obliterated

"You Who Are Getting Obliterated In The Dancing Swarm Of Fireflies" by Yayoi Kusama

My best birthday present this year was from my husband, who gave me a membership to our local art museum. A couple weeks ago, we finally found some time to go and explore their new modern art wing (really wonderful + super sleek if you haven't been) with our cameras in hand.

The museum is lucky to have a permanent installation by Yayoi Kusama entitled "You Who Are Getting Obliterated In The Dancing Swarm of Fireflies" (seen above, photo taken by my husband). It's basically a small, dark room with thousands of tiny, hanging LED lights reflecting off of every surface. The lights, which are controlled by a computer, shift color slowly and in different patterns.

Hand-in-hand, we stepped into the room a little unsure of ourselves. The effect was dizzying, exactly what I would imagine stepping into a black hole in outer space would be like. I dramatically whispered into his ear that I couldn't feel the floor beneath my feet and I would probably puke. ("You won't" he said in that voice that I've heard a million times, the voice that feigns sternness in an attempt to disguise amusement. I love that voice.)

It took a few minutes for our pupils to adjust.

Soon after, I felt like I'd passed into another world.

Loose. Sinking. Peaceful. Swirling.
Excited. Drifting. Uncontrolled.
Endless. Floating.

I have been thinking about those feelings ever since the museum, because they are how I feel most days. Going from the workforce to full-time motherhood is a similarly disorienting transportation. There is so much I want to do, but instead I find myself standing still.

I am searching for a structure. A way to make order as the new lights of my life beckon with unfamiliar beauty.