Family Lessons Learned in the Art Institute

As new residents of Minneapolis, David and I had no village. Our family consisted of David and I. When Heather was born we were three. I did not find Minnesota neighbors particularly friendly other than stern messages about preparing for WINTER. I did have a pediatrician’s phone number and quick access to the Automobile Club’s AAA. These were my 911 calls.

When Heather was three, we registered her for art classes at the Minnesota Art Institute. The lucky parent who provided transportation, got to roam the galleries waiting for the future artist to experience paint, glue, paper and crayons. It was own time for me. I was just Ada wandering the rooms. I had special favorites that I would visit. I liked the jade mountain with carefully carved figures and elegant inscriptions. I loved the marble veiled woman. She was so quiet and reassuring. “Mrs. T” ,an elderly woman dressed beautifully in silk always brought a smile. The Impressionists reminded me that before being a mother and a wife I had traveled and visited foreign places with strange sounding names. I can remember sitting quietly staring at the Monet haystack wondering what in the world I was doing in wintry Minnesota. The quiet of the museum was a sanctuary for me. The paintings, statues and even the never interrupting always watchful guards became familiar and welcoming. The place oozed a sense of emotional safety that permeated the many floors. I liked the comforting sigh that accompanied every time I walked into the building. While Heather was learning about different media, I was trying to figure out how to be a mother. I was certainly more skilled at looking at portraits and landscapes than I was putting a child to bed.
David’s position required quite a bit of travel and The Art Institute beckoned. It was cool in the summer and heated in the winter. The art pieces became friends who appeared always glad that I kept showing up. In looking back, I realized family lessons were being taught. The Art Institute provided a sense of village and connection.

The Children’s Theater productions were in the Pillsbury Auditorium and attending live theatre was a priority for me. I use to take Heather to plays suitable for young children. During the Three Little Pigs we were seated in the third row. Heather was so engaged in the story, she jumped right up and asked the Wolf if instead of eating the Three Pigs would he consider a peanut butter sandwich! The Wolf stopped mid stage and glared at the inquisitive little girl who so wanted the Three Pigs to survive. She is a Social Worker now. She started worrying about others in the third row of the theater in the Minneapolis Art Institute. Children learn early.

When in high school, Heather spent a semester in Paris. She wrote a lovely note, thanking me for taking her to a museum as a child. She was surprised to see so many of her classmates who did not know what to do in a museum. The museum allowed exploration, welcomed being curious, and created an atmosphere of learning. Heather too found museums a safe place anywhere.

Yesterday, I wandered through the museum with Heather and her two little girls. I am a grandmother who now again finds myself visiting my first community. The veiled lady, Mrs. T. and the Monet Renoir collections are still there for me. Mrs. T still looks welcoming. I greeted old friends and introduced them to my two granddaughters. The Chinese figures are still playing exotic instruments. Alison loved the ornate gold covered desk, the silk wall paper and the African masks. Ella laughed out loud when she saw the large dog in the entry way. As we left, Ella said, I like this place. I like how I feel inside when I go inside. Me too. As I left, I wandered if Mrs. T had missed me. I wondered if the veiled lady was surprised to see how much I have changed. She hasn’t.