The Art Institute of Chicago

Posted for Bonnie by Arta:

I'm sitting in a Starbucks on Michigan Avenue.

Across the street, the line snakes down the stairs of The Art Institute of Chicago.

The length doesn't appear to change.

New art enthusiasts arrive at the same rate that people are granted entrance.

At the table next to me, a woman wearing a Starbucks ball cap meets with a manager. I try to keep my focus on my own thoughts. In my periphery I see a laminated visual support. The dialogue appears Socratic, questions rather than a lecture. The student references the visual, even receiving cues of a finger directing her to a region of the visual.

She appears to gain confidence as the call and response format continues.

A scenario is presented.

There is a line up.

A man orders "Vanilla Latte Grande", then begins to dig through his pocket for change. What do you do?

I recall him mentioning the goal of the number of people served per hour and hold my breath.

Without looking down, she smiles and shares the sequence of actions that will support the quickest service without pressuring the client.

Her interviewer gives her a high five.

I feel a rush of joy and relief as if it were me and forget I am an observer, not a participant.

She says to her supervisor, "She's laughing at me."

I realize it is me to whom she is referring. In my lapse of coffee shop etiquette I am looking directly at her and smiling.

I say, "Not at all. I'm enjoying this moment of success." Her supervisor high fives me. I feel as if I am in a Starbucks ad.

The line for the Institute appears gone. That's my cue to cross the street.

Banners advertise exhibits. African Art.

Indian Art of the Americas.

Of God's and Glamour:

Galleries of Greek, Roman and Byzantine Art.

Blackhawk helmets sit on the heads of the lion statutes that frame the entrance.

I have had my early morning tour of the gardens.

Two enormous trees create a canopy of shade.



Others have beautiful shapes born of multiple holes supported by the same root system.

And a Henry Moore statue.

I take a photo of my feet to pay homage for their role in my journey.

Bonnie