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When I walked inside BenCab Museum, I was not just a visitor—I was a witness to lifetimes etched into paint, photos, stone, thread, and wood. Each room showcased different worlds to embark in, with various stories to be told. What started as a casual exploration gradually became an intimate conversation between myself and the creative souls who left parts of themselves behind in their work.

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Upon going downstairs from the receiving area, we were greeted by a stunning panorama of seven muses, swaying without a care in the world, ensnaring us mere viewers in their immortalized dance.

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These women would make themselves known once more in a triptych of tapestries. One can only wonder how they appear so airy and free, despite being swathed in layers of fabric.

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If the earlier subjects were the pinnacle of modesty, the erotica gallery would give its viewers whiplash. Explicit and unabashed, the pieces explored human sexuality in its rawness.

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Taking it a step further, it seemed as though we were moving past bodies to observing innards. Now we’re getting comfortable.

(As someone with a strange fascination for all things creepy and occult—perhaps due to my exposure to dark fantasy games—this piece instantly became a favorite. The creatures faintly remind me of the Deathbirds from Elden Ring. Both evoke the same feeling of oppressive hopelessness.)

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Thankfully, an untitled piece roused within us a sense of comfort, pulling us out from the depths of the peculiar.

(Its muted hues are my favorite.)

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And from the depths, there is always a way up. With the will of the spirit, there is a chance to be reborn.

(The concept of death and rebirth always resonates with me. Just as a snake sheds its skin, I too undergo continual renewal.)

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But perhaps it was stumbling upon the museum’s outdoor area that made this trip all the more worthwhile. Hours were spent peering into people’s souls laid bare within their artworks. In that meaningful stretch of time, I lived a hundred lives. I saw joy through their eyes, but also felt their despair. I heard the gentle whispers of love toward their muses, but also a burning, righteous anger toward the system.

Reuniting with the sun and feeling its rays caress my face felt like a tender message:
"Return now, child. From here on, your life goes on."

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Art is felt by the senses beyond just sight. Each piece I encountered offered not just a glimpse into its creator’s mind, but also into my own. There were some I connected with that were even far removed from my usual tastes. Stepping into the sunlight after being immersed in a world of colors with embedded stories felt like waking up from a dream. I left with warmth in my heart and a deeper appreciation for how art can echo one's own transformations, griefs, hopes, and most importantly, love.