My introduction to Marc Chagall’s dreamlike figures, at least outside of an art history book, was in 1998, during a trip to France. But the first time I saw Marc Chagall’s America Windows was in the movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (it is, of course, the backdrop for Ferris and Sloane’s kiss at the Art Institute of Chicago). Beloved in both French museums and opera houses and to American moviegoers, Chagall is probably best known for reinventing the stained glass window.

When I moved to Chicago in 2005, America Windows was in the process of being deinstalled for the Art Institute’s expansion, so I didn’t get to see it in person until it was unveiled again last fall. I’ve since seen it many times in the Art Institute’s Modern Wing, where it’s exhibited near smaller versions of public art in Chicago, including Calder’s Flamingo and an unnamed Picasso sculpture. (Incidentally, the irony is palpable: an exhibit on public art in a space available to those who can pay nearly $20 for admission.)


Chagall completed America Windows 1977 in commemoration of America’s Bicentennial and of Chicago’s commitment to public art. Chagall had first been in Chicago in 1946 to attend an opening of a retrospective of his own work at the Art Institute, and was there again in 1967 for the the public unveiling of the unnamed Picasso sculpture outside what is now known as the Daley Plaza. At the time, Mayor Richard J. Daley made a prescient comment on the nature of public art in this city: “What is strange to us today will be familiar tomorrow.”

Daley was right—public art is all over Chicago, from South Side viaducts to downtown plazas. But it’s also in semi-private places, like museums. Although Ferris Bueller was a wildly popular movie, the scene with Ferris and Sloane in front of Chagall’s stained glass is meant to feel private. Pop culture has been an interesting lens for America Windows, at once making it more private and more public–it belongs to Ferris Bueller fans, to the city of Chicago, to stolen kisses. (Even the Art Institute has embraced the notoriety granted by John Hughes’ movie, giving it a nod on their Web site.) Having seen the windows so many times now, it’s easy to see why Hughes used the stained glass as a backdrop for this tender teenage kiss. The windows swallow everything around you. Visitors sit on benches across from it and gaze into the blue glow. Occasionally, a guard will interrupt a visitor trying to stand on the platform in front of the windows for a photo op, but it’s mostly a quiet oasis in a busy exhibit hall. Chagall said of these windows, “It’s not for a cathedral or for a private house that I do this. It’s for a museum. So right away there are certain conditions. While not a cathedral at the same time it must be a place where people can reflect.”

Chagall named this piece America Windows, but although it doesn’t look out onto anything, it reflects the arts, freedom of expression, and the viewer. Even in the Art Institute’s bright, airy Modern Wing, America Windows is quieting and contemplative, but not static. From even a short distance, its hard to make out any narrative in the glass, but the closer you get, the layers of Chagall’s grisaille method build glorious, three-dimensional images of candelabras, dancers, and literature. (The six panels of the windows pay homage to the arts, each of them showcasing a different medium: music, painting, literature, theater, and dance. The fourth panel commemorates the signing of the Declaration of Independence.)

There really is magic in the Chagall windows, something both public and private, something that is both deserving of a famous movie kiss, and something that transcends it.