Teen Audio Guide

You just walked up the staircase, 22 steps one after another, leading you through this colossal building, a world within a world.

Around you is a busy avenue of stairs taking you from one destination to another.

In front of you is Hero Construction by Richard Hunt.

A hero that brings together the stories within this room. This sculpture was molded together from different pieces of scrap metal across the city.

Which is very similar to the way different artworks in the museum come together, they all have a story to tell, a story that makes them unique.

Before you begin this tour, we want to share a poem by Allie [ph?], a Chicago native and teen council member. This poem represents her experience at the museum. We hope it leads you to think of your own.

This poem is about a girl trying to teaching black and brown kids they existed before the African Diaspora, that there were paintings and painters and muses. We have more history than pain. Tell them they could create a Mona Lisa on the South Side and that they could connect to the person on the West Side who steals paintbrushes from art class to created bedroom galleries. This poem is about just a girl but a message, to tell the world we are artists, that we deserve museums on the South Side and the West Side and the East Side, that we deserve art classes, that we deserve to be able to create art, tell them our body is art.

The Art Institute of Chicago is home to hundreds of thousands of pieces and an endless number of stories.

In this audio guide we are sharing 12 of them.

Featuring voices of young people from Chicago and beyond.

Telling stories of memories, cities.

Immigration, outer space.

Fantasies and more. We are glad to have shared this personal story and invite you to enjoy the others on this audio guide.

Zimra: I’m Zimra.

Lucia: And I’m Lucia.

Zimra: When we first walked into this gallery—

Lucia: — we never thought we never thought we’d be talking about our personal connection with these paperweights, but yet here we are.

Zimra: These are our stories.

Zimra: This has to be the one, this big red apple, Number 47. This paperweight reminds of Rosh Hashanah, my favorite holiday. I’m Jewish and this is our New Year celebration, a reminder that Jewish people have persisted. We miss school. We miss work. My family works all day to prepare for Rosh Hashanah. We dress nicely, our house cleaned, our meal cooked. We sit around our ornate table with our white table cloth and Rosh Hashanah silverware in the middle of our small Rogers Park apartment. <voices of young children> The sun has just set, Rosh Hashanah begins. My mom reminds me to say, "Shana Tova" in synagogue tomorrow. As we sit, we each grab a freshly cut Honeycrisp apple. Just as every Jew does on this evening, we pray in Hebrew for a sweet New Year; Baruch atah HaShem. Eloheinu melech ha-olam borei pri ha-etz.

<music>

Lucia: The paperweight that has a blooming pink flower, Number 14, stands out to me because it instantly reminds me of the little gelatinas, the $2 Jell-O treats sold in Mexican family-owned corner stores that I would beg my dad to buy me growing up. The paperweight is a symbol of making do with what you have no matter the difficulties you’re facing in that moment. When my dad came to the United States in 1987, he worked multiple jobs, such as window washing, animal slaughtering and leading religious groups within his community, alongside his brothers and sisters to give back to his parents in La Ola Mona Jalisco and support my grandparents the way they supported them growing up. <foreign language spoken>

Zimra: Now ask yourself—

Lucia: — which paperweight do you connect with the most?

Zimra: What story does it tell?

Raziel: Yo, Michael, how was your week?

Michael: What’s up, Raziel [ph?]? This week was crazy. I went to this party over the weekend. It kind of looked like this painting over here.

Raziel: What’s this painting called anyway?

Michael: I think it’s called "Nightlife" by Archibald Motley.

Raziel: You can’t even get into a club like that, dude.

Michael: You know what? You right. You right.

Raziel: Yo, you’re a DJ, right?

Michael: Yeah.

Raziel: Do you know what the jazz scene was like in Chicago?

Michael: Chicago’s individual jazz sound really came out in the ’40s, around the end of the Great Migration. Motley’s painting is set in Brownsville. You’re from there, right?

Raziel: Yeah. My aunt told me she remembers how the Chicago black population stretched from 22nd to 63rd, between State Street and Cottage Grove. The pulsing energy of Brownsville was at the crowded corners of 35th and State and 47th Street, South Parkway Boulevard. At those intersections people came to experience the bustling black metropolis and music was a big part of that.

Michael: I think that’s true. Music has probably affect a lot of things, including the general community feeling. Chicago has always had a unique version of many music genres. It still does today. Music can benefit a lot of people and their environments, especially with a good DJ, like Boy Genius, for example, who’s here in Chicago. I think he’s a perfect example of someone who brings groups of people together through music.

Boy Genius: Well, I was born in ‘89 and I caught a- a good wind of the ’80s through my brother. And growing up, you know, not consuming much of what’s happening to me in the ’90s, when I’m growing up, but like by the time I’m 10, I had already consumed all of the ’80s, even though I was living in the ’90s. But I came to when I realized oh okay, I can think for myself and I like my own music and I like things that, you know, I can detach myself from what my brother showed me or my family showed me or all of my other influences and just grow into my own, I was like 11, 12. Chicago makes itself special when we figure out why we’re on the map, like we’re on the map for some of the best musicians, some of the best creative art. Chicago just has to be itself. Once it grows and realizes that we are the best, that’s what it takes.

Raziel: Yo, that was a great interview.

Michael: Yeah, I think he brings up a lot of good points. Whether it was Chicago back then or Chicago now, there’s always going to be a unique music scene in the city.

Raziel: All this Chicago talk got me thinking about Harold’s Chicken. Let’s go get some.

Michael: All right, I’m down.

Rashmi: Hi, I’m Rashmi. You are standing in front of the America Windows created by Marc Chagall after he migrated to America from Germany in the 1940s. The America Windows represent Chagall’s first impressions about the United States of America as a place of freedom, diversity, inclusion and free creative expression. He depicts the Statue of Liberty and integrated cities, multidenominational imagery, people coexisting and multiple symbols of peace throughout the blue landscape. Learning about Chagall’s experiences through this piece made us wonder about our own and others’ interpretations of the United States, so we ask you this, do you see your experiences in the U.S. being reflected in this piece, what would you add to the windows to show your own experience in the United States.

Woman 1: Well, the first thing I noticed about this piece in particular was the Statue of Liberty, I happen to be from the area.

Child 1: I also see a city building I believe and that reminds me of Birmingham, Birmingham is where I’m from.

Woman 2: I would say the dance in some ways speak to me.

Woman 3: I think I can relate to the colors of the art piece because it seems very bright. Someone else that can relate to this piece is my mom because she came from another country.

Woman 4: Somewhat, I see a lot of cities, I’ve grown up in a city my entire life so that is definitely something I can relate to, I also see a lot of feminine outlines like of women which I was mostly raised by women.

Woman 5: I guess only the music because I think that’s a universal language that people know about.
Man 1: I would add details about Chagall’s life and works.

Woman 6: So maybe other landmarks perhaps.

Woman 7: Maybe something more scenic like, you know, the mountains and the oceans and the waving grains and that kind of thing.

Woman 8: I think trains, I spend most of my time on the CTA just going around Chicago so I think I’d add some like themes of that to it.

Woman 9: If I was to add something to the windows, I would add maybe like a trumpet or a saxophone to represent the blues and the jazz inspirations.

Gabby: Hi, I’m Gabby, a member of the Teen Council. For this stop I put myself in Georgia O’Keefe’s shoes and imagined what inspired her to create, " The Shelton with Sunspots New York." Though the artist didn’t necessarily use her own photography to inspire this work, I chose to give her a camera in my story.

Creating gives me inspiration but I am running out of inspiration to create. This cool city leaves me with no air to breathe. Engines whirr and hiss, honking and coughing. Smoke spews from cars, obscuring buildings, but not the Shelton, a new kind of home. The man-made monster scrapes the clouds, but the heavens fight back. Camera in hand, I try to capture the beauty of the sun, but my hand shake as my head fills with smog. The black pointed shoes of the businessmen clink against the pavement. A kid strays from a group of friends, bumping my side before I can capture the light. The camera angles downward revealing the sunspots extending to the bottom of the Shelton, so I tilt my camera sideways to capture as much as I can. I try to breathe to study the camera. Adult chatter and children’s laughter break my concentration. My head vibrates in cohesion with the sounds of the busy streets. My lungs sift through the smog searching for oxygen. Lightheaded, I hear voices telling me to take a step to the left, block out the sun. I take a step to the right, exposing the blue halo of the ski. I study the camera, my finger over the shutter release, I press down. I snap the image of the Shelton with the sunspots. But this photograph has sharp lines, not bold strokes, so I let the sunspots be my light. I take my paintbrush and I breathe life onto this canvas.

Sasash: Hello, my name is a Sasash and I am a member of Teen Council. Alma Thomas, the artist of the painting you’re in front of, never got the chance to go to Space but her fascination with America’s Apollo missions in the 1960s brought about the beginning of her Space Series. "Starry Night and the Astronauts," the final work in the series, uses thick brush strokes and vivid colors to evoke the image of space.

Narrator: Based on interviews and statements Thomas gave on Space Series, we decided to imagine what Thomas would have said had she been able to travel through Space. What follows is a fictional diary where Thomas is floating through the cosmos remarking on what she sees.

Jack King: "This is Apollo 7 Launch Control. We passed the six-minute mark in our countdown for Apollo 11; 12, 11, 10, 9, ignition sequence starts. Six— <aircraft blasts off>

Narrator: "Day Four. The view from here is amazing. It’s even better in person. It’s day four and I still can’t get over the beauty. I’m captivated by the charming colorful cosmos. The endless mosaic surface reflects the vivid visions and ambitions of those who came before me. I’ve stepped into my childhood dream. Walking among the stars I looked up at each night, these are the stars that I call mine, the ones that brought me hope and wonder. As I look through the porthole, Earth almost doesn’t look real. The world seems to shimmer as the sun touches it. Stepping into the expanse of horizon I’m surrounded by the cold, dark, shimmering stars, which oddly bring me warmth."

"Day 35. It’s phenomenal how much things have changed since I was a child. I grew up in horse and buggy days and remember marveling at the color TV in the living room. Never in my wildest dreams would I even imagine myself traveling through Space and bringing new discoveries to the public. The wonders beyond Earth called to me and I answered. I gave all my dreams, my hopes and my life to this great expanse of velvet blue."

"Day 89. Days here now to find the rotation of the Sun. The day is over when I choose and starts again when I wake up. I become lost in the abyss of color and it is in this sloth that I’ve sought to concentrate on beauty and happiness. I’m now becoming one with the stars. With every turn within the infinity of Space I stay further and further away from the idea of going back home."

Woman 1: Young Chicago Authors, YCA is an organization that cultivates young voices through writing, publishing and performance education. The poem you’re about to hear was written by a YCA poet as response to a work of art in our collection. Please be advised the stuff includes some mature content and may not be appropriate for all listeners.

Kee Stein: My name is Kee Stein and I’m a former competitor in Chicago’s Louder Than A Bomb and an emerging teaching artist. The title of this piece is "After" in reaction to Cindy Sherman’s "Untitled Number 86."

"I consider astral projection, how leaving my body is the most comforting thought I can muster, how I keep trying it, leaving. I casket myself into quiet, unfeeling the time the boys at school called me easy, the time the boys on the curb called me bitch. The world keeps calling me girl, a small mind, a smaller voice gaveled by Congress and 45, whose own small hands are still big enough to touch me and get away with it. But such is manhood, a series of getting away with my body, with my boundaries, with my, no. After they came, I didn’t shower. No, I thought it too LMN to cry under a showerhead to hot steam my body into feeling anything but dead."

Woman 1: Young Chicago Authors, YCA, is an organization that cultivates young voices through writing, publishing and performance education. The poem you’re about to hear was written by a YCA poet as a response to a work of art in our collection. Please be advised that this stop includes some mature content and may not be appropriate for all listeners.

Patricia Frazier: I’m Patricia Frazier. I’m Chicago’s Youth Poet Laureate with Young Chicago Authors and this is a poem in reaction to Richard Prince’s "Girlfriend."

Patricia Frazier: "My fleeting body is a vase of flowers. Love is the brass knuckle. He tells me he loves me. He is sorry. He is dirty water. Regardless, I am still alive. I am still alive on borrowed time. Kitchen under the hot comb. My body, a permmed [ph?] attitude, a cracked vase. Love is a second home, a Plan B, a Planned Parenthood. My body is the vase. The vase is a casket for a rose. Even a dead thing needs a home. Love is the rose handled thorn first. The vase is my house, frame for my brief body. I make sure to leave room for fist, their straining knuckles and my body petals into a casket of water. The water is a dirty man. The man is time I borrowed. My body is a rose, fish out of water. Love is the alternative. The rose is living on borrowed time, but a living thing does what it can to survive. My stem escaped and ran away with the sink. A man tried to catch me and drowned."

Lela: Hi, I’m Lela.

Liam: I’m Liam.

Zimara: And I’m Zimara.

Liam: Take a look up and just listen. Here are our impressions on Félix González-Torres untitled self-portrait.
It is a self-portrait, but when I first saw it I had no idea.

Lela: Yeah, it’s definitely not typical. Felix collected these dates, these treasures from his own mind. And then he projected them out to the world. He represents himself through his memories of his personal and historic events from birthdays to things in pop culture.

Liam: It’s complex and vulnerable and the challenge is trying to figure it out.

Zimara: It’s like having to understand a fraction of this man even though you’ve never met.

Liam: A View to Remember, 1994 [sic, 1995?]: On the south wall is the latest state that Félix added to this piece.

Lela: This is when Canada, Mexico, and the U.S. launched the North American Free Trade Agreement—
President Clinton: In a few moments, I will sign the North American Free Trade Act into law. NAFTA will tear down trade barriers between our three nations. It will create the world’s largest trade zone —forming the world’s largest free trade area.

Zimara: I mean, when I saw this I immediately just thought of a beautiful view that I remembered.

Liam: That’s the power of the work. People can relate to it in their own way, reflecting about their own timeline, even though it’s really specific to his.

Lela: An Easy Death, 1991: On the wall opposite of A View to Remember, this is when his partner Ross died of AIDS and then his dad died three weeks later.

Zimara: It must be so difficult to put something like that on display for thousands of museum visitors. I mean, it hits you so hard. It’s definitely something you’d need to cry about.

Lela: Do you think that’s what he’s doing? Crying out through his work? Like, him putting all these dates on display is his way of coping with all the tragedies going on in his life?

Zimara: Definitely. I think art can be so therapeutic for somebody. And by displaying these emotions it feels like Félix is crying out in the middle of the museum. But not just crying: He’s celebrating, laughing and reminiscing; he’s moving through a life filled with these emotions and that’s shaping him as an artist and a person.

Liam: Félix says it best himself, “Memory offers a path back to the other side of the line between life and death. It’s all that remains after the disappearance of the body.”

Zimara: In a way, you’re given the creative license to think of this piece in terms of your life. You can either put yourself in Félix’s shoes or replace them with your own. When leaving today, think about what dates you would add to this work.

Liam: What historical events have affected you?

Lela: And what memories have shaped you?

Woman 1: Young Chicago Authors, YCA, is an organization that cultivates young voices through writing, publishing and performance education. The poem you’re about to hear was written by a YCA poet as a response to a work of art in our collection.

Luis Alfonso: My name is Luis , Luis Alfonso. I am a emerging teaching artist at YCA and this piece is inspired by the Takashi Murakami, "Mr. Pointy."

"This is the part where different worlds collide, where you gaze with uncertainty to the different colors of life. Here we all come from different backgrounds but face the same faceless future. Today you say your last goodbyes, walk in between the floating leafs, step on as many sets of hideous eyes looking at you naked and vulnerable. This is the part where you are still trying to find yourself or at least the part left of you, in a dream catcher that serves as a reminder of what you work so hard for. Always pointing towards a way back home, the bright colors are your obsession to prove destiny wrong. The darkness is your lack of forgiveness. The darkness holds your secrets and you become invincible. The body and mind become an oval portal pure and careless in its whites and you pass but this time with no borders, no walls, invisible lines or identifications. This time the hands won’t push you back. You are the universe and all of its elements. You are headed to the highest peak."

Sasash: Hello, my name is Sasash and I am a member of Teen Council. The stop you’re about to hear was inspired by Salvador Dali’s belief in dreams being central to human thought and the experiences of soldiers during war.

Narrator: You wake up to screams and laughter surrounding you <laughter> during the middle of what looks like the desert. There are people to your left at a table with trinkets admiring a statue of a woman sitting beside them. Not much else is visible, except for a shadow of a dog across from them. The fear you initially had only grows when you make eye contact with the woman whose face is waiting to split apart. Her hands, stripped away of all flesh reach out to you, ‘Come. Come. Follow me. Follow me,’ she says. Her other hand becomes visible holding an hourglass. ‘We don’t have much time, time, time.’ As you walk along with her, you realize that you have walked this path before, not as a visitor, but as a soldier, destroyer. Your thoughts are interrupted when in the center you see mass figures with blue wings worshipping some higher power. You hear a scream. <woman screams> Women walking informally on all fours like animals look up to see you. In the distance the mountains are on fire. Innocent wildlife suffer as they burn. You ask yourself, ‘What kind of nightmare is this? Why is this happening? Why is no one stopping it?’ The woman tells you as if she had read your mind. ‘You humans, your mortal gods have destroyed everything.’ This is the Invention of the Monsters, Hell on Earth, Earth."