Welcome to the jungle!  That is, the bamboo jungle that has sprouted in the Culinan Hall at the Museum of Fine Arts. Brought to life by twin artists Mike and Doug Starn, this behemoth tangle of 3000  bamboo poles lashed together with colorful cord is the latest interactive art installation that enticed me into the Downtown Houston Museum District from my cozy suburb. But first, I would have to battle through the nightmare jungle of cars, traffic cones and lane closures that have frustratingly defined travelling into the city of Houston for many years. It is the single biggest deterrent to venturing downtown and taking advantage of all the amazing cultural diversions Houston has to offer. I’ve learned a few tricks to conquer the anxiety of entering the freeway jungle: I accept my excursion might take all day, so I leave early with a full tank of gas, a cool bottle of water in the cup holder, set my GPS before leaving the driveway, turn on the friendly music of The Bridge Sirius radio station, and blast my Derriere-Conditioner so I stay cool from the bottom up while barreling past through the ever present columns of 18 wheelers.

Staying Connected With Girls’ Afternoon Out

I usually take a buddy along. I have not yet mastered the art of venturing out solo, and this Saturday I was meeting Shooney at her place before proceeding together to the MFA. These museum jaunts have turned into “our thing”. Ever since she first invited to view Kusama’s Infinity Rooms, I have treasured these museum forays as a very pleasurable way to stay connected to my grown up daughter. Shooney took over the driving from this point, and I had no regrets about not taking time to exercise that morning. By the time she had zipped us on and  the freeway, swerved around hapless drivers converging the wrong way down one way streets, and swooped into the underground parking garage, I was breathless and my heart rate was quite elevated. I was so happy to have finally arrived at our destination.

Big Bambu: This Thing Called Life

We walked past the stacks of reserved 52 foot long bamboo poles at the museum entrance and up the short stair case to the entrance of Big Bambu: This Thing Called Life. We were asked to sign a waiver of liability, issued red ticket bracelets,  and allowed to check our purses into canvas cubby drawers before entering the exhibit. From floor of the Culinan Hall, the forest of bamboo towered for two stories over our heads and  appeared to be a criss crossed jumble of

scaffolding gone berserk. We slowly walked around the perimeter before the docent encouraged us to walk through the jungled mass of poles being careful, however,  “not to shake the bamboo”. We circled gingerly in and around bamboo columns of various sizes as colorful cord lashings trailed across our foreheads until we came upon a narrow ramp leading up through the jungle. The docent explained the ramp was actually the exit, and in order to climb inside the structure we would have to leave the first floor and enter it through the second floor balcony of the Brown Pavilion where our red bracelets would guarantee us admission.

The line was not long to enter the bamboo, but we were allowed in one by one  at a measured pace, and instructed to walk with our feet splayed outwards in order to grip the rounded planks more easily. I admit my legs were shaking a little as I crossed over the bridge suspended two floors up over marble floor. What had seemed so imposing from the ground now had the potential to crumble under my feet like a pile of so many toothpicks. Our path wound gracefully down through the myriad of branches and colorful joints of cord securing our safety. The echoes of children laughing and scampering through the  columns below  wafted up and I  marveled at how well they were heeding the admonishments not to shake the bamboo. I continue to be impressed at the family friendly tone of these interactive structures exhibited at the Museum of Fine Art, and appreciate how joyful an experience it always seems to be for the children who come.

An Organic Representation of Life’s Journey

Our exit at the bottom was anticlimactic. It brought to mind the June 10, 2018 article in the Houston Chronicle I had read with great interest a few weeks before by Molly Glentzer, “Building Bridges”. She described, with great insight, not only the artists, but their motivation and what they hoped to portray with this giant work of art. Not being an expert in any way, I like to be told what the artist was thinking and then compare my impressions to see if I came any where close.

My takeaway was that the artists were hoping to convey that life is complex and unpredictable, and that we are all connected and influenced by the world and others in some way. In the process of growing and evolving, ” …sometimes it’s an obstacle, sometimes it’s a step. These are things we maneuver through, all the time, every day.”  This was particularly resonant to me when I considered all the obstacles I encountered escaping the suburbs just to come downtown and see this darned thing. After being enlightened, I could totally see how The Big Bambu was a fine representation the Starks’ sage observation about life, but I have to admit, I would not have come to that conclusion by myself.

 

Interpretation is in the Eye of the Beholder

My own impression, was, sadly but not surprising to say, not quite that urbane. It was difficult to understand what I was looking at standing so close on the bottom floor of the hall, so before we entered the Big Bambu on the second floor, I walked further down the balcony to get a better view of its entirety. From a distance, its silhouette looked like a giant horned beetle facing the balcony, with its mouth opened and the people walking bravely across its jaw. (Shooney thought it was a porcupine) Either way, it dawned on me that, continuing down the path  in the spirit of my impression implied we were making our way through the creature’s bowels before unceremoniously exiting at its bottom. I was a little crestfallen that I was so far off the mark, but then realized, isn’t that what art is supposed to do anyway? Invite discussion, regardless of how unsophisticated?  And it got me to thinking: I wonder how my perception would have changed if we had entered from the ground floor and climbed to the top?