Haleigh Fitzsimmons
Community Response 3
April 30 2018

The Sheldon Art Museum feat. An Automatic Light Phenomenon

As I walked towards the museum with haste, the wind blew against my hair. Ruining the twenty minutes spent taming the wild beast earlier that morning. The cold temperatures turned my nose a rosy shade of pink and I did my best to focus on the beautiful sculpture ahead of me. The vibrant colors stood out among the vast grey sky, and the abstract shape contrasted the block styled university buildings. As I entered the building, a quiet stillness encased the air. The warm heat stung against my frost bitten cheeks and nose, yet I welcomed the sensation with haste. My boots echoed across the halls on the perfectly cleaned white tiles. I began to walk slower, looking up towards the incredibly tall ceiling in awe. While unbuttoning my coat, I smiled at the woman sitting quietly at a desk. Placing a dollar in the donation box, the journey up the numerous stairs began. The only sound of my boots hitting the floor remaining. After a treacherous uphill battle, I found myself on top of the staircase. The sun peeking through the windows from the grey clouds gave a lighter feel to the upper portion. A walkway led to two doors, but I turned to the right since that was a closer walk. Two great doors were the only barrier remaining from a mystery within. “Disaster Paintings.” I walked in.
The room was dark. I wondered if they simply forgot to turn on the lights. Before I turned to inform the innocent woman at the desk, a light began to turn on. Puzzled, yet curious, the room was now illuminated to showcase artwork filled with tragedy. After too much time considering the possibilities of this phenomenon, I came to the conclusion of motion sensored lights. My hypothesis was confirmed as I made my way to another room in “Disaster Paintings”, and I was correct. Brilliant. I thought. I moved my attention towards the paintings on the wall. The same stillness remained among the art, as though it was meant to cause one to reflect on depressing events throughout history. Paintings of dark blacks and dirty yellows filled the empty space with questions in my head. I stepped closer to a painting. Making sure I stayed behind the line of observation. The artist depicted the Great Depression using elements of black tar in his works. Creating an ominous presence. One of sorrow, tragedy, loss, and history. A few heart strings had been plucked, so I moved across the room. Same artist, same elements, same technique, yet different emotions. New feelings which crept into my soul. After my time spent with “Disaster Paintings”, I walked out the door. The building almost felt lighter. Brighter in an emotional yet fluorescent lighting kind of way as well. New sculptures, paintings, and meanings came into view with every glance. Some sculptures stopped with the neck, and others appeared too lifelike with their life size height. One gallery even filled the walls with breathtaking photographs. Capturing nature’s beauty with flowers dancing in the wind, and a beautiful bridge over a calm stream. The event became exhilarating to my synapses. After a few stops with different works of art, I made my way to a new room downstairs. Titled, “Original behavior.” This room showcased human interaction and the social standpoint of society. Vibrant colors were used in their art work, but one new attraction stood out the most. Books. Calling out my name behind glass shelves with a giant study room. Books of art and passion for them. I kneeled and began to eagerly search their spines for something extraordinary. Time stood still as the pages jumped to life. Allowing a further escape from reality, a chance to just breathe. To breathe from all the stress, heartbreak, and overwhelming late nights that senior year brings.
As I exited the building, my boots left the same echo – except this time, the feeling was not as empty. Rather, fulfilled. As through the art and literature filled a void inside of me I never knew existed. My heart felt sad to leave, it also felt happy to have experienced a joyous moment. The Sheldon Art museum remains a golden egg in Lincoln’s community, and a treasure in my heart.