Picture the scene. A remote abandoned house, the inhabitants long gone, the contents covered in a fine layer of dust. In a curtained backroom, neatly laid out on a long, narrow table are a number of shabby, un-presupposing old wooden boxes. Hidden inside are revelations, objects of wonder and contemplation—elements of the natural world, a gnostic text, insects caught in amber.
One box, Thunder, Perfect 
Mind, is dedicated to a coptic codex of the same name, a previously unknown second century monologue narrated by a nameless feminine divinity. The codex was discovered by chance by a farmer digging in his fields at Hag Hammadi in Egypt in 1945.
‘I am the silence
That is incomprehensible.
I am the utterance of my name.’
The Secret Museum was inspired by the abandoned cottages of the rural poor in Ireland, where the contents remained long after the occupants have emigrated or died. They belong to a world where treasure could be found in the most unassuming of objects—a pearl button, a leaf, a broken pair of spectacles.
The Secret Museum is waiting to be found. It is a place of untold stories
and silence waiting to be filled.