The original Winged Jellyfish specimen, along with a beautifully bound edition of our short story, The Winged Jellyfish, was carefully packed and returned to the Harn Museum of Art in Gainesville, Florida.

But let’s take a step back.

It all began with a simple prompt: A docent handed me a sheet of aluminum foil. “Make something,” she said.

She clearly meant right then and there—something quick, so we could continue with her tour. I bunched up the foil into a wad, then folded it back out a bit, just to make sure I wasn’t turning in my assignment as only a ball. Mission accomplished.

But to be honest, I did fail the assignment.

I failed to truly “make something” in the moment. But, in the realm beyond the point of diminishing returns that failure isn’t just common—it’s necessary. I’d spend the next ten days working on nothing but, would build on top of that since, and I have a feeling this story isn’t anywhere near over.

Recently, we commissioned Adam Oehlers to paint his interpretation of our short story. You should see That Winged Jellyfish for yourself. Spoiler alert: He nailed it.

The travel voucher for our Inter-Dimensional Airship Service is modeled after the press passes from the first—and only—Hindenburg voyage. But what if history had taken a mind-warping turn? This exhibit explores an overview effect through an alternate reality—perhaps the real reality: The Hindenburg didn’t explode; it was sucked into another dimension. Now, as a passenger aboard this lost airship, you are very much alive and aloft—drifting safely through time, witnessing the next 100 years of arts and sciences from a bird’s-eye view.

The morning atmosphere creates a temperature inversion, trapping cooler air near the ground beneath a layer of warmer air. This inversion reduces turbulence, allowing sound waves to travel farther and more clearly—a perfect stage, but perhaps only one reason we hear nature’s little performers at this hour.

We explore the idea that birds, like human vocalists, warm up their voices before a performance—a day of singing. After all, what else would little birds do with the rest of their day? Relying on their songs to attract mates and defend territory, these early birds fine-tune their vocal performances for optimal results. Practice, practice, practice!

This exhibit—available all day but far more magical in the morning—is an immersive experience. Through our interspecies appreciation of music and song, we perform with the songbirds and even translate what they’re saying.

This rotating exhibit challenges the idea that meaning should be confined to an individual work. Instead, new meanings emerge between works, where pieces placed together create a narrative that is richer, deeper, and more alive than any one alone.

Take these three pieces from The Aviary Collection:

Tired of Waiting—A young woman discovers she has wings. She is capable of taking off—doing amazing things, but she isn’t quite sure yet if she knows how to use them.

True Face 2—A young woman, turned a bit toward the viewer, pulls her hair back to reveal a gruesome wound on her cheek. She is building up her confidence—no longer afraid to be seen.

In Flight—This woman is airborne—aboard an airship, no less—confidently taking control of her journey. And wow, that cheek is now bandaged, symbolizing healing and resilience across the pieces. She took a leap, left fear and doubt behind, and now soars independently.

Each piece is striking on its own. But together? They tell a story of transformation—of courage, healing, and soaring to fulfill potential. The connections between multiple works can alter the way we experience them. This is curation as storytelling, where connections shift their resonant frequencies, changing how they may resonate with you.