn’t quite clear to us what it is, exactly. We hear about a venue there called Meow Wolf. My husband and I are travelling in the Unites States and find ourselves in Santa Fe, New Mexico. No more quiet observationįast-forward to me at the same age my parents were during the museum fiasco. My parents were very disappointed that all the exposure to human creativity and culture they’d given me had resulted in a resentment against all things labelled as art. I wanted to run through the halls of the building, play hide-and-seek and pretend I was lost in a castle. I’d had it! No longer was I going to be dragged along to ponder the depths of a piece of canvas or stone or string. It was a piece of green yarn fixed to the ceiling on one end and to the floor on the other. I remember the display that got me to protest ever entering another museum again. The promise of a modern art exhibit on the top floor was something I was actually looking forward to, and I was hoping it would be something I could relate to. ![]() I became less and less patient with standing and staring at objects.Įverything came to a head at one particular museum. ![]() ![]() I’d secretly be more interested in the intricacies of the flooring and the walls behind the exhibits, failing to experience what I was supposed to be impressed by.Īs I got a little older, I’d take a quick walk through the rooms of a museum on my own, absorb what I saw in just a few seconds and return to find my parents still on exhibit number three.Īrt was something inaccessible to me, both physically (Stand back! Don’t touch!) and experientially. They’d stop at every painting, sculpture e artifact to soak in its meaning and explain to me its significance and relevance to history and culture. They hoped I’d develop a lifelong love for the profoundness of art, as they had. When I was a kid, my parents took me to a lot of museums. ![]()
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