The Night in the Gallery

It is a cool Saturday afternoon when the school bus makes its way to the Art Institute of Chicago. The bus if filled with students chatting away with either each other or their phones. One student with a keen eye uses his cell phone to take pictures of the outside at seemingly random points. Another reads a book, oblivious to the world around her. Charles absently watches the moving landscape out the window while his brother, Rick, chats up his classmates. Rick pulls out his phone. “You should check this out guys. This is the latest version of DALL-E 2.” The other kids gasp in amazement. “Whoa, look at her hands! They’re actually realistic!” “Right?” Rick replies with an air of smug superiority, “It took me all day to figure out the right commands to make this masterpiece.” Charles reins in his disgust. He has already made this argument before. Charles can still feel the bruises when Rick and his buddies decided that their fists made a compelling argument.

It was around 4:30 in the afternoon when the bus finally pulls up in front of the main building. The teacher is the first to step out. “All right everyone, please exit the bus in a single file line. Make sure you don’t forget your belongings. We will be spending the night at this place, so you had best not forget your sleeping bags and toiletry.” The students take their belongings and exited the bus in an organized fashion. Because it was around closing time, there were only a few visitors still walking the gallery. An attendant stood at the ticket station, waiting for the group of students to arrive. “Welcome to the Art Institute of Chicago! My name is Bethany. If you could kindly drop your bags off over in the corner, we can begin our tour.” The students were split into groups of 4, with Charles and Rick ending up in the same group. Each group was guided by a different attendant, while the teacher stayed behind to keep an eye on the student’s belongings and to speak with the gallery’s curator.

Bethany leads Charles’s group down a corridor and into a room filled with various paintings. Lining the walls were paintings of many different styles. Grand portraits were intermixed with humble paintings of nature. “Over here, we have A Sunday on La Grande Jatte. It was painted by Georges Seurat in 1884. It was intended to evoke the sense of timelessness associated with ancient art, particularly Egyptian and Greek sculpture. What’s really amazing is the fact that it was created with a series of dots that coalesce into solid and luminous forms when seen from a distance.” Rick scoffs, “My machine can churn out something just like this with just a few keywords.” The attendant turns to the boy, “Maybe so, but it will never be anything more than a mere copy of someone else’s work.” With that, the group moves on to another part of the gallery. During the tour, different groups of students would run into each other as they move to different parts of the institute. Eventually, all the student groups converge back into the main hall, where the teacher hands out paper bags, containing sandwiches and fruit, to each of the kids. As the students ate their dinner, they conversed with each other about what they found interesting in the tour. “Hey Charles, didn’t your dad get you that old computer for your birthday?”

Charles shrugs, “He said he did some work on it and that he downloaded some nifty digital art software.”

“Was he an artist too?”

“He made some pieces back in the day. Mom told me he stopped when she became pregnant with me and Rick.”

Once everyone finished their meals, groups of students would take turns to go to the bathroom to brush their teeth as the rest set up their sleeping bags. Charles tries to fall sleep, but something kept him from doing so. Without disturbing his classmates, he gets out of his sleeping bag and carefully makes his way back into the room with the different paintings, unaware that two other sleeping bags were also empty. Once Charles enters the room, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to A Sunday on La Grande Jatte. As he sits in front of the painting, he could have sworn he saw some of the people in the painting start to move.

“You know you’re supposed to be in bed, right?” Startled, Charles turns to find Bethany standing right behind him. “I’m sorry, I’ll go back now.” Before Charles could turn to leave the room, Bethany gently puts a hand on his shoulder. “No, it’s alright. You are not the only person I’ve found drawn here.” “What do you mean?” Instead of answering, Bethany turns to the painting. “This picture is actually one of my favorites. I remember when it was first presented here. Whole crowds of people would come clamoring over each other to try to get a better look. Eventually a new piece would be presented and the crowds would immediately move on to it without a second thought. However, every now and then, I would see a visitor come in and start to see the painting for what it truly is.”

With some encouragement from Bethany, Charles takes another look at the A Sunday on La Grande Jatte. However, instead of the moving painting he witnessed previously, Charles looks at a blank canvas. From corner of his eyes, Charles notices that the room has changed as well, resembling an art studio rather than the gallery he was in. Through eyes that were not his, Charles watches as the artist uses a small brush to draw a rough outline of the scene of the painting he will create on a piece of paper. Once that was done, the artist prepares the colors he will use for the painting by mixing the necessary ingredients for each color. He then places a brush with a fine point next to each color. Once all the tools were prepared, the artist began to work in earnest by taking a brush and carefully dabbing a tiny spot with one color. He would then put the brush down, pick up another one, and then create another spot. This process would repeat continuously, with the occasional glance at the outline. For hours, Charles watches as the blank canvas slowly transforms into the masterpiece that will eventually come to reside in the halls of an art gallery in Chicago.

Once the painting was finished, Charles returns to the gallery. Looking at the clock, he is shocked to discover that only a few minutes had passed. Bethany gives Charles a knowing smile. “I had that same look when I first came here at your age.”

“Why would Georges go through all this? I saw him spend hours and hours to create one painting. He didn’t even take a break. There had to have been easier ways to create this particular scene.”

“Maybe. But it wouldn’t have had as much of an impact if he had.” Bethany gestures around the room, “All these paintings started off as simple ideas, images that stay in your mind and demand to be expressed. It doesn’t matter what form they take. An artist puts their very soul into their creation to give it life. Whether it is to allow others to see the world the same way they do or to challenge them in interpreting the message they have hidden within, it is our privilege as attendants to use them to inspire aspiring artists such as yourself.”

Charles is taken aback, “But I’m not an artist. I can never create anything that can be on the level of the masters behind these great works. Sure, I have had plenty of ideas over the years. But time and again, my mind goes blank whenever I see that blank screen. The ideas always disappear like a puff of smoke before I can put them down.”

Bethany nods her head, “It sounds like you’re trying too hard. Cultivating ideas is like teaching a child. Just start small, like writing them down on a piece of paper. It doesn’t have to be perfect, it just needs to give you a foundation. Do some research or ask your peers for advice. If new ideas hit you, put them down as well and see how well they fit. Over time, that idea becomes refined, as details are changed and revisions are needed. Eventually, you will see your new creation and know that it is ready.”

Before Charles could reply, memories flashed through his mind. All the words of condescension that his brother gave him, the looks of apathy he imagines his classmates giving him whenever he tries to strike up a conversation, and the outright fear that what he creates will be ignored flashes through Charles’s mind. As if sensing his dismay, Bethany takes his hand, “Come on, let me show you something.”

Bethany leads Charles outside. The pair walk around the building to see one of Charle’s classmates talking to another attendant. He was able to recognize Carver. While the two never really spoke to each other, Charles did notice that Carver had a habit of using his cell phone to take pictures at random things. Bethany points to the window, “That’s the Hartwell Memorial Window, we had it installed a few years ago. It is an interesting choice to show off to aspiring photographers. But then, Jonathan has always been a bit of an eccentric.” The two quieted down and continued to listen in on the pair’s conversation. “The natural world has always fascinated me.” Carver timidly said, “There is such a vibrant beauty that I have always wanted to capture. I wanted to go into photography when I grew up, but I could never to afford the special cameras that most specialists use. So, I use my phone to take the pictures instead.” Carver chuckles, “It’s gotten to the point where I would never take my phone out of my pocket just so I could be ready to take the right picture at a moment’s notice.” Bethany makes a silent gesture and the pair move on, while the attendant offers his advice to Carver. As the pair were leaving, Charles notices that the surrounding streets were unusually quiet and there was an air of tranquility centered around the window.

They sneak back into the building and make their way to a large room, where suits of Medieval and Renaissance era arms and armor line the walls. The many artifacts presented, ranging from pristine jewelry to detailed tapestries, create a labyrinth of knowledge that takes visitors on a journey through history. Bethany leads Charles to one of the areas within. There, another one of Charles’s classmates, Tiffany, is transfixed to a painting that depicts a noble knight slaying a dragon. Tiffany was a quite girl that projected an air of aloofness whenever she reads a book, which was all the time. “Fascinating, I’ve assumed Tiffany would be more into literary works. I’m willing to bet Frederic chose Saint George and the Dragon because it resembled the classical adventures that she fantasizes. What better way to inspire literary creativity than to immerse yourself in the very culture that draws your imagination?” Baffled, Charles turns to Bethany, “What’s there to fantasize about being a damsel in distress?” Before Bethany can give her answer, Frederic quietly shushes the two. Looking at the painting himself, Charles can hear the sounds of musical instruments being played and images of a ballroom play out in his mind, with Tiffany in a beautiful red gown, with elaborate patterns of precious stones, dancing in the center with a dashing prince.

The pair make their way back to the main hallway. “So, what did you learn from the real tour of our lovely art galleries?” Bethany asks and they are walking. Thinking for a moment, Charles reflects on the journey he as taken with every piece of art presented, the people around him going through their own struggles as make their story, and the pieces left behind by those who seek to inspire the ones who take their place. Eventually, Charles gives his answer, “I learned that art comes in many forms and that inspiration can come from anywhere. Everyone has a spark that compels them forward. How they decide to satisfy that urge is up to them, whether it’s through creating images on a blank canvas, finding the right moment to capture living memory, or using words to take others on a path of adventure and self-discovery.” Bethany gives no reaction to Charles’s answer. She merely shows him to his sleeping bag and bids him goodnight.

In the morning, the children gather up their belongings and get ready to leave. Before they get on the bus to depart, Bethany, Jonathan, Frederic, and several other attendants array themselves in front of the entrance. Bethany steps forward, “Thank you for visiting the Art Institute of Chicago. Our doors are always open to those who are willing to learn or are seeking inspiration to express their own creative spark.” As one, the attendants bow at the waist. Most of the students are baffled by the display and enter the bus without a second thought. Only Charles, Carver, and Tiffany understood the gift they were given. With tears in their eyes and resolution in their hearts, all three turn to leave. When Charles comes home, he goes to the computer his father gave him and turns it on. He looks at the blank screen, takes a breath, and gets to work.