A Monday at the Sarasota Art Museum

I am not an art expert. What draws me is the moment when something beyond the physical becomes visible through the spirit of someone brave enough to create. That kind of creation is unique, and it’s sacred.

—Iru, Bohemian Sarasota

Happened that Monday for me is another Sunday—often it’s the only day off I have, and I try to spend this time in nature, or a museum, or somewhere in silence, catching inspiration. This Monday, I thought, where should I go, what experience do I want to take? Then I remembered—lol—I live just minutes from the Sarasota Art Museum. I visited it maybe four years ago, once. However, I recently did a photoshoot there for the historical society's annual award. You can read the article about the Historical Society here.

So I felt I had to return and finally take time to explore the museum itself.

Where History Meets Light: The Museum's Architecture

As I was writing this article, of course, I started by digging into the building’s past—historical facts and architectural details always pull me in first. The Sarasota Art Museum lives in a space that once served as Sarasota High School. Its exterior is a 1927 Collegiate Neo-Gothic landmark, designed by M. Leo Elliott. Think brick-and-terra-cotta masonry, pointed arches, glazed columns, and a kind of timeless scholastic dignity. In 1984, it was added to the National Register of Historic Places, which once served as Sarasota High School. Its exterior is a 1927 Collegiate Neo-Gothic landmark, designed by M. Leo Elliott. Think brick-and-terra-cotta masonry, pointed arches, glazed columns, and a kind of timeless scholastic dignity. In 1984, it was added to the National Register of Historic Places.

In 1960, Paul Rudolph, a giant of the Sarasota School of Architecture, added a mid-century vocational wing. It's clean-lined, modern, flooded with natural light, framed by concrete and glass. Two very different styles, but together they complement each other.

Between 2015 and 2019, K/R Architects and Lawson Group Architects, in collaboration with Anne-Marie Russell, transformed the space into what it is today. The old rear facade became the main entrance. Inside, they used reclaimed heart-pine joists for flooring. They preserved exposed brick and concrete, creating sculptural niches that now cradle contemporary art.

Walk through the upper galleries and you're met with industrial-modern openness. Downstairs, it feels more grounded—historical, but still full of possibility. It’s not just a museum. It’s a dialogue between decades.

Workshops, Programs, and Unexpected Corners

I walked through the space and realized—this museum isn’t passive. It breathes. You don’t just come here to look at art; you end up part of a larger exchange. They run workshops, host talks, and open real dialogues. It’s the kind of place where you learn without being lectured.

There are workshops available for adults and teens in various disciplines, including ceramics, fiber arts, photography, and philosophy. Their Teen Arts Council provides high schoolers with real-world experience in the art world. Architecture walking tours, weekly highlights tours, and "Art at Noon" curator talks keep conversations alive.

There are small joys, too: 200-to-600-year-old heart-pine floors that creak beneath your feet, sculptural niches tucked into stairwells, and an outdoor courtyard perfect for performance and pause. The Bistro, located in the Rudolph wing, serves local fare with minimalist charm.

Through the Veil: Lillian Blades and the Art of Emotional Architecture

Lillian Blades: Through the Veil, on view June 1 to October 26, 2025, isn’t just an exhibition—it’s a spiritual construction. You don’t observe it. You enter it.

Born in the Bahamas, Blades was shaped by tropical colors, handcrafted traditions, and the loss of her mother, a seamstress, whose presence lingers in every thread she stitches. What began in mourning evolved into luminous memory work.

Using acrylic, Plexiglass, mirrors, wood, and found textiles, Blades creates layered "veils" that hang in the central atrium. They shimmer. They reflect. They change with the light. Nothing is still. Her process—months of labor in Atlanta and Nassau—culminated in six intense days of meditative on-site installation.

She calls it "organized chaos." It feels more like emotional architecture. Her veils speak in texture, light, and shadow. The viewer is not just a viewer, but a participant. What you see shifts depending on where you stand, physically and emotionally.

Blades draws from the Gee’s Bend quilters, Rothko, African ritual cloth, and her own inherited language of sewing—the result: a devotional, sensorial installation that mirrors memory, grief, joy, and spirit.

Curated by Lacie Barbour specifically for the Sarasota Art Museum’s skylit atrium, the exhibition interacts with light as much as it does with memory. Critics describe it as a labyrinth, a healing ritual, an emotional experience you walk through.

My Experience

I just sat alone with my thoughts in a space that didn’t demand anything from me. It felt like a pause, like being somewhere that allowed you to be fully present. The central installation was surrounded by light falling from the ceiling in a soft glow, and that circle felt like its own quiet world.

Something was calming about it. No noise, no distraction. Just colors, textures, and the feeling that you’ve entered something abstract and complex to explain, but not cold. The atmosphere made it easy to let go and stay there for a while.

That’s all I needed.

The Sarasota Art Museum is one of those places where the environment itself makes you slow down. The architecture is the first thing you notice—spacious, clean, and thoughtfully layered. It blends historic and modern elements in a way that feels natural. It’s a place where you can sit alone with your thoughts and let the atmosphere settle around you. Even the Bistro fits the mood—quiet, calm, with natural light and decent food. Everything is designed to make you feel at ease and unhurried.

Photos: iruphotos.com