“All it takes to uncover hidden gems is a clear eye, an open mind, and willingness to search for inspiration in places other people aren’t willing or able to go” – Austin Kleon
Tucked quietly away from the bustle of Starhill and the relentless pace of Kuala Lumpur’s Golden Triangle sits Museum of Illusions — a space that at first glance feels like a playful diversion, but on closer encounter reveals itself as something far more layered.
When I first stepped in, I was both amused and curious. Amused by the cleverness of the installations, and curious — almost suspicious — of the scale. Compared to a much earlier visit to the Museum of Illusions in Penang years ago, this one felt noticeably smaller. And yet, that very sensation became the first illusion of the day. How could a space feel compact and expansive at the same time?
Even the room itself seemed to be playing tricks.
That was when it clicked: the experience begins before you even start looking.
For many visitors, the Museum of Illusions reads as a fun, Instagram-friendly attraction — mirrors, distortions, impossible spaces. But for me, it immediately suggested something else: a living classroom. Or better yet, a flip classroom — one where perception leads, and reflection follows.
Walking through the exhibits, I couldn’t help but think of Optical Art, particularly the work of Bridget Riley. Her Movement in Squares came to mind almost instantly — that relentless push and pull of black and white, the tension between flatness and movement, the way vision becomes unstable the longer you look. And there it was, quite literally, printed among the exhibits. For a moment, my inner art-history nerd had a small but very real victory.
Beyond named references, what stood out was how effectively the museum uses contrast, repetition, mirrors, and spatial manipulation to disorient and reorient the viewer. This is Op Art in experiential form. Illusion not as trickery, but as inquiry.
Which is exactly why I decided to take my students there.
The decision, truthfully, was a bit of a gamble. I hadn’t visited this particular outlet before, and I went in with crossed fingers, hoping it would echo the richness of my Penang experience from nearly a decade ago. But the risk paid off — not because the museum delivered answers, but because it provoked questions.
For students, the shift from screen-based viewing to physical engagement was immediate. Rather than merely seeing illusions, they experienced them. Some described feeling dizzy as colours and patterns disrupted their sense of balance. Others felt oddly watched, unsettled by reflections that refused to behave. And a few didn’t want to leave at all — fascinated by a kind of visual language they had never encountered in person.
“In animation, still images shown quickly create the illusion of movement. This experience inspires me to use perspective and camera angles more carefully in my future works.” – Liong ST, Diploma in Digital Media Design
What mattered wasn’t just reaction, but translation.
Instead of treating the visit as passive observation, students were given different ways of responding.
One group was asked to connect their discoveries back to topics in the History of Animation, particularly the idea of persistence of vision — how motion emerges from stillness, how repetition constructs meaning. Another group was tasked to observe, collect, and decode their experiences, returning to class with sketches of imagined spaces, translated into isometric form.
Thoughts become things. If you see it in your mind, you will hold it in your hand.
– Bob Proctor
Seeing became thinking.
Thinking became making.
In this sense, the Museum of Illusions operates as more than a novelty. It becomes a reminder that perception is embodied — that what we feel, notice, and experience physically cannot be replicated through a screen alone. YouTube clips and social media snippets flatten what is, in reality, a deeply sensory encounter.
And this ties closely to my own teaching intention. As much as I embrace advanced technologies — from digital tools to AI-assisted workflows — my aim has always been to keep learning human-centred. Technology can support execution, but it cannot replace lived experience. It cannot feel disorientation. It cannot register surprise. It cannot interpret meaning without us feeding it intention.
“Animators use movements, prespective, lighting, and repeated images to make our eyes see motion and space. This visit inspired me to think kore creatively about how visuals can affect the way people see things. […] I hope to learn and use these ideas in my animation or design work to create more fun and interesting visuals.” – Leong XX, Diploma in Digital Media Design
It takes two to tango.
That’s why spaces like the Museum of Illusions matter. They invite us to step outside, to engage our senses, to be slightly uncomfortable, slightly amused, and fully present. They remind students — and educators — that learning doesn’t only happen at desks or behind screens.
And perhaps the most important takeaway was this: not everything has to be serious to be meaningful.
Sometimes, learning begins with curiosity. With laughter. With a willingness to be fooled.
So if you find yourself navigating the crowded streets of Bukit Bintang and need a brief escape — whether as a designer, educator, student, or simply a curious human — step inside. Go with an open mind. Look again. Bring a friend. Or better yet, bring the whole village.
Treat it as play.
Treat it as study.
More often than not, the two are inseparable.
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