The Art Institute, located in Chicago, Illinois has become a contentious space for me, a space of critique and a space of inspiration. I reject it as much as I depend on it (even if it makes me a hypocrite). This body of work began by looking at some of the Van Goghs located in the museum. It always makes me think about my mom, “oskar, no crees que si Van Gogh podría bajar del cielo y ver como sus obras están en los museos más grandes estaría orgulloso de sí mismo?” An honest question. I have always thought that the making of art is an expressive form not a product however it hardly seems that way anymore. I weep for all of the caged and protected art, protecting it from who? I wish I could speak to these paintings, interview them, represent them for their full emotion. It started with a performance, “A Screaming Painting” is the first expression of this chapter. A ridiculous expression of the torture you paintings face.