They were blocks of homes and hardware stores, each a different shade of the same rust and brick. Sidewalks glistened with the morning’s rain and shallow gutters were aspiring to mirrors. The road ended at 36th Street three miles down, far past the attention and eyes of anybody worth a walking damn.
Jim Henson’s Fantastical World lies three levels below the unassuming dome of the Smithsonian’s International Gallery of Art. To enter the exhibit, you must walk past two or three dimly lit galleries and through a colored hall, its walls embossed with phrases like, “The only rule is that there are no rules.”