The Crystal Bridges Museum and Gallery

This was the final project I had to do for my art class last year. The assignment was to go to a gallery/museum and describe the experience.

As I took the long bus ride to Bentonville on that early Monday morning, I was rather expecting to find an art gallery much like a normal museum.  I more or less imagined a large, angular building surrounded by an immense parking lot with hundreds upon hundreds of empty spaces all in neat little rows.  Inside, there would be several rectangular rooms filled with paintings in square frames, all arranged in another set of rows.  It was a rather drab look at the idea of a gallery in hindsight.  Luckily, however, I found myself surrounded by a strange and wonderful world so very far from my own that was nearly bursting with artistic glamour.

In fact, my journey began almost immediately after exiting the bus.  The museum itself was quite a ways off from the parking lot, so our class was thus forced to walk on foot, away from the comforts of air conditioning and semi-comfortable seats.  The trail, however, led us through several small expanses of forest, a visual and auditory treat for those who chose to enjoy it (and I am most certainly glad that I did).  The vividly green leaves, accompanied by the various melodies of birdsong, provided an experience quite unlike my usual perception of the world.  Being the introvert that I am, I hardly ever experience nature in its purest form, even while the forest stands serenely in the background of my home in the little enclave of Houston.  However, when confronted with this new experience, I must admit that it was delightful.  The day was hot (a welcomed change in light of Arkansas weather), and the sun rose mid-way in the sky, throwing down amorphous and swaying shadows from the leaves of the wind-blown trees.  All of it was so sensually invigorating that I am proud to say that the more artistic side of my mind came forth earlier than expected; already was I taking stock of my surround and synthesizing my ideas and judgments about them.

As the museum itself came into view, I was rather shocked by what I saw.  Instead of the hopelessly square and uninteresting contours of the mental image that had dominated my mind’s capacity until then, I found myself drawing towards a silver, turtle-esque building blocked partly from view by yet another metallic anomaly:  a gnarled, spindly tree protruding from a grassy hill.  I could not help but stare as I passed, enamored by the complexity and unorthodoxy of the piece before me.  Finally breaking my gaze for practicality’s sake, I followed my class into the turtlish building, where we all rode a set of glass elevators down to the main floor.  Safely grounded once more, we proceeded down a corridor that included one wall made entirely of glass, obviously meant for the viewing of the artificial lake that had been created around it.  The water contained bits of forest debris, which I myself found rather unsightly.  All the random sticks and twigs seemed to take away from the deep blue hue, a contrast that even I did not enjoy.

Once past the corridor and the enormous dining hall (complete with high-vaulted ceilings and amassing patrons), we proceeded outside once more to begin the Art Trail.  From the onset, I was hopelessly attracted to the wonderful aesthetics present; the vibrancy of the colors was astounding, always making me feel as if I were walking in a three-dimensional oil painting.  The sheer sensuality of the space was almost overwhelming.  In addition to the lovely hues surrounding me, I could hear the sounds of rushing water and of lawnmowers eagerly trimming the grass at the edge of the concrete path.  I could smell the grass clippings, immediately reminding me that summer was just over the horizon once more.  In my mind (and on paper), I began to take note of the emotions and impressions I formulated as I walked through this wholly-exciting world.  One such idea, rather prominent above the rest, was the subtle contrast between the natural and the artificial:  the white concrete pathway placed between two sections of forest, the mowers busily shaving the grass down to a desirable level, the suburbanite homes place at the edge of the trails.  These images seemed pleasant enough, and, looking back, they seem to bring back the hope that humans can reconcile themselves with the natural world, peacefully coexisting with it instead of destroying its vitality and robustness.  Then again, perhaps I am too idealistic.

With the refreshing walk through the forest completed, the class continued to the actual gallery.  Oh, what a land of treasure!  Each of the beautiful pieces from the different periods of American history took me to a specific moment in our nation’s past.  Colonial portraits, early landscapes, industrial symbolisms, and contemporary brain-benders could all be found in at least one section of the extensive gallery.  The works of such artists as Martin Johnson Heade, John Singleton Copley, Susan Catherine Waters, Theodore Robinson, Joseph Deeker, Victor Dubreul, Ralston Crawford, Francis Criss, Duane Hanson, and Andy Warhol hung along the walls in their various sizes.  It boggles the mind to think about all of the energy and thought that went into each of these works, mostly oil paintings, but a few statues and other forms.  It was all so enchanting that, when I wandered off on my own, I was late for the bus ride home!

My favorite artwork in what majority of the gallery I was able to see in my time there was an oil painting by the artist Thomas Moran.  Titled Valley of the Catawissa in Autumn, the piece depicts a picturesque landscape of trees and mountains in autumnal hues of red, brown, orange, and yellow, along with a wispily clouded blue sky.  I must say, Moran’s attention to detail is impeccable!  Each of the individual trees is accounted for in stunning intricacy.  He even managed to produce a single white bird---barely larger than a quarter!---in the bottom right corner with amazing clarity.  What interests me most, however, is the fact that he actually omitted details.  At the time when Moran painted this masterpiece, there was actually a railroad stretching through the Catawissa.  The painting, in contrast, is devoid of any industrial leanings; it is a pure, unadulterated, bona fide landscape.  I believe the reasoning behind this omission (and the piece’s true purpose) is that Moran wanted to showcase the enclaves of natural beauty that still existed in America in spite of all the rapid industrialization that was happening around.  I think that he wanted to preserve (at least in paint) the splendor of the land where he grew up.  Thus, in my opinion, this work is quite successful in its goal; it makes me want to dive into the world of the painting and visit this place for myself!

Author's Note

It may seem a little childish at the end, but I really wanted to capture the kind of emotions I felt while I was there. Also, I really want to improve my descriptive writing. Any tips?