Sean Kensington – Freshman art college student, video game enthusiast, currently living in Minneapolis, hometown: London.
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10 September 2009 – 4:00am
“Don’t look the baby in the eyes!”
These words were the first thing Edmund Callipeaux told my art history class as we approached Portrait of the Gaspard Moeremans Family at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts.
Mr. Callipeaux proceeded to explain, “The baby in this painting has mystical powers. She’s not evil or anything…but she can hypnotize you nonetheless. And I have big plans for us today, so I’ll be requiring your full attention!”
He then added, “Some say that the baby and her supernatural mind powers are the only reason why the museum hasn’t had a major fire or flood for over 10 years!
“The painting was a gift from an anonymous donor who, after having been locked up in an insane asylum for the better part of his adult life, gave it to the museum as a condition of his release from the hospital,” Mr. Callipeaux explained as we stood before the massive work.
Mr. Callipeaux had told our class on the first day of school that we would be treated to a tour of the museum led by none other than himself. And here we were, it was the second day of class, and we were on our first fieldtrip to view the notable collection of artworks at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts (MIA).
Not only was this my first visit to the MIA, it was also 1) my first week as a college student, and 2) it was my very first week living in America. From an early age, growing up in London, it had been my dream to travel to the States to study under the great Edmund Callipeaux. And here I was: tuition paid, bags unpacked, and backpack brimming with newly purchased school supplies. Everything was falling into place in exactly the way I had envisioned it as a youngster in Merry Olde England.
Mr. Callipeaux met our class at the museum entrance that morning, whereupon he led us at a quick pace directly to the magical baby painting. Zigzagging through the cavernous halls of the MIA, he rushed past and ignored a great many masterpieces, telling the class, "We don't have time to see all of this stuff. Today's only going to be about the Greatest Hits!!!"
Finally approaching the magical baby painting, I eagerly tried to imagine what the day held in store for me. I wondered what genius lay behind Mr. Callipeaux’s planned tour.
After a few seconds of glancing at the baby painting, Mr. Callipeaux quickly led the class to another gallery. “Let’s not linger here people! We have much to do today! Much to do!”
In the neighboring room, we found a painting of this woman:
Upon gathering around the painting, Mr. Callipeaux immediately exclaimed to the class:
“And by God, don’t even think of looking into this woman’s eyes!"
“In fact, turn around...turn around and face the other direction! I don’t want any of you looking at any part of this painting!”
With that said, the class hesitated briefly, but eventually turned their backs to the painting, as well as to Mr. Callipeaux, who was now standing just to the right of the artwork. Later that night, as I was recalling this event with some of my fellow students, I found that I was not alone amongst my peers in thinking that Mr. Callipeaux has unconventional, if not unusual teaching methods.
Within the echoing gallery, we listened as Mr. Callipeaux described the painting further:
“Never look at this painting! The woman in this painting is the one who’s always trying to start fires and cause floods around here…she and the magical baby have been fighting each other for years and years! And you can't afford to get mixed up in this epic battle! So don’t ever look at any part of this painting...if you get caught within her steely gaze, you’ll be finished! She has a cold, vindictive soul that you’re not ready to deal with yet!”
A few other museum visitors looked toward our group with somewhat confused expressions on their faces, and a museum guard quietly told Mr. Callipeaux to not shout in the galleries.
Moving to the next room, we gathered around this painting.
“This is the best painting in the museum…which is saying something,” said Mr. Callipeaux. “I want you each to write a 15-page paper on this painting, single-spaced with ½” margins, due to me by noon tomorrow,” continued Mr. Callipeaux, followed by, “That’s all I’m going to say about this painting. No questions, please.”
Pulling us into another room, we momentarily found ourselves in front of this painting.
To which, Mr. Callipeaux said, “A lot of paintings have cows in them.”
Barely stopping at the cow painting, and while in the process of darting into the next gallery, a student asked if we could pause to take some notes and maybe use the restroom.
“No,” was Mr. Callipeaux’s reply as he pointed at this painting.
At a brisk pace we galloped past a Rembrandt painting, a Monet painting, a famous portrait by the artist Chuck Close, and a 5th century BC Roman sculpture that evidently the museum purchased for over 5 million US Dollars.
I began to wonder what sort of logic was at play in Mr. Callipeaux’s mind. We had been in the museum for only a short time, and perhaps it was too soon to place any doubt on Mr. Callipeaux’s intensions...but I found myself thinking that this was a very different experience of museum going - - especially when compared to my long afternoons of wandering the halls of British museums back home.
Our next stop was in front of this portrait.
Mr. Callipeaux proceeded to explain that this clown is the reason why the Lady with the Eyes wants to destroy the museum all the time. Evidently (according to Mr. Callipeaux) the clown and the Lady with the Eyes were once lovers, but the clown dumped the Lady with the Eyes abruptly one night so that he could focus his attention more on the craft of clowning.
Several students with raised hands were ignored as we were then ushered into the next gallery and quickly past the painting shown below as Mr. Callipeaux said, “Severed heads are cool.”
Then pausing briefly at a balcony, Mr. Callipeaux pointed to a large glass sculpture that was suspended from the ceiling. “This will result in the downfall of Western Civilization,” he exclaimed. After which he yelled, “Let’s keep moving people!”
As we made our way, almost at a run through the next 15 or more galleries, Mr. Callipeaux stopped us briefly here and there to tell us to move more quickly. It was at this time that I really started to feel confused and somewhat frustrated. By my watch, we had only spent 12 minutes in the museum, and yet we had covered three floors and walked (or ran) past innumerable priceless art objects. This was very different from the sort of college education that I had imagined during the long flight to America from the UK.
In fact, I thought back to earlier in the week, when we met as a class for the first time, and it occurred to me that that was also a rather confusing experience. Mr. Callipeaux had arrived to class 20 minutes late, took attendance, assigned a class captain that he told would be responsible for the administration of all punishments to students - - and he then put on a PBS video about French Impressionism, took a seat at the back of the classroom, and I could swear that I thought that it looked like he was sleeping after about 15 minutes.
At the end of the class, a student asked him what he had been doing back there, to which he responded, “I was just doing what anyone does while looking at French Impressionistic painting. Art is supposed to have an effect on you, right? Painting like that makes most people tired and sleepy. I’m surprised no one else took a little nap. What do you think that I was trying to teach you?”
Back at the museum, we breathlessly chased after Mr. Callipeaux as he zoomed through gallery after gallery. As I ran, I thought back to all the other college acceptance letters I had received…and of the expense I had undertaken in uprooting and moving thousands of miles away from my family.
Finally, stopping at the painting below, Mr. Callipeaux said, “This marks the end of our tour, I’ll assume that there are no questions. Class dismissed.
“Oh, and by the way…the hand soap that they have in the bathrooms on the first floor, by the main entrance, is quite nice. Make sure that you make a point of checking that out as you leave the museum!”
And with that he disappeared down a set of stairs, leaving us standing and bewildered in a gallery full of Folk Art. A new kind of anxiety that I had never experienced before overtook me as I tried to remember just exactly where that Monkey painting was in the museum. “How on Earth am I going to write 15 pages by noon tomorrow?” I thought to myself.
That night, I ended up pulling my first official all-nighter as a college student while I worked to complete my paper on the Monkey painting. Handing it in on time, I went back to my dorm room to get a little shut-eye. As I drifted off to sleep, I thought back to how my father had cautioned me about pursuing my education abroad. He accurately pointed out to me that there are many world-class art colleges within the London city limits. Good advice that I ignored while dreaming of studying under the tutelage of Edmund Callipeaux.
Later that evening, I was surprised to find my paper (with Mr. Callipeaux’s notes) resting in my school mailbox. Standing in the hallway alongside my dormitory roommate, I flipped through the pages that were now mostly covered with heavy red ink markings...with huge sections crossed out (and covered in coffee stains). Scrawled across the bottom of the last page, I found my grade along with Mr. Callipeaux’s comments:
D-
Your grammer is terrible!
You totally missed what this painting is about!
Get help!
Turning to my roommate and asking him if he thought that the pages held the slight odor of Irish Whiskey, I said, “We weren’t even in the museum 20 minutes and the guy doesn’t even know how to spell the word grammar correctly. If this first week of class is any indication of the semester ahead of me, I don’t know if December can come fast enough.” – SK
However, the hand soap at the MIA was indeed quite lovely.
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