Museums are educational, inspiring, and encourage creativity. They teach us of history, bring together the community and enrich culturally. I've been to more than I count, and learned more than I can remember. But I'm fairly certain nothing will come close to this singular experience stemming from not the whole museum, but just one exhibition.
This exhibition had me walk out of it laughing hysterically, making me question if I should reconsider going into therapy again. It made me ponder if I had forced myself into thinking all those sessions of exposure therapy were effective. I stepped out of it completely discombobulated and microns away from psychological disassociation.
It is a grounding experience that works like an epiphany. It brings the reality of horrific wars, and what the soldiers go through, at least a tiny bit of it, very very close to real time.
Through exhibiting 10 into 11 you are introduced to much of how the operations of the work war 1 in 1914 and the battles between the Germans and France, focused on the citadel of dinant. This exhibition was a reanimation of the trenches. Trenches like these were used over a century ago, and something that shook me is that trenches, sometimes made better or worse, are still used in modern day. I couldn't help but think of the absolute travesty of the heroes in the Ukrainian trenches today.
The trenches are poorly lit, but I think more modestly than real ones. It is very dark but there are clear signs for the safety of the visitors. The roof is lit with tiny bulbs to replicate a starry night. Barbed wires, wooden support beams, and sand bags to bring it closer to reality.
The darkness or the visuals were not as daunting as the sound effects within. Loud gunfire, a generous amount of explosions, and an imaginary siren. Yes, I imagined a siren going off. That's when I muttered "oh fuck".
The worst is yet to come. Throughout this part of the exhibition I kept muttering defensive monologues although I very well knew I was safe. It was like a reflex. I also felt deeply for the people who were forced to give up everything to live the remainder of their lives in trenches like these. I also kept thinking of the heroes back home. Wars are a bitch.
There isn't any info card or display screen explaining anything. There isn't a time card or a list of names in this exhibition Unlike the rest of the museum. This place was specifically designed to drag you through a wave of raw emotion and stab you with anything that's relatable.
Once beyond the emotionally jarring audio and past the sand bags and wood-lined trenches, everything quiets down. A narrow wooden staircase welcomes you to go down. The flight if stairs is dimly lit with electric lanterns and a cheeky little sign above head warns you to be careful and avoid slipping. What lies beneath trenches? More trenches? But with a staircase? Doesn't sound very realistic.
I was almost happy the section was over. The staircase, much like every citadel, castle, tower, and anything to do with the army from back in the day, was built for the right-handed wielders. It was a small but very effective and clever way of building an advantage over the seizing party.
The portion below is when my mental starts breaking down. Keep in mind I'm the only down here so I have no other person as a reference point for a good few minutes. Of course, for the sharp eyed ones, you'll notice it right away. For the others, like myself, it'd be much longer before you notice what's really happening here. Here's a hint; water flows on a flat surface and does not stagnate if its not parallel to the slope of the landscape. And here, there's a small bit of water that's magically crooked, and does not flow away.
This lower portion is lined with the same wood in the staircase and in the trenches, but otherwise mostly made of cement. It is generously lit, not claustrophobic, and devoid of those demonic sound effects.
Nevertheless, I couldn't feel the floor under my feet. I was like freshly groomed chihuahua trying to run on polished marble. I suspected it was just the mental reset after a fairly traumatic section. Maybe my brain was simply adjusting to absolute safety. But I really, really, couldn't find any ground. Was I passing out?
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After realising the floor was slanted, things started getting a little better. I'm assuming it gets way better for the mentally healthier people. Looking back the pictures now, the angle of the slope wasn't as steep as it felt. You can see the sheer panic on my face. It was a cold day, but I'm in full sweat and ready to throw away my jacket, too.
This is the most distressing museum visit I've had so far. I think it adds to all the other selling points for the place. Highly recommend it, but won't do it myself again.
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