Today I was a visitor. It doesn't happen enough these days, that I step from behind the scenes to in the scene, but the buzz about an exhibition at the local science center was too much to let pass by. So with high hopes for a great concept, an experience of daily life minus my essential sense of sight, I locked up my light emitting personal belongings in the locker provided, picked up a cane, and with a group of 9 other sighted people set out on an (at times uncomfortable) adventure totally blinded by the darkness.
In the waiting area there were labels about the power of the senses which we rely on little in comparison to our sight, but that we would soon find out would provide multiple layers of information that would allow us to function (at least on some level) in the experience we were about to have. (Of course I was the only one I saw reading these labels). A volunteer guide helped the group pick out a cane appropriate for their height and showed us how to use it before she seated us in a room that gradually faded to black. The exhibit guide, a visually impaired women (all of the guides are blind or visually impaired) came into the room and introduced herself, and started the conversation about the other senses we had to rely on for the next hour. This was smart, it broke the ice and got everyone acquainted, which was important since for the next hour I relied pretty heavily on conversation with these strangers. This exhibit achieved the type of audience interaction between strangers that exhibit developers so often strive for with little success. When reflecting on it a couple hours later I realized that in minutes after walking in I was talking to people that I would probably never would have talked to in the lobby because, I will admit ashamedly, of how they looked (they dressed to identify as a part of a particular group).
In the dark was terrible at navigating. In fact, the only way I was capable was by following the voice of my tour guide. The darkness completely eliminated my sense of orientation (straight, left, right). While this was disconcerting, the controlled environment of the exhibit made the discomfort fascinating. As a visitor I felt challenged but not defeated because there were plenty of other opportunities for me to feel like the experience was rewarding. I was quite surprised how much I could identify and visualize after only feeling, smelling, or hearing (there is also an opportunity to taste). Overall the exhibit was compelling. The experience will drastically change with each tour group and guide. My primary criticisms would be that all the great information in the labels were left outside of the exhibit. The science of the senses could have been integrated in a more thoughtful way. And that a more meaningful dialog with the guide would have been great, but it was impossible because she was too busy providing instructions to all of her sight-dependent followers.
I definitely have a new found empathy for those around us that participate in life with less than five senses, and a new curiosity about how I use my five senses to participate in my life. As a artist, a visually critical person, I found myself missing an entire level of information for the first time in my life. This was liberating, but bothersome. In fact, at the end of my tour I found myself dying to know what my tour guide looked like. Over the past hour I had built an entire image of her in my mind based on her voice and personality and I wanted to know how far off I was.
This is an experience that has left me with something to chew on that is far greater than most exhibits I have visited.
