Meow Wolf: a Disneyland of the weird and fascinating

I had one of the most amazing art experiences of my life in Santa Fe this week--an experience that had nothing to do with some of the iconic images of Santa Fe: Native American pottery, silverware, turquoise, pastel adobe walls, Georgia O'Keeffe's flowers and landscapes. It happened at the newest art installation in that city, intriguingly named Meow Wolf, which opened last month in a former bowling alley. Not quite sure what to expect--having only the recommendation of a friend of a friend who insisted it's a DO NOT MISS experience--I arrived with Berta and Jackie, prepared to enter an "interactive" magical world. Two hours later, somewhat dazed and filled with appreciative wonder, we left The House of Eternal Return, the first permanent exhibit in this space, created during the past  two years by a cooperative of 135 artists and story makers.

The bright lobby, which includes large spaces for making art, didn't quite prepare us for our trip through--well, other dimensions of time and space. Entering the exhibit, we were presented with the front of a very ordinary Victorian-style house. Entering the circa-1970s interior, we could see signs that something extraordinary happened to the fictional family that lived here. There are clues to the family's interests and special powers in each of the rooms, but we didn't linger there. Instead we discovered that we could enter other dimensions in a number of ways: walking through the refrigerator or a back door or an upstairs passage, or as I did, by crawling through the fireplace.

Inside were two floors of interwoven lights, sets, spaces to explore, things to touch. Soon after entering, I walked through this neon-lit dinosaur skeleton. On the floor were drumsticks. Why not pick them up, strike them somewhere and try to get a sound?

It didn't take long before we were in an undersea enchanted forest, looking up, around the through.

Exiting, I found this inviting small space.

There are no plaques explaining anything or crediting individual artists. The art is the experience, and you are invited to create it, and the others visiting that day become part of that too.

Above are my companions, Roberta and Jackie. Below is what attracted Roberta's notice. Our gaze could go anywhere, up, down, to the side. So different from traditional museum experiences.

Touching was allowed and moving things around. Kid visitors caught on to this quickly.

My favorite space was an octagon-shaped, rigid-board tent. Crawl inside onto the artificial grass floor and look and listen. You'll see intermittently-glowing eyes or insect shapes along with a tape of night sounds. There were other soundscapes: red beams of light that could be played like a harp.

Sometimes, like artists often want you to do, you see familiar things from different angles and out of context. Note these wheels and axle.

Passing into one of the many nooks and crannies, I peered through a window and saw this bird vision.

For more on the future of Meow Wolf and the originators' for this space, take a look at this article by Annalee Newitz in ars technica.

Just a day before my friends and I had visited the wonderful Museum for International Folk Art in Santa Fe. The exhibits were mainly a labor of delight by the Girard family, who collected scenes and figures from around the world. We stared, fascinated at the displays behind glass and read the history of each piece. A place for this art too, with all of its detail, creativity and beauty. Yet, somehow it's Meow Wolf that haunts me today, a couple of days after our visit. It's the folk art of the present, Jackie mused, and I agree. Perhaps the future too.