Every time I travel—whether to a buzzing metropolis or a quiet rural town—I don’t just look for sights. I look for stories. I walk through university campuses, trace the outlines of ancient forts, spend hours in museums, talk with strangers over street food, and take in architecture that whispers of time, identity, and hope. To truly understand a place, I believe you must not only see it—you must feel it. Through its built form. Through its people.
So here I am, in June 2024, sketchbook in hand, standing in front of the iconic bronze lions outside the Art Institute of Chicago. Michigan Avenue hums behind me as I take in the museum’s grand Beaux-Arts façade. This isn’t just a tourist stop. It’s a chapter in my ongoing journey as an architourist—someone who explores cities by immersing herself in their art, architecture, and culture.
Inside, the museum itself tells a story. From the historic 1893 marble Grand Staircase to the luminous, modern minimalism of Renzo Piano’s wing that opens out into Millennium Park, this building doesn’t merely display art. It becomes art. It frames and deepens every encounter.
Today, I’m here to reflect on six masterpieces that don’t just stay with me as visuals—they inspire how I might shape landscapes and public spaces for others to inhabit and enjoy.
Seurat’s Symphony in Stillness
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In Gallery 240, Seurat’s A Sunday on La Grande Jatte doesn’t hang on a wall—it hovers in a hush. Each dot feels like a heartbeat in a park where time refuses to rush. Figures stand, sit, and stroll—captured in a kind of deliberate stillness that only leisure allows. For me, this isn’t just a painting of people in a park. It’s a blueprint for emotional landscaping. I imagine native wildflowers brushing against stone benches, sunlight slicing through canopies, and every corner calibrated for calm. Here, art becomes ecology. Rhythm becomes refuge.
Hopper’s Diner of Dreams
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Nighthawks doesn’t glow—it broods. The glass diner, under Hopper’s midnight lens, feels like a secret. Inside: three patrons and a barista locked in silence. Outside: a city holding its breath. There’s loneliness, yes—but also intimacy. I’m pulled to sketch cities where such moments can live: cosy alley cafés, soft-lit corners, spaces that let you be alone without being lost. Hopper paints what architects often forget—emotional geometry. Solitude designed into form.
Joan Mitchell’s Whirlwind Metropolis
Mitchell doesn’t paint a city—she feels it onto canvas. City Landscape is a storm of strokes, a skyline unravelling and rebuilding itself every second. Her chaos is kinetic. I see it not as disorder but energy—like a public plaza where nothing is perfect, yet everything pulses. Raised planters erupt with native growth. Sculptural seating snakes between colour. It’s not a designed space—it’s a lived one. My sketch echoes her philosophy: let the city breathe with messy joy.
Caillebotte’s Rain-soaked Rapture
Paris Street, Rainy Day is the kind of painting that smells of wet stone and whispers of shared umbrellas. The street glistens like a memory. The figures, mid-stride, belong to both past and present. What if rain wasn’t a nuisance but a narrative? I imagine plazas that welcome storms—paving stones that reflect light like puddles, arcades that hum with laughter during downpours, and lighting that dances in rhythm with drizzle. Cities can be beautiful even under clouds—Caillebotte proves it.
Cliff Walk at Pourville doesn’t just depict wind—it is wind. You can almost hear the grass whisper and feel the salt of the sea cling to your cheek. Monet’s palette pulls the air into motion. As a designer, I see walkways curving along coastal edges, grasses swaying in rhythm with footsteps, and benches placed for sun-chasing souls. It’s the kind of landscape where thoughts unfurl. Where silence isn’t emptiness but invitation.
Grant Wood’s Rural Thunder
There’s a storm beneath the stillness of American Gothic. It’s not just a portrait—it’s a declaration. Grit in the gaze. Strength in the soil. The pointed roof and pitchfork speak of labour, land, and legacy. As someone raised in landscapes shaped by both tradition and transformation, I sketch open courtyards grounded in vernacular logic—pitched roofs, sunken seats, exposed textures. Spaces that nod to ancestry but welcome evolution. Wood’s painting reminds me: architecture must honour its roots before it reaches for the sky.
🏛 A Museum That Lives With Its City
What makes the Art Institute so remarkable is that it’s not just a place to see art—it’s a place to experience it. Its Beaux-Arts interiors hold history in their bones, while the Modern Wing allows contemporary works to glow in natural daylight. The Nichols Bridgeway, floating above the city, connects the museum to the green expanse of Lurie Garden. Art, architecture, and landscape blur into one fluid experience.
✏️ Architourist’s Guide to Soulful Exploration
🖊 Sketch What You Feel
Let your sketchbook reflect how a space feels, not just how it looks. Architecture is a container for emotion.
🎓 Visit Universities
Campuses are microcosms of a city’s ideals—design, community, and aspiration.
🏛 Wander Through History
Forts, old town centres, and heritage streets—they teach you how people once moved, built, and belonged.
🍲 Taste the Streets
Food stalls, neighbourhood kitchens, regional spices—they offer a tactile experience of tradition.
🎧 Use the AIC App
Audio tours enrich your understanding—especially for works like American Gothic or the new Frida Kahlo exhibit.
📅 Don’t Miss Seasonal Exhibits
Frida Kahlo’s A Month in Paris (running until June 29, 2025) is a rare glimpse into the iconic artist’s dialogue with modernity and identity.
As I step out, the summer wind tousling my hair, my sketchbook feels heavier—not with paper, but with ideas. I’ve absorbed something more than inspiration. I’ve absorbed emotion—through art, through space, through the city itself.
This wasn’t just a museum visit. It was a quiet pilgrimage. A reminder that stories are embedded in every stroke, every street, every skyline—if you’re willing to pause and sketch them.
What places, people, or paintings stir your creative soul?
Let’s sketch the world, one story at a time.
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