Labyrinth

The other evening, on my way home, I walked through Forrest Place in the city. The installation in the middle of the space, the Water Labyrinth, had just been turned off.

The Water Labyrinth is “an interactive water sculpture created exclusively for Forrest Place by internationally renowned artist Jeppe Hein.” (I can’t find any Creative Commons licensed photos of it, so go here to the artist’s page if you want to see what it looks like). In the warmer months it’s extremely popular with the young of all ages and sizes.

So the installation had just been turned off. The ground was wet where the water had been gushing. It was a coolish, fine evening, the sun was setting. There were two little girls, maybe four or five years old, standing at the edge of the the installation. They were looking at it, maybe waiting for it to come back on. Eventually, when the water didn’t come back on, the smaller of the two girls darted across onto the ground the installation covers.

She ran across gleefully, almost as though she was expecting – daring – the water to come back on and splash her. The other girl stood on the sidelines shrieking at the small girl; I couldn’t hear what she was shouting, but I could imagine: “COME BACK! YOU’LL GET WET!!”

The smaller girl just kept joyfully running through, ignoring the bigger girl.

Even at a young age, the two girls were already so different in temperament. The younger one daring, adventurous; the older one much more cautious, almost fearful. How will they grow up? Will the younger girl maintain her daring?

I found myself thinking about what I’d do – my immediate response would have been like the bigger girl’s, standing on the sidelines wondering what to do, whether the installation would come back on. When did I lose that joie de vivre? Or maybe I was just tired after a day at work?