Art Underground

The ceiling of the cistern dripped with hard Danish water that formed thin stalactites that stretch as far as two feet towards the ground. I could see my breath even though the temperature outside cavern was in the fifties. A disembodied child yelled from the dark just to hear the sound of its echo. I could feel her pain. After all there wasn't a whole lot of stuff to keep kids interested in The Cisterne, a modern art museum buried under Fredrickserg Park.

I had been meaning to check out the place ever since I first stumbled on it. I kept putting it off for the same reason I've been putting off going to Hamlet's castle: no reason. Maybe a little procrastination, coupled with a reluctance to spend money any something other than food or alcohol. It was a deal getting in actually. A little less than eight bucks for students, and a couple extra if you're not. The museum is a deep lair that's poorly lit and filled with morbid glass sculptures usually covered in blood.

One of the bloody statues

Some of the art creeped me out, and I think of myself as a fairly callous person. But this on work was a pack of small ceramic dogs that were fighting with each other. They were painted in black fur, white for teeth, and liberally splashed with red paint that spilled out of small chips in their skin. It was a frozen dog fight with plenty of casualties to keep my eyes occupied.

The cold was nearly unbearable. It felt like I had stepped back in time to a month ago when I couldn't go outside of the apartment wearing fewer than four layers of thick clothing. The museum was small enough to see before I finally succumbed to the chilled air that pierced through my pitiful wind breaker. I ended up running out of the place after feeling like raising my heart rate was the only way to survive the cruel cold of the biggest walk-in freezer I have ever entered.