Dispatch from my first 'Wonder/Wander' side quest
- Brianne Sanchez
- 6 days ago
- 2 min read
In an effort to infuse my desk-centric mundanity with a little magic, I decided to designate my 2026 Fridays "Wonder/Wander Days." The idea came during a December group call featuring
Wudan Yan, a successful freelance writer and fact checker/agency owner. She described her impressive approach to protecting free time away from her computer. (Do we say #Goals anymore?)
Aliza Nisenbaum: Día de los Muertos Exhibition at the Des Moines Art Center
I created a recurring Friday calendar block before that call ended and dared to declare my plan. Alas, my ambitious (delulu?) vision of completely work-free Fridays dissolved this very first week. I am not complaining about my full plate of projects. I simply need to recognize that, between school pickups and volunteer committee meetings, my weeks look different. Instead of fully unplugged Fridays spent reveling in the woodlands, my weekly wonder/wonder intention will involve more side-quests. The whole point is to prioritize movement, discovery, and connection.
With that in mind, I set out for my first destination. It was a nearly 40-degree, sunny January morning, so I hopped on my bike to the Des Moines Art Center. (I drive by the museum daily during middle school dropoff, but months have passed since I've so much as buzzed through the galleries.)
Since becoming a full-time freelancer juggling growing kids and a slate of community committments, nothing has refreshed me more than my soloish trip museum-hopping in Madrid. Thanks to this (world-class) neighborhood jewel and our wonderful local galleries, there is truly no reason I can't give myself a taste of that in my hometown.
Today, two of the exhibitions tugged at my heart. Both are in their last weeks, so I caught them just in time:
“Aliza Nisenbaum: Día de los Muertos,” curated by Art Center Associate Curator Beth Gollnick and
Manuel Álvarez Bravo: Collaborations in the Anna K. Meredith Gallery
Each highlighted Mexican and Mexican American artists. The Meredith Gallery also featured poetry that brought me near tears.
Today would have been my dad's 90th birthday, but he died more than two decades ago. Spending focused moments surrounded by gorgeous black-and-white Mexican photography and colorful contemporary Dia de los Muertos paintings proved grief isn't linear.
I paused and read this Octavio Paz prose poem (a translation by Eliot Weinberger was printed on the wall) three times:
The day unfolds its transparent body. Tied to the solar stone, the light pounds me with its great invisible hammers. I am only a pause between one vibration and the next: the living point, the sharp, quiet point fixed at the intersection of two glances that ignore each other and meet within me. Do they make a pact? I am pure space, the battleground. Through my body I see my other body. The stone sparkles. The sun rips out my eyes. Two stars smooth red feathers in my empty sockets. Spleandor, spiral of wings and a fierce beak. And now my eyes sing. Peer into its song, throw yourself into the fire.
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