Copenhagen has a hidden subterranean museum.
It’s clandestine, marked only by two glass pyramids, like submerged icebergs, protruding from the grassy lawn of a local park.
There is one small sign outside one of the glass structures, written in Danish, with a welcome to visitors.
Upon entry, you’ll be cordially greeted by a polite Dane, before descending down a flight of concrete stairs into the underbelly of the park.
At the end of the staircase sits a large mirror to collect as much light as possible from the Danish skies, to redirect into the cave.
Into the cavern, human eyeballs need a few minutes to adjust.
And gingerly, one foot in front of the other, one can only hear their own breath, and the hollow footsteps of cautious shoes on the wooden planked platforms elevated above a pool of rain water.
Other than that, complete silence.
So still and dark, the water, one does not even notice it until nearly walking over the edge of the platform, casually guarded by loose ropes.
Mirrors strategically placed throughout the cavern faintly illuminate the maze of stone archways.
It’s not much, but it’s enough.
And as you delicately rock forward with each sound of your footsteps, you can’t help but think,
“This is the coolest art gallery I’ve ever been to.”