We gathered at the Invisible Exhibition in Prague. Our tour guide led us into a pitch-black room. You might think you know what pitch-black is, but this room was darker than whatever you’re thinking of; we were blind. Luckily for us, the tour guide is blind and has been all his life. “You want to hold your hands in front of you, they are now your eyes. If you put your hands in your pocket while in here, it’s like closing your eyes and walking into the street.” We went into an apartment first, stumbling around the kitchen holding our hands out, constantly bumping into each other, a constant series of “oops”, “sorry”, and “my bad.” Next was the street. The speaker system in the room played busy city sounds and it felt extremely real and frightening, I could only imagine how blind people would frequent this hostile space.
We passed through a forest with a bridge over actual running water, a hunter’s cabin with several types of furs for us to guess, and the museum. This museum had paintings that we couldn’t see, but sculptures could be seen by my new eyes. Isn’t it odd that regular museums are pointless for blind people? They contain some of the most recognizable images in culture like the Mona Lisa, Starry Night, or The Vitruvian Man. Yet, these pieces are completely inaccessible to a blind person, at least not directly. Now that I think about it, the concept of crying, laughing, or raging because you looked at some paint on a canvas sounds much more like sorcery or magic to me than a natural human reaction. Out of context that sounds outrageous, but we are struck with awe when we see a painting we resonate with.
Lastly, we finished at the bar. I got a beer (of course I did, I’m in the Czech Republic). Our tour guide helped us distinguish between the different types of Czech coins without eyesight; the 1 and 10 were both smooth edges, the 2 and 20 were both 13-sided coins, and the 5 and 50 were ridged edges. After not seeing anything for long enough, your mind might start doing its own magic. I started to hallucinate small blotches of color and light maybe peeking through some hole in a wall, but it always went away. We asked the tour guide what he likes to do in his free time. “I usually like to listen to the TV, talk with friends, cooking is a passion of mine as well.”
“That sounds surprisingly normal.” I said, not knowing if it would offend our guide.
“Yes, that is what I think is so interesting about being blind, is that most of the time its not interesting at all! People will always act like I have it so hard, ‘poor guy’ they say, because I have never seen a sunset. That doesn’t matter to me precisely because I have never seen it! What matters to me are the things that I can experience.”
I came to the Czech Republic to experience a different culture, and I certainly did, but the most profound culture shock came from being stuck in a pitch-black room for an hour. That time gave me a perspective I never thought I needed: the things that matter to you are the things you know. Don’t feel bad that there’s hundreds of concerts to attend, countries to travel to, or parties to party at, feel bad for the people that haven’t seen what you’ve seen. Different things matter to different people. I want to thank the Rudolph family for the scholarship and the ability to travel to such an incredible country. This certainly was an opportunity that I couldn’t miss.
