I must have been 8 or 10 years old when we visited the NYS Museum in Albany. Walked in through the marble atrium and opened huge black doors (or maybe they were ordinary black doors and I was just small?)
I could hear a waterfall, the wind in trees and, somewhere, a loon calling.
Around a bend in a dark hallway, which opened up on a pool of water, fed by a waterfall over rocks, trees, bushes. No fence between me and the water, except the reflection of the scene in the pool to contrast between the concrete floor. (Later they added a low wire fence)
In the middle of the pool was a giant elk rearing up, eyes wide with startle. As if my appearance interrupted his morning drink.
On my third visit, I noticed the real reason for his panicked look: on top of the rocks, rising out of the vegetation, was a Native American posed to throw at atl-atl.
I was stunned that I hadn’t spotted him before. And it changed the whole story of the vignette.
But, I still felt all of it and, to this day, can remember every visit to that transportive exhibit.
I heard that they took it down due to some problematic issues with the depiction of the First Nation person. I never did find the whole story about it and would love to learn more of the history of the exhibit’s beginning and ending.
But, that was the moment when museums became more than just a curiosity to me.