Amalia Wojciechowski, assistant director and collections curator
I have a confession to make: I’ve never been much of a fan of the Winter Olympics. While a sports fan overall, the quadrennial nature of the Games, combined with the seemingly esoteric nature of many of the competitions—what is a skeleton bobsled anyways?—failed to pique my interest. It’s with some degree of surprise that I find myself rapt this year, covertly checking scores and standings when I have a down moment or when I’m up in the middle of the night.
The difference comes in my newly minted participation in one of those abstruse sports—curling. Back in 2023, Museum director Matt Foss took our staff to throw a few stones and get the hang of the sport at the Wausau Curling Club. (Check out his post here). For whatever reason, it didn’t stick for me then. It wasn’t until this past October, when I participated in a “Learn to Curl” at the Stevens Point Curling Club that something clicked. While I’m still firmly in the novice camp, I’m lucky to have had the chance to join a Sunday night beginner’s league, and participate in three “bonspiels,” or weekend-long curling competitions during the 2025-26 curling season. I think it’s safe to say that I, like many folks around the world following the Olympic competitions, find myself with curling on the brain.
I’m grateful to have taken on something new as an adult—a reminder that curiosity and earnest participation can open up new communities. Once you’ve wrestled with balance on the ice, tried to control weight on a stone, and learned how much strategy hides beneath what looks like polite sweeping, curling stops feeling obscure and starts feeling extraordinary. I now watch with intent—noticing line calls, reading the ice, appreciating the communication between teammates—in the same way familiarity transforms any specialized practice from spectacle into craft.
For me, that shift feels deeply connected to my museum work. Every day we ask visitors to slow down in front of something that may initially appear distant or opaque: a painting technique, a cultural tradition, a material process, an artistic decision made centuries ago. The goal isn’t simply recognition but participation—the moment when a viewer learns just enough to see differently. It’s a good reminder that sometimes appreciation doesn’t come from explanation alone—it comes from trying, wobbling, and realizing how much skill lives inside something that once looked simple. Curling gave me that experience from the inside out.
