The Art Institute of Chicago has been a sacred place for me, ever since I was a student chaplain. After sitting with families as they processed their shock and grief after gunshot wounds, cancer diagnoses, and death, I needed a place that was completely different than the ER and the ICU.
When we entertain guests, the Art Institute is almost always one of the stops, especially if they’re in town for more than a couple of days. I love leading those tours and showing off the show-stoppers: THIS one (obviously), THIS, THIS, and our few of THESE (although my favorite in that room is THIS one. The photo doesn’t do it justice, of course. You have to stand in front of it and feel your blood pressure drop.) You can get through all of those in 30-60 minutes, depending on how much the guests like to wander and how much they like to take a picture and move on. Then there’s usually a hunt for THIS classic, and I almost walk right by it every single time. I then shuttle people over to THESE which most people have never heard of, but when they get there it’s always “Wow. Wow. Wow.” If there are kids, you gotta do THIS and maybe THIS, and by then the kids are ready to go home. If they’re my kids or there are no kids, we keep going through Modern/Contemporary (yes, please) where we gotta stop for THIS one at least and probably also THIS one. I usually scoot us over to THIS as well (because it’s not far). My friends find this one to be both an obvious and surprising choice as one of my personal favorites in the whole museum.
After all that, guests have had about enough of the Art Institute, and that’s fine with me. I know I’ll be back on my own.
When I am back, alone, I rarely visit any of the above. I go where I’m compelled to go, by the Holy Spirit.
The other day it was American Colonial Art. Lots of furniture. Seriously? I thought, as I wandered around. This is… not compelling. Stay… stay… I heard the Spirit whisper. I have something to say to you here. Not willing to ignore the Holy Spirit (I hear there are CONSEQUENCES), I stayed. As I gazed upon THIS, I remembered the conversation my mother and I had had just that morning about our hope chest.
“It was my grandmother’s, and I’m sure she received it on her wedding. Do you remember it in our house?”
“Of course I do. It’s where you stored all my old baby clothes, and that’s what I do now, with my kids. It’s on my bucket list to go through all of that stuff and see what’s in there. So many memories.”
It’s living art, I heard the Spirit say. You have it in your home. Priceless.
#WritersWrite and I write almost every day. I sometimes share my thoughts publicly in this series called “500 Words or Less” This practice allows me to explore a variety of different topics in a restrained/contained way and learn what resonates with people. I wrote it, not AI. If you share, please give proper credit. © Traci Smith, 2025. All Rights Reserved.