David 
This past week I attended the annual American Planning Association’s Illinois State Conference. It was a delightful conference, albeit one that I left early so that I could go to the zoo instead. After my first two sessions at the conference, I decided that I’d had enough for the day and left with one of our frequent collaborators, Thomas Dickey. We boarded the CTA’s Brown Line, enroute to the zoo. Going to the zoo was no snap decision of mine, it was a trip so deliberately thought out with so much intentionality that it was borderline intentional. In fact, I’d been talking about my trip to the zoo for a few weeks or months at this point, having even coined a new phrase, “this is really boring, can we go to the zoo?” I would slip my new phrase into conversation about five or six times a day, much to the chagrin of my friends, colleagues, and family. I’d been talking about the zoo so much that I’d even received a recommendation for a local restaurant near the zoo, the Bourgeois Pig. Armed with this newfound knowledge and sustained passion for the zoo, Thomas and I arrived at Fullerton Station, which happens to be across the street from the DePaul Art Museum.
We spent little to no time loitering at the Fullerton CTA station, and headed straight for the Bourgeois Pig, but we noted our close proximity to the DePaul Art Museum. Regardless, we couldn’t dedicate too much of our thoughts and conversation to the museum since we were busy talking about how hungry we were and how much the food might cost at the Bourgeois Pig. After walking a few blocks to the Bourgeois Pig, we prepared to enter the establishment. I quite liked the Bourgeois Pig, although it was egregiously expensive. My colleague took some issue with the cafe, likening it to a place that might be frequented by “The Gladwellian Man”. To appease Thomas Dickey, I had an explosive and fittingly performative conversation with him in which we discussed all sorts of things, such as Montessori schools, a completely fabricated master’s degree I was pursuing, and a whole host of other stuff. Post-lunch, we walked around the place, which had multiple floors and an outdoor courtyard area.
We stumbled across a DePaul student who was reading on a couch upstairs. He was horizontal, stretched out in the sun like a cat!
After a brief period, no more than 15 or 20 minutes, of walking up and down the stairs and observing the Pig’s patrons, we strolled over to the DePaul Art Museum.
The DePaul Art Museum resides in a red brick building, three stories tall, not unlike a building we might find commonplace at UIUC. A large dome shaped window, reminiscent of an architectural style I’m not familiar with, greets those who pass it by, beckoning them to come in. Drawn in by the window, and sign that read, “DePaul Art Museum”, Thomas Dickey and I made our way into the DePaul Art Museum. Thomas Dickey and I were greeted by a woman about our age who was working the front desk. She spoke to me directly, welcoming the both of us to the DePaul Art Museum. She turned to me, muttering something about, “can I get your ZIP code.” It was as clear as day to me that she definitely wanted my ZIP code. “60515”, I replied, confidently, but in a way that still stayed true to my dry wit and place of residence. Once she had verified that my ZIP code was one that was acceptable to her, we turned over our bags as a form of insurance so that we wouldn’t steal any of the art and ventured into the first floor of the art museum.
It might be worth noting that earlier in this review I claimed that the building had 3 floors. While this is true, I can’t say in good faith that we were ever physically on the third floor. I’d guess that it’s somewhere above the second floor, yet no signs directed us there. Further reporting, if I ever return to the museum, may divulge information about the third floor but, in the context of this review, the third floor remains a mystery. Third floor unbeknownst to us, Thomas Dickey and I began our comprehensive review of the first floor which showcased Inigo Manglano-Ovalle’s work, A Want for Nothing. Despite my extensive art history background (an intro to art history course I took at the prestigious Northern Michigan University), I will recuse myself from reviewing any of the actual art, this review is focused instead on the art museum. However, I will say that I thoroughly enjoyed A Want for Nothing. In one room, chairs are scattered across the floor of the museum, and you can’t walk into them or touch them because they’re part of the exhibit. The chairs, juxtaposed with the white sanitary walls of the museum, brilliantly utilize the space of the museum and evoked an eerie feeling in me. One focal point of the exhibit is a wooden bucket that has been knocked over and lays on the ground, completely still. The odd arrangement of these items reminded me of my room at home, where books, clothes, bedding, and various odds and ends are strewn all throughout the room. A Want for Nothing, unlike my room at home, has a more purposeful placement of the objects that make up the exhibit. Although the items were placed on the ground, I got the sense that they were placed there to stir up some thoughts for those who visit the exhibit. Conversely, the objects I threw on the ground in my room are a reminder for me that I should clean my room up before we have people over again. The subsequent rooms of the exhibit continue the artist’s intentional use of space, giving me much to consider, as I headed to the second floor.
The exhibit on the second floor is centered around a group called the Young Lords. The Young Lords were a primarily Puerto Rican group that fought against gentrification, many Puerto Ricans were displaced from the gentrification of Chicago’s Lincoln Park neighborhood in the 1960s. I must admit that I went through this exhibit very quickly, not because I didn’t think that it was interesting but because I really had to use the bathroom. I’ve included a link to the museum’s description of the Young Lords exhibit. I encourage anyone interested to give it a look, it’s a lot better than anything I could have written regarding this subject, and I think it’s certainly something worth learning about!
Upon exiting the bathroom, I found Thomas Dickey waiting by what appeared to be either a door or some sort of surrealist sculpture resembling a door. The face of the door was decorated with a symbol resembling stairs and some other worldly text written in a bold red font. I stood next to Thomas in silence, admiring the sculpture. After roughly 30 seconds of viewing the sculpture, I noticed that museum was quieter and duller than I’d observed before. I felt it might be time to move along, check out some other exhibit, or leave. In a moment of little thought, I chose to use the sculpture as a means to access the stairs and in doing so, realized a few things. Firstly, I was correct in my original assumption that the sculpture was, in fact, a door. Secondly, the instant that I pushed the door handle to leave, the red text that had appeared to be some sort of hieroglyphics, magically translated themselves to read “EMERGENCY EXIT ALARM WILL SOUND”. In the process of reading this new translation, I found myself mistaken in my previous deciphering of the hieroglyphics. The alarm sounded immediately, a loud blaring noise that was of little to no tranquility to anyone. At this point a museum staff member walked over to us and informed us that this sort of thing happens all the time (I think this was a lie). Seeing no other option, I followed the museum staff down the stairs to the desk where we began our exploration.
At the desk, the museum staff we encountered upstairs quickly shut off the alarm, so it was truly no big deal. The woman who I’d met earlier at the desk thought otherwise, “Can’t you read? It says emergency exit in big red letters” she rudely asked me. I held back my tongue. Obviously, I can read. Not only did I get a 4 on the AP Literature exam in high school, which is the second highest score that you can get, but I’m also the creative director of the most prolific newspaper in my apartment complex. That’s not without even mentioning my involvement in a local urban planning book club that has nearly eight members. I even was reading Ocean Vuong’s Emperor of Gladness on the way to the conference, and, as of this writing, have nearly finished reading it. She must have not known who I was to make such a thoughtless accusation. Of course, being the levelheaded person that I am, I didn’t even really care that she commented on my literacy. I took the high road, as I’m known to do, and simply said, “Yeah, we’re just going to leave”, a phrase I would repeat a few more times as we were leaving and numerous times throughout the rest of the day.
In short, I have a few reservations regarding the DePaul Art Museum. However, I suggest that you take them with a grain of salt. Having only spent about 15 minutes in the museum, it is possible that you may come away with a different impression of the museum than I did. I would recommend that anyone who may choose to visit the museum stay clear of any emergency exit, anything that appears to be an emergency exit, and, just for good measure, any closed door. However, the exhibits found in the museum are well-curated and worth your viewing. I suggest that anyone who has any interest in art or is travelling to the Lincoln Park Zoo take a moment to stop by the museum, although it wouldn’t be a bad idea to proceed with caution.
You, yes you, should be playing as the ugly Overwatch characters