By Carter Ottele

BUCKSBAUM—When Jimothy Leary ’28 decided to enroll in Grinnell this April, artistic opportunity was at the top of his mind. After all, he had already volunteered at his local art museum for the past two summers, won a Silver Key from the Scholastic Arts Foundation, and earned a 4 on the AP Studio Art exam; apart from the Royal College of Art in London, what institution could cultivate his artistic talent like Grinnell could?

During New Student Orientation (NSO) in August, Leary quickly decided that he was “too cool” to attend scheduled events. Instead, he chose to embark on a self-guided tour of the school, relying on a trail of gluten-free breadcrumbs to navigate the vast, sprawling campus. Wandering aimlessly through the Peace Grove, he happened upon the very building that had first drawn him to Grinnell College: the Bucksbaum Center for the Arts.

“When I entered through those glass doors, I felt a presence calling my name,” recounted Leary, gazing vacuously into the distance. “It, like, compelled me. Somehow, I knew that this was the fabled home of the Bucksbaum Art Museum—and that, to find the museum, I would have to enter through the doors on my right.”

Leary approached the entrance to the Flanagan Theatre. Someone had hung a sign on the doors that read “DANGER: MICROBIAL HAZARD.”

“Interactive, immersive installations are fire, man,” laughed Leary. “I was so pumped to finally experience an exhibit at the, you know, vaunted Bucksbaum Art Museum.”

Slowly, his smile dropped. “If only I had known.”

Leary entered the space despite the sign, expecting avant-garde installation art. Instead, “it was pitch black and smelled like rotten produce.” Yet, as Leary waited in the darkness, he began to experience visions.

“It started as splotches of neon colors, parallel lines crossing at right angles, all the normal shit. But it got worse. I saw things I can’t even describe…Itty-bitty demon kings marched through the aisles. Ethereal voices sang odes to self-gov. The walls started flickering ‘Dean Fisher for State House’ in Morse Code,” said Leary. He stood in the theater, paralyzed by fear, yet transfixed by the phantasmagoric display of lights, sounds, and sensations that threatened to snatch him from our dimension.

At last, Leary gathered the strength to stumble out of the theater. As he gasped for air, the hallucinations gradually diminished. He crawled out the glass doors and into fresh air. Though his trail of gluten-free breadcrumbs had been picked apart by ravenous celiac scavengers from the Office of Development and Alumni Relations, he managed to find his way back to his dorm.

Now, having recovered from the incident, Leary has expressed interest in returning to the fungus-infested space. “I’m someone who believes firmly in the transformational potential of great art,” said Leary. “But I’ve never been so moved by an art installation as I was in Bucksbaum. I can’t wait to go back with all my friends from South Campus!”

Unfortunately for Leary, the future of the Bucksbaum mold infestation remains uncertain. To slash its budget and reduce its dependency on the endowment, the College has considered preserving the microbial hazard as a potential replacement for the Writing Center, arguing that it may generate “unparalleled levels of creativity and innovation.”