Aftermath of Obliteration of Eternity
Good morning, afternoon, or whenever it is that you read this.
A few weeks ago I went to the Houston Museum of Fine Arts. My wife and I recently became members of the facility to incentivize us to take more trips into the city as part of our desire to combat stagnation and apathy in 2026.
The permanent collection is excellent, and the current temporary exhibitions are dynamite, but I want to gush about the immersive experience they had to visit: Aftermath of Obliteration of Eternity by Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama.
The experience is very private: only three people may enter it at one time.
You step into a small, pitch black room, and navigate to a viewing platform in the room's center. The door closes behind you, isolating you and your party (in this case, my wife) in a sound proof room.
You are instantly shut away into an unsettling, quiet darkness. Then, slowly, some lights flicker into existence - tōrō nagashi (water lanterns) twinkling like stars in space. These are suspended from the ceiling at different heights, and flicker just out of sync with one another. The exhibit is a reflection room, where mirrors cover every visible surface. The result transforms the experience from a dark room to an endless expanse.
I saw them as flickering stars. But the warm lighting gave them life, rather than the coldness of the universe like a night sky usually suggests. It was a visual of how I see the universe - vast and distant, yet connecting all life together in a way we can never comprehend. My wife and I could only stand in silence as the show reached its most vibrant - though still no brighter than a campfire.
Then one lantern's flicker lingered at dark, and did not return. One by one at first, then in small waves, we saw the light of the existence slowly and quietly disappear into darkness. We were alone in the dark, in a dead universe. I found it beautiful, and oddly comforting. The birth of existence to its death in a span of a minute.
My wife and I gushed about it when we left. There's a part of me that wishes I'd gotten a video, but there's no way it would compare to the original. Even if it did, I would have lost the opportunity to experience the awe the first time without distraction.
We sat near a dark, quiet spot nearby that was another art exhibit - a projected digital images of trees twirling elegantly as the seasoned changed around them. The alcove had some cushioned benches and cozy bean bags. We sat in companionable silence for a while, before making the hike back to where we had park.
I've embedded it below if you want to see. It's definitely a trip.
Thanks for reading~