New Meow Wolf Denver transports visitors to a wild galaxy
I’m seated at a salon vanity trying to decide if I’m more suited to an
Aqua Orb or a Power Wig. The mirror in front of me doubles as an alien style finder. As I tap different buttons, it projects otherworldly hairdos over my face. Out of touch with extraterrestrial style, I move across the bubblegum pink and sky-blue room and stick my head into a vintage beehive hair dryer. A screen inside streams an alien fashion show, clueing me in to what looks are in vogue.
The cleverly named Sa Lawn is one of 79 unique art spaces to discover in Convergence Station, a four-floor, 90,000-squarefoot immersive art experience now open in Denver. Three years in the making, this intergalactic world is the third permanent exhibition from Santa Fe, N.M.-based arts and entertainment company Meow Wolf. The alt-art collective has earned a cult following for its trippy, largescale installations, including House of Eternal Return in Santa Fe and Omega Mart, which debuted earlier this year in Las Vegas.
Each project is inspired by a wildly creative, fictional narrative. For Meow Wolf devotees, Convergence Station will feel like the third chapter of a science-fiction series. The plot: In 1994, a cosmic event brings four disparate alien worlds together. The collision results in four missing women and erases the memories of the residents. In this new interplanetary community, memories are both currency and the key to piecing together the cause of the convergence as well as the women’s whereabouts.
Following the story line can sound daunting, especially to Meow Wolf virgins like me. But the beauty of Meow Wolf is that you can go as deep down the rabbit hole as you please. Obsessives can request a free QPASS card upon arrival to access “memories” (aka multimedia clues) so they can help solve the mysteries as well as piece together the installation’s larger narrative. You can also just wander and get lost on a multisensory journey through the strange labyrinth of sparkle caves, catacombs and time capsules. And you will get lost.
The name Convergence Station is a nod to the exhibition’s transportation theme. Front doors and elevator banks welcome visitors to the Quantum Department of Transportation, or QDOT, which runs “tram lines” to the four colliding universes of the frozen planet Eemia, the sanitation district of urban planet, C Street, the catacomb civilization of Ossuary and swamplike Numina. Unlike most public transportation systems, there are no maps or GPS devices that can help you navigate among worlds. Like a choose-your-own-adventure story, there’s no right or wrong way to experience Convergence Station.
A secret back door led me into Sa Lawn, a headspinning, maximalist space created by Denverbased artist Kyle Singer, one of more than 300 artists who collaborated on the project. The zig-zag edge of the front door, cheery colors and imaginatively arranged clutter remind me of the childhood show “Pee-wee’s Playhouse,” which I later learn was one of Singer’s muses. In addition to the vanity and hair dryer, a wall of glass-enclosed shelves is packed with odd memorabilia (perhaps belonging to a teenage alien?), including a sportball trophy, hamburger phone and McDonald’s cup coated with 50 layers of paint. The room is not large, but it’s so saturated with stuff that I spend 40 minutes trying to take it all in. Leaving Sa Lawn for the gritty C Street feels like walking out of a Disney movie onto the set of “Blade Runner.” All of the animals have escaped an empty pet shop next door, and an abandoned Toyota sits in the middle of the street. The old movie theater is still open, and an interactive concession bot shovels me a bucket of buttery popcorn, but alas, there are no films showing today. I learn that the residents of C Street don’t trust politics and elect a new mayor every 20 minutes. A glowing voting machine counts down time before the next vote and beckons visitors to cast a ballot.
The bleakness of C Street is contrasted by the kaleidoscopic cathedral of the ice world Eemia. I sit on a giant robot’s lap shooting guns into space. I’m told if I hit just the right star, I can create a wormhole event. The swamp world Numina is full of naturescapes and fairytale creatures. Glowing jellyfish dangle from the ceiling ringing like wind chimes, and a pinkand-white horse and ominous bear-ferret stare down at me from a mystical forest. I somehow find myself back in C Street, where I duck into the Mijo Miho Cybercafe for a sensory time-out but instead find myself partaking in an impromptu dance party.
Hellofood, a groundfloor café featuring more than a dozen local vendors, is intended for sensory breaks, and carnitas tacos and a lager from Marble Brewing help my mind settle after hours of stimulation. The team at Meow Wolf suggests setting aside 90 minutes to three hours for exploration, but I could have easily spent an entire day, having barely scratched the surface.
And that’s the beauty of Meow Wolf. No matter how many times you return, you’re certain to discover something new. At a time when we could all use an escape from reality, Meow Wolf provides the ultimate fantasy vacation.