The Louvre Museum. Art history enclosed in a 60,600 square metre maze. Wide stairs, vast halls, dimmed light, colourful walls, narrow passages, spacious corridors and crowds of people standing in front of paintings. After walking around for a few hours, my consciousness died. I stopped receiving any external stimuli. I gazed and did not see, did not feel or comprehend. I needed a rest from the paintings, the sculptures and the other objects exhibited as works of art, all attacking me from everywhere. The few seats were occupied by the equally tired or contemplating audience of art. I needed isolation. To hide in the shadows, to see nothing and hear nothing. Not to be. I was looking to find a shelter where I could give my senses a rest. I was looking for a shadow. The shadow soothes the eyesight, gives rest to the senses. I watched the shadows cast by paintings, statues, sculptures and other works of art. The shadows caught my attention. They dragged me in. They required nothing of me. They simply were. I became a shadow and the shadows became an integral part of the pieces of art I’d come to see.