There’s this ridiculously good idea of a restaurant in my town, where a craft beer bar and grill had a baby with an art museum.
The museum sucks. It has art in it, sure. But for the most part, it’s balls.
But when I pushed the giant plate glass doors open to walk the long corridor to the restrooms, I was struck by this crazy electric art museum vibe.
The museum feels so electric because it is filled with climate-controlled media, and freshly painted installation walls, and floor wax, sure.
But it is even more filled with the ghost of making.
It was created to house and exhibit expressions of the human spirit, from human hands and minds. It’s a collection of artists’ hearts and heads writ large in medium and displayed reverently for people to ponder, and crusty old men to be all like, “I could totally make that…,” and for kids to field-trip, and for me to mind-trip all the way back to my beer.
I love it, the way the spirit of making and the beer and the food all come together. Way more than the balls museum by itself.
Well done, sucky museum.