David Walsh is a professional gambler who made a fortune beating the casinos at their own game. Then he built a $75 million "subversive Disneyland" in a Hobart suburb to house his massive art collection. That’s the origin story of the Museum of Old and New Art, or MONA as everyone calls it. It’s weird. It’s built underground into a sandstone cliff. Honestly, it’s probably the only museum in the world where you can drink a glass of estate-grown Moo Brew beer while looking at a machine that mimics the human digestive system and literally poops on a schedule.
If you’re heading to Tasmania, people will tell you that you have to go here. They’re right. But not for the reasons you think. It isn't just a gallery; it’s a direct challenge to the idea that art has to be "important" or "civilized." Walsh famously described it as a temple to sex and death. It feels less like a sterile white box and more like a high-end bunker designed by a mad scientist with a very expensive sense of humor.
Forget Everything You Know About Art Galleries
Most museums start with a grand entrance and a clear path. Not this one. To get to the Museum of Old and New Art, you usually take a camo-painted catamaran from Hobart’s Brooke Street Pier. You sit on sheep-shaped stools in the "Posh Pit" if you're feeling fancy. When you arrive, you’re greeted by a tennis court and a rusted steel exterior. You enter through a small, unassuming building and then descend a spiral staircase deep into the earth.
The layout is a literal labyrinth. There are no wall labels. No "Do Not Touch" signs every three feet. Instead, you get an iPod-like device called "The O." It uses GPS to track where you are and tells you about the art nearby. You can choose to read "Art Wank"—the standard academic fluff—or "Gonzo," which features Walsh’s personal, often profane, rants about why he bought the piece.
It’s refreshing. It treats you like an adult who can make up their own mind. You aren't being told what is good. You’re just experiencing it in the dark, moody silence of a subterranean cave.
The Wim Delvoye "Poop Machine" and Other Essentials
Let's talk about the Cloaca Professional. It’s the elephant in the room. Or rather, the digestive tract in the room. Created by Belgian artist Wim Delvoye, it’s a series of glass jars and pumps that get fed twice a day by museum staff. It digests the food and, at 2:00 PM daily, it produces actual excrement.
Is it art? Walsh thinks so. It’s a commentary on the futility of existence, or maybe just a really expensive joke about how we turn food into waste. Either way, the smell is unmistakable. It’s one of those things you’ll never forget, even if you want to.
But the Museum of Old and New Art isn’t just about shock value.
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- Snake by Sidney Nolan: This is a massive mural consisting of 1,620 individual paintings. It’s breathtakingly huge. It dominates a long wall and forces you to reckon with the scale of Australian mythology.
- The Library: Walsh’s personal library is a work of art itself. It contains thousands of rare books, some bound in human skin (allegedly), and others that are just deeply obscure. You can’t touch them all, but just standing in the room feels like being inside someone’s brain.
- 20:50 by Richard Wilson: Imagine a room filled waist-deep with recycled engine oil. It’s so still it looks like a perfect mirror. It’s disorienting and beautiful and smells faintly of a mechanic's garage.
The collection rotates, but the vibe remains the same: it’s eclectic. You might see an ancient Egyptian sarcophagus sitting next to a modern video installation of a man screaming. There is no chronological order. Time doesn’t exist down there.
The Architecture is the Real Star
Nonda Katsalidis is the architect behind the madness. He had to figure out how to carve three levels of galleries into the Triassic sandstone of the Berriedale peninsula. The result is raw and brutal. The walls are often just exposed rock, weeping with moisture.
It’s dark. Like, really dark.
The lighting is theatrical, pinpointing the art while leaving the corridors in shadow. This creates a sense of intimacy. You feel like you’ve discovered something secret. The lack of windows means you lose all sense of time. You might go in at 10:00 AM and come out at 4:00 PM blinking at the Tasmanian sunlight, wondering where the day went.
Why People Get MONA Wrong
A lot of critics call MONA a vanity project. They aren't entirely wrong. It is one man’s very specific, very biased view of the world. But that’s exactly why it works. Most public galleries are curated by committees. They’re safe. They’re designed not to offend.
The Museum of Old and New Art doesn’t care if you’re offended. In fact, it kind of hopes you are.
Some people complain it’s too "try-hard" or that the focus on sex and death is adolescent. Maybe. But compare that to the experience of walking through a dusty state gallery where you feel like you have to whisper. At MONA, you can talk, you can laugh, and you can definitely get a drink. There’s a winery (Moorilla) and a brewery right on site. You can literally take a bottle of wine into the galleries.
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This isn't just about looking at pretty things. It’s about the intersection of culture and hedonism. It’s a playground for adults.
The Economic Impact Nobody Expected
Before MONA opened in 2011, Hobart was a quiet maritime city. It was beautiful, sure, but it wasn't exactly a global art destination. Walsh changed that overnight. "The MONA Effect" is a real thing. It pumped millions into the local economy.
Suddenly, there were boutique hotels popping up. The food scene exploded. The Dark Mofo winter festival—also a Walsh creation—now brings thousands of people to Tasmania in the freezing cold of June to watch nude solstice swims and eat slow-cooked meat under red lights.
It’s transformed the identity of an entire state. Tasmania went from being the "butt of the joke" in Australia to being the coolest place in the country.
Planning the Trip: What You Need to Know
Don’t just wing it. If you’re coming from the mainland or overseas, you need a plan.
First, the ferry is the only way to go. Driving there is fine, but you miss the approach from the water, which is half the fun. Book the ferry in advance. It sells out, especially during peak summer months or when there’s a festival on.
Second, give yourself a full day. You’ll think you can do it in two hours. You can’t. Between the underground galleries, the outdoor installations, the Faro Tapas restaurant (which has incredible views and more weird art), and the cellar door, you’ll need at least five or six hours.
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Third, stay on-site if you have the budget. The MONA Pavilions are stunning, though they aren't cheap. Each one is named after an Australian architect or artist. If that’s too pricey, stay in Hobart’s CBD or North Hobart—it’s only a 20-minute boat ride away.
Is it kid-friendly?
Sorta. There’s a lot of space to run around outside. There’s a giant trampoline with bells on it. But inside? Some of the art is very graphic. There are rooms with age restrictions for a reason. If you’re a parent, you’ll need to use your judgment. Most kids find the poop machine fascinating, but they might be bored by the dark, abstract rooms or confused by the more "adult" themes.
The Practical Side of Subversion
When you visit the Museum of Old and New Art, you’re participating in a social experiment. How much "weird" can you handle before you need a cocktail?
The museum is closed on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. This catches people out all the time. Don’t be that person. Check the schedule. Also, download the MONA app before you get there. The museum provides the devices, but using your own phone can sometimes be smoother if the WiFi is behaving.
Entry fees:
Tasmanian residents usually get in for a deposit that gets refunded (check current terms as they change). For everyone else, it’s around $40-$50 AUD. It’s worth every cent. You’re essentially subsidizing one of the world’s most interesting private collections.
What to do after the Museum of Old and New Art
Once you’ve had your fill of the underground, don’t just rush back to the city.
- Hit the Cellar Door: Try the Cloth Label Pinot Noir. It’s what the region is famous for.
- Walk the Grounds: There are outdoor sculptures hidden everywhere. Look for the "Fat Car" by Erwin Wurm. It’s exactly what it sounds like—a Porsche that looks like it’s been eating too much McDonald's.
- Eat at Faro: If you can get a booking, do it. It’s the high-end dining room located in the new wing (the Siloam). It features James Turrell light installations that will mess with your perception of space.
- The Source Restaurant: For something a bit more traditional but still high-end, this place overlooks the river and uses incredible local Tasmanian produce.
Actionable Next Steps for Your Visit:
- Book the Ferry: Do this the moment you book your flights to Hobart. Aim for an early morning departure to maximize your time.
- Check the Festival Dates: If you hate crowds, avoid the weeks of Dark Mofo (June) or Mona Foma (usually January/February). If you love chaos and avant-garde music, those are the only times to go.
- Dress in Layers: Tasmania's weather is famously bipolar. Even if it’s sunny when you board the boat, the wind on the river can be biting, and the museum itself is climate-controlled and cool.
- Read "A Bone of Fact": This is David Walsh's memoir/monologue. Reading it before you go will give you a much deeper understanding of the "why" behind the weirdness.
- Stay in North Hobart: It’s a bit more "local" than the waterfront and has the best restaurant strip (Elizabeth Street) for dinner after your museum day.
The Museum of Old and New Art doesn't really have a conclusion. It’s an ongoing project that evolves as Walsh wins more money or gets bored with certain pieces. It’s a living, breathing, sometimes smelling testament to what happens when you have too much money and zero interest in following the rules. Go with an open mind, a bit of skepticism, and a thirst for something other than a gift shop postcard. It’s the most honest museum you’ll ever visit.