The Light And Dark Of It
by Kevin Raub
Inside is a fascinating display of native and contemporary art,
including an impressive 36,000-year-old mummified Steppe Bison (a
species that is extinct but which lives on here, thanks to
taxidermy) and an Okvik Madonna, a 2,000-year-old icon carved from
a walrus tusk and worth $1 million. But the cutting-edge side of
the museum is what makes it worth the price of admission. Heading
up that group is classical new age composer John Luther Adams, who
is building a sound and light room that is controlled by the
constant fluctuations of the weather, the sun, and the moon. In
other words, the rhythmic pulses of Mother Nature control the sonic
soundscape inside it. So, no two moments ever sound exactly the
same, and earthquakes make for a very interesting symphony.
Later that evening, I sit down with James Allen, PhD, a psychology
professor at the University of Alaska-Fairbanks, to discuss the
effects of perpetual darkness on Alaskans throughout the winter.
I'm thinking it surely must drive people insane, as evidenced by
several experiences on this trip (there are more on the way, trust
me). Though Allen hasn't seen an increase in suicides or other
violent crimes during Fairbanks's winters, there is certainly an
increase in odd behavior. "This is an eccentric community," he
says. "People really tend to get squirrelly by March. After it's
been 30 below for a while, 20 degrees really feels warm. You'll see
people wandering around in shorts and other crazy stuff like that."
It doesn't take long during a visit to Fairbanks to realize the
locals' thermostats are way off. "You came during a warm spell," I
hear about twice a day, despite the temperature on my visit
hovering right around the zero mark. Is that insane or what?
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