Art and Inventory: My Summer at the CAT  

August 1, 2025

Laniah Mars, The CAT Summer Intern 

If anyone ever tells you that working at a museum is always quiet and calm, they’ve clearly never spent a summer at the CAT.

Let me start by saying this: preparing a museum tour is not for the weak. Yes, you can know an exhibition like the back of your hand—but the mental and emotional prep behind turning that knowledge into a tour that can inspire third graders, elders, and social media followers alike? It’s not running a marathon; it just requires the same stamina. You rehearse facts you already know, and yet you still sweat the timing, the phrasing—the moment a child asks a question before you get to finish. Or, worse, when no one asks anything at all. You’re not just walking people through a space. You’re walking them through time and culture; through someone’s life. That’s pressure.

My coworkers, who were really my mentors, were nothing short of incredible. I could start a morning helping kids explore antique art pieces older than their grandparents, then spend the afternoon filming TikToks with the marketing team. The contrast was as entertaining as it sounds. The CAT Museum has a pulse, a rhythm that swings between two worlds. 

What struck me most, though, was the quiet perseverance that runs beneath it all. Museums aren’t loud about the work they do. They’re stubborn, beautifully so, in their mission to keep art alive.  

There’s this aching desire to make art “engaging,” but maybe we’ve forgotten art is engaging. In today’s world, art often has to fight for its spot at the table. Sometimes, working in a museum feels like counting pennies to make a dollar. Slow. Tedious. Intentional. Because when that dollar is made, when a child stares at a sculpture with wonder or a visitor pauses longer than expected in front of a painting—you remember why it matters. Culture isn’t loud. It’s layered. And those layers live in the hands of curators, the minds of artists, and the awe of a viewer.  

As well as through the help of an intern (hello, me). 

Now, I’d be lying if I said the behind-the-scenes work didn’t terrify me at first. My second rotation came with a badge and access to the museum’s warehouse. I thought I was prepared, spoiler: I wasn’t. Turns out, being part of art installation and inventory management is nothing like viewing an exclusive gallery. Who would’ve thought? 

You unbox sculptures with trembling hands, see your favorite painting outside of a frame for the first time, and realize that there are entire rooms full of art that might never even make it onto the walls. 

Some of my favorite moments? Of course, looking at the pieces. Not interpreting, just soaking in the intricate lines; how one’s mood gets influenced by oil on canvas or sculpted glass. There’s something therapeutic about snapping photos of insane talent that is the hands of a complete stranger, knowing they’ve made this for you to see.

And then came the middle schoolers.  

Imagine dozens of sugar-powered teens with tentacles for arms in a room full of century-old oil paintings. Roles quickly shifted to crowd control. It was a combination of curiosity and chaos that made a maddening, heartwarming mix. I learned that even when you tell them not to touch the paintings, they’re still going to try. 

My summer at the CAT wound up being a whirlwind of old art and new technology and, of course, kids. It was educational, yes, learning how much work goes into a museum—but it was also a little crazy, inspiring, and beautifully human. 

Art isn’t dying. It’s hiding in plain sight, and this summer I had the honor of helping people of all ages find it again.