a day at the art institute

Braque! Magritte! Rodin! Monet! Brancusi!

Hi friends,

Happy Sunday. Today I’m bringing you an image-full post because I can’t stop thinking about the art I saw a week or so ago in Chicago. I’m showing you some of my favorites today.

Later this week: more to come for our reading group on The Age of Innocence.

In my feels at the art institute

Last week, I had a chance to present my research and analysis on Edith Wharton’s The House of Mirth on a panel about Emotions in Edith Wharton, at the annual American Literature Association conference — and it was *the* best reason to head back to the Midwest for an extra long weekend.

I toured Frank Lloyd Wright’s Robie House, had bone marrow for the first time ever (it was absolutely bonkers), drank some incredibly good wine, and went to my first ever MLB game (Go Sox!!!!).

I also got to spend an entire afternoon in heaven: walking through the Art Institute of Chicago. It was just enough time to scratch the surface of all the treasures in this amazing collection and I’m still riding the high.

I loved this Rodin statue of “Eve after the fall.” She stands on a tall podium in the Monet room, surrounded by haystacks and lily ponds, and she completely took my breath away. I walked around the podium a few times, taking in the posture and angles and the line of her gaze, and I thought about how shame manifests physically in the body and what it looks like when it coils around you like a serpent and threatens to take you away from yourself.

For very good reasons, most people in the room were taking in the gorgeous Monet waterlilies paintings on the wall. As I moved through the space between the Monet paintings and the statue, I found the juxtaposition of these pieces together completely overwhelming. There was a peace and serenity in the paintings that was challenged by the pain and agony in the sculpture, creating a conversation about beauty — and how it can reside in the most dichotomous representations or experiences.

It was my first time seeing any Monet paintings in person and my jaw dropped when I turned around and saw a wall of his famous haystacks and bridges. This room really set the tone for my experience at the museum overall. The paintings were so calming and quieting, and whatever jitters I was still feeling from travel and presenting at the conference were dispelled so quickly by whatever magic is in these frames.

Alllllll my feelings were tingling on the surface as we made our way through the Impressionists, then upstairs to the modernists and Surrealists, and finally down in the American art room.

I laughed out loud when I walked into a room and saw a Toulouse-Latrec painting, and it was my favorite one!! I loved learning that the green face on the right was too creepy for viewers at the time and so, for a long time, was removed from the painting — only to be added back on, later. I really don’t think the painting works without her. I love how weird this painting is.

I’d never seen or heard of this Breton painting, below, “The Song of the Lark,” and it completely took my breath away. I stood with it for a really long time, soaking in all the details — especially that vibrant, glowing sun and the way the young woman is looking away from it, rather than enjoying the sunset view. The expression on her face is so complicated.

(It made me want to re-read Cather’s brilliant novel, of the same title. I am wondering if her title was inspired by this painting?)

Upstairs in the modernist rooms, I got my little Papershoot camera out because the natural lighting was so beautiful. Right as I entered the room, an older gentleman and I both gasped and speed-walked up to this Magritte painting. We were both so excited to see it! I snapped this photo to remember the moment. He was beyond thrilled to see it and his reaction made me even more excited to be there, if that was possible by that point. (I had just seen my first ever Modigliani, next to a Braque that made my eyes pop out of my head.)

Magic.

Then, right as I finished soaking in this moment, I turned to the right and almost hit the floor. My favorite sculpture of all time, Brancusi’s “Golden Bird” was right in front of me!!!!!!! I sat on the benches in front of it in a weird, happy shock that I was seeing something I’ve admired in coffee table books and art history textbooks for years.

It was bigger than I thought it’d be, and it was so arresting to see in person. A few years ago, I wrote a long personal essay about “Golden Bird” after looking at it online for a long time, and seeing it in person felt like this little pinch-me moment.

I start floating every time I remember that I have seen this work in person.

During my visit to the Art Institute, I got to see Picasso, Seurat, Caillebotte, and Leonora Carrington (!!!!!!!). I saw a pipe that is not a pipe and a bizarre Magritte I’ve never heard of and a Dalí painting of a dick that had everyone in the room cracking up — followed immediately by a Kandinsky painting that felt like someone had reached in my chest and grabbed my heart.

I teared up so many times. I laughed out loud. I wondered how people come up with art — where does it come from? Why does it exist? How do you know what to keep and what to toss? Why do some paintings make you feel like you have a lump in your throat? Why do some make you cry? How can I feel the way this place made me feel more often?

I never wanted to leave.

As we walked back toward downtown in the humid air, I thought about how beautiful it was to see so many people, all in one place, all looking at art quietly together.

As I stood in front of Magritte’s vast dreamscapes with a complete stranger and listened to him sigh as he gazed at it, and as a crowd of strangers took turns giving each other an uncluttered view of Van Gogh’s self-portrait or Hopper’s “Nighthawks,” I thought maybe the world isn’t always as scary as it seems. I thought about all the horrible, evil shit happening in the world and how small it makes me feel, and then I thought about how this place — for a few uninterrupted hours — let me feel the kinds of things I don’t feel all that often. Let me feel expansive, like I wasn’t crouched in shame like Eve somewhere deep inside myself, but was full of whatever wispy magic makes up selfhood. Let me feel, in brief moments, like my self was overflowing and impossibly big, and deserved all that room to breathe.

I was wondering how I can keep that feeling close. And then, this morning, I went to a farmer’s market and fell in love with a hand-made Linotype print of a beet. So I brought it home.

‘Til next time, happy reading (and art-ing).