When the "carwash design" concept became central to our exhibition, we knew we needed to create a feature that would serve as a powerful metaphor for transition. This part of the installation had to do more than guide people physically, it needed to evoke the emotional and psychological experience of crossing from one phase of life to another, beginning with creating a sensory experience of newness and being slightly disoriented.
The tunnel became that special element: a symbolic passage through personal change designed to immerse visitors in the theme that defined the exhibition. However, there were many elements we had to consider to bring this vision to life carefully. First, we had to figure out how to physically construct and support the tunnel, especially given its large dimensions (12 x 7 feet), which required stability without compromising the visual flow. We then had to think through the visitor’s journey: how they would enter the space, what sensory or emotional elements were needed inside to create an impactful experience, and finally, how they would exit in a transformative way. Our goal wasn’t just to build a structure but to design an emotional arc that invited reflection and, ideally, left each visitor feeling subtly changed by the time they stepped out.
Structurally, we needed to create a skeletal frame for the tunnel that would comply with multiple constraints: tall enough for people to walk through, wide enough to create space for directional options and some "lostness," strong enough to hang materials from for blackout purposes, safe enough to withstand bumps and jostles, and unyielding enough (in terms of material) to hold the tension of ropes tied to opposing beams. We began brainstorming by considering heavy duty cardboard tubing and 3-D printing bases in which they would rest, but as we considered the joints at corners and the need to create beams across the top, and ropes with tension (for interior curtain walls) we concluded that the material would not be sturdy enough. We also considered PVC which, as plastic, might have a little too much elasticity/yield; we also preferred to find a more recyclable material.
We landed on aluminum bars that are designed for framing any kind of structure imaginable, from cabinetry to workstations to, in our case, tunnels of darkness. We place the orders, cut 13 pieces to dimensions with a metal band saw and experimented with different joint and fastener hardware, though it was difficult to know from online viewing alone whether the hardware fit the precise requirements--it would take experimentation to confirm. One of the challenges of this part of the project was that it was too large to assemble anywhere but a hallway like the one for which it was designed.
All seemed set to go with the frame until 2 days before the exhibit opening. We tested out the assembly of joints and discovered that the hole at the ends of the rods, which are designed to receive screws for attachment, were smooth not threaded. We found the tools in the Makerspace for cutting the threads into a hole, at the precise measurement of the size of the screws, so that there would be a perfect and secure fit. Cutting the threads into 20 ends of the rods was entirely manual, "old school" turns of the wrist with simple tools. On the day of the exhibit, our first opportunity to completely assemble our full scale design, all the pieces came together beautifully. On the one hand, this was not a total surprise because tried hard to leave nothing to chance; on the other hand, it's impossible, until full installation, to be certain there are no gaps. We had duct tape on hand just in case, but fortunately our planning was sound!
In order to realize our vision of creating a space of disorientation, it was critically important to make sure that the material we chose to fabricate the walls and ceiling would block out all light. The tunnel had to be dark otherwise it wouldn't work. In considering all of this, we also needed to ensure that we could secure over 252 sqft of this material with minimal funds at our disposal. At first, we played around with the idea of using some fabric but quickly realized that we would not be able to secure enough and that it would be difficult to find something that would entirely block out the light. Looking around the Maker Space and at all of the undergraduates milling around outside, we then realized that Boston College must receive and dispose of an enormous amount of cardboard on a near-daily basis. Accessing the disposed cardboard on campus proved harder than expected; most dumpsters are locked, and much of it was too small or damaged for our purposes. Nonetheless, we were able to befriend a couple of members of the facilities team who helped us locate some viable pieces. Most of the other cardboard we used came from a dumpster at a manufacturing plant on the North Shore of Massachusetts.
Once the cardboard was collected, we assembled it into 7x4 feet long sheets. Sheets of these dimensions would allow us to transport the cardboard to the site while minimizing the amount of tape we would need to seal the seams once it was on the frame. Constructing these sheets required altering and mapping out the cardboard pieces onto a 7x4 outline and attaching all of these pieces via hot glue to a shared skeleton. These sheets' skeleton, or backbone, was constructed out of discarded wood from the Maker Space. Once the sheets were finalized, we had to figure out how to paint them black. This was important for both aesthetic and functional purposes. We initially tried to paint these sheets with spray paint from the Maker Space, but this proved too inefficient and costly. As an alternative, we bought a gallon of jet-black paint and a rolling paintbrush. Throughout a couple of days, we painted the front and back of each sheet on the grass outside the Service Building.
To make both the entrance and exit of the tunnel accessible yet meaningful, we chose to create two doors to the tunnel, so that the sensory experience would begin with a choice rather than a clear path of proceeding. For the entrances we used blackout fabric to create curtains that would serve as soft barriers, encouraging a sense of separation from the outside world. We cut and sewed the fabric, tailoring it to fit the tunnel’s structure and trying to achieve as much darkness as possible, which required an additional flap to cover the slit of the curtain doors. Once we confirmed that the frame was made of metal, we adjusted our design to include a sleeve at the top of each curtain, allowing it to slide smoothly onto the metal beam. This provided a clean and functional solution and enhanced the immersive quality of the space, transforming entry and exit into deliberate, almost ritual-like moments.
Once we had finalized everything required for the tunnel, we shifted our focus inward, brainstorming ways to make the interior feel like an actual transition space. We wanted visitors to walk through and experience a shift, emotional, psychological, or even spiritual. We considered adding floor textures to create a sense of invitation, grounding, and possibly a literal sense of being on new ground. We discussed offering earplugs to encourage silence, internal reflection, and greater immersion, creating a moment of calm away from external noise. To guide the experience, we envisioned a soft light at the end of the tunnel, symbolizing hope or clarity and placing a mirror inside to prompt literal and metaphorical self-reflection. We ultimately discarded the idea of a dawning light as being too directive. Rather, we opted to provide users with a handheld, electric votive candle that could be used as an aid if they so chose.
The final exhibit included two mirrors, one full-length mirror that visitors encountered after passing through the first interior chamber of the tunnel and into the second area inside the tunnel. The second mirror was a face-high mirror on which was written: "Find a new way." This mirror was suspended over the righthand side exit door, as we realized when setting up for the exhibit that if users utilized the right exit door, they would interrupt users engaged with the video testimonial and "Take a Quote/Leave a Quote" reflective activity. This ended up adding a layer of meaning to the sensory experience we aimed to create. Visitors who chose to go to the right as they navigated the tunnel needed to navigate a new, unexpected path to exit.
We also explored the idea of offering two different exit paths, representing choice or divergence and incorporating ambient music or spoken prompts to help visitors navigate their thoughts as they move through the space. Each element was designed intentionally to create a subtle yet impactful transition. Many visitors took the candle, and about half engaged in the exhibit with earplugs.
A group member would run a candle back to the front of the sensory tunnel to signal to another group member that the tunnel was available for the next visitor.
In response to the question, "Reflecting on your experience of the exhibition, Transitions, what thoughts and feelings did you experience in the middle, sensory section of the exhibit? Please describe your thoughts, feelings, and overall reflections on this particular section of Transitions," the third respondent on the Museum survey wrote, "Curiosity to learn more." Another visitor commented on the Museum survey to this same question, "I experienced feelings of uncertainty, not knowing which direction to take, but also felt a sense of calm as I navigated forward to learn more about next steps." These comments reflect the emotional experience we hoped to create for users in the Transition tunnel: uncertainty (but not panic) and curiosity as they navigated the unusual, unfamiliar environment.
