It's the Last Friday Night of November at the Indianapolis Museum of Art. I was there for no special reason, sometimes I like to pop in for inspiration, get another look at the Modigliani or find something fresh in a sketchy Bonnard. Something was a little different tonight. When I got in the elevator to go to the third floor, there was a waiter with a tray of delicate snacks. I resisted the temptation to make a wisecrack or sample the treats. There's always a great view of the sky from that room on the 3rd floor with all the glass stuff, so I paused there to view the sunset. Suddenly I was startled by what seemed to be lightning flashes. That's when I noticed the installation, hanging from the ceiling above the patio outside. It looked like a spider's web spun out of thick metal bars. I started to figure things out. The creator of the installation is with me in this room, along with an assistant, they are trying to get the lighting right for the installation. I look down to see some shivering, well-dressed folks mingling outside below, looking up at the installation, posing for photographs, munching on the very snacks I saw in the elevator. I wanted to see what the installation sculpture looked like from down there, so I went back to the elevator. This time when the doors opened, there was a waitress with a tray loaded with glasses of champagne. Again, I bit my tongue. She seemed lost so I told her to follow me. We found the party, maybe a dozen people. The speeches had just begun. The artist--- I didn't get there in time to catch her name---Maya Lin I'm guessing---spoke of her inspiration: a river. The White River, which she said is the second largest underground river in the world---I have no reason to doubt her. She navigated this river in a cave in a canoe and with the aid of geological technology had mapped it out and the results of this cartography were the inspiration for the installation dangling from the ceiling outside. I was really glad to hear her explain it, because I got it. What had appeared to be a random jumble of metal began to make sense. Max Anderson added a few enlightening comments about the collaboration of science and handmade art, how this sculpture is really a modern cave painting if you think about it, and he imagined how someone driving down 38th street might look up at this installation and wonder what it is right as they're driving over part of the very river that inspired the thing in the first place. "Let's go up to the 3rd floor and look at it from that perspective," Anderson suggested. I considered tagging along, but I'd already seen it from up there. So I took the long way home, down 38th street, over the river and glanced back once to see it from yet another perspective.