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The best thing about Chicago is the Chicago Art Institute. I spent hours there. When I was in the depths of depression, I sat on a small bench in a small dark blue room losing myself in Caillebotte’s painting of a beautiful woman and handsome man walking on wet lavender cobblestones beneath a large black umbrella. Other, happier times, I gazed at Monet’s haystacks: haystacks in the snow, haystacks at sunset, haystacks at midday. A room full of happy haystacks.

For a year or so, I was a student, At that time, students had to walk through the museum to access the school which was located in the in the basement. The joy, of course, was classes started at 9am and the museum didn’ t open ‘til 10:30, With my student ID, I got to wander wherever,

One cold January a Georgia O’Keeffe perspective was being hung. Amid the unpacked wooden crates was O’Keeffe herself, dressed in black, with a large cane handled umbrella, pointing this way and that to properly hang her paintings. There were six or seven versions of her Jacks-in-the-Pulpit. When you entered the gallery, horizontally, at the end of the long hall way was her astonishing Sky Above the Clouds . O’Keeffe approvingly nodded at their installation.