In + Around St. Louis

Over the Rivers and to the Art

November 7, 2025

November 9 is Go to an Art Museum Day

Rivers and art museums might be my two favorite places to exist. We moved to Alton in 2023, and the river, as a part of our daily experience, has been life-changing. We can’t cross the bridge into Missouri without a conversation about it- the weather reflected in it, view of the city behind it, its birds and boats – or without my youngest naming the river, “Mississippi!” – then doing the same as we cross the Missouri, minutes down the road. This was the conversation as we made our way to the St. Louis Art Museum (SLAM) to see the new Anselm Kiefer exhibit. I’ve been anxiously awaiting the opening. Living in Illinois and traveling across the river to head into the city, I’ve spent decades thinking about the people and history along the Mississippi River- starting many a poem and story in my mind, as the mile markers passed.

I strongly believe art is for everyone and thankfully, SLAM and its programming agrees. As homeschoolers, we often visit during the week, also attending weekend family events. Over the years I’ve gathered strategies for a smooth trip, and rely on these basic prep tactics. Make sure to thoroughly feed and hydrate your kids before leaving. Remember to have developmentally appropriate expectations for behaviors and expression. It’s okay to talk in a museum, and it’s okay to get excited! However, give clear expectations and context to your kids about museum norms. We review guidelines:

look with our eyes (not hands),
don’t step on or over the floor lines (which mark a safe distance to view the pieces),
point with “T-Rex arms” (not extended arms),
go slow and watch for others who are also enjoying the museum (and say pardon).

Upon arrival, I am mentally prepared for a few realities: I will have to leverage snacks even though I just fed them. A snack from the cafe at the midpoint of your visit is perfect. Definitely take a break to get wiggles out of the body, because we keep ourself and our limbs controlled while we walk through galleries. SLAM has lovely maps, and giving one to each child gratifies their sense of ownership and adventure while putting their hands to work. For Becoming the Sea, there is an engaging visitor guide which includes a map of its footprint- stretching from the Taylor Hall point of entrance, to its enveloping presence in the Sculpture Hall.

Be prepared to ask questions and listen. I gave a brief intro to Kiefer, and materials he used- but then I asked their thoughts and waited. What did they see, enjoy, feel? This led to Constance noting she saw fire and flames surrounding the huddled but still standing form in Orythyia, while my eye was busy dissecting the layers of green created by Kiefer. Space gave Oliver time to consider and parse possible meanings and messages connected to German Lineages of Salvation, and led Georgia to gush about the dried fern and its fragility, in Saturn Time.

Inevitably, there will be a moment of possible meltdown. During a tense moment with Constance, we talked through our feelings- she needed patience to make it to our scheduled break, I needed patience with her. We took deep regulating breaths, then walked hand in hand through the last galleries, on the same team. Taking a break can mean different things for each kid. We then stepped out to Art Hill, where one kiddo rolled down the hill, another sketched the hill-rolling-sibling with colored pencils, and the teenager checked their phone.

Back in the museum, walking into the hall, my jaw dropped. We were pulled into a world of whimsy rooted in grit. Becoming the Sea combines personal, global, and local history with mythology and humanity, in relation to rivers and more. As I look to my right, a massive piece shows a tributary map of the Mississippi and Missouri rivers confluence. The names we chanted on the way to the museum are literally written in gold, with a water nymph draped over the place where Alton- my city– is located. In the foreground, the Melvin Price Lock and Dam (also in Alton) stands stoically- with layers of green, grey, and gold. Kiefer boated along the Mississippi, when visiting in 1991 and included inspiration from that experience in two of these five massive pieces. The second piece shows the old Alton bridge, with three protective female spirits representing the Anishinaabe and Wabanaki Native peoples. It is titled Lumpeguin, Cigwe, Animiki.

It feels as though the threads of different times and realities converged, along with these rivers, to form a double-knotted reminder of kismet and integration, just for me.

In our studies, we are reading Braiding Sweetgrass by Kimmerer and Unsettling Truths by Charles and Rah. In an early chapter, Kimmerer suggests researching which tribes lived where you now live. In Unsettling, the authors remind us that our country does not have a unified common memory. In an American climate where our history and culpability continue to be whitewashed and dismissed, it was affirming to view these thought-provoking pieces by Kiefer, who was born in 1945 and as a child played in the rubble of World War II. He became one of the first postwar artists to confront Germany’s Nazi past. His perspective comes at a pivotal time.

I was six years old when Kiefer visited Alton and felt a connection between our rivers and the Rhine he grew up beside. His imposing piece, Breaking of the Vessels was put on display at the SLAM at that time. I have never known this museum without his influence. In 2023, we moved to Alton, and the curating of this exhibit began between Kiefer and Director Min Jung Kim. Personally, I have never required proof for the magic of art museums, but I have once again experienced that magic- through rapport across oceans, rivers, generations, and cultures. This is the gift of art museums- one I am eternally grateful to share with my children, and anyone who will listen.

In the art museum, humanity and feeling are on display. History, culture, expression, vulnerability- they layer and fray for all to inspect and absorb. When you walk through its doors, permission is granted to be thoughtful and raw- to say nothing or everything, in response. You are welcome to let the joy and the grief of kindred spirits, connection, and the human experience swell, like waves, all the way up to the gloriously high ceilings.