“This is disgusting!” the man next to me exclaimed.

I turned and looked at him, surprised at his statement. He appeared to be a mature and distinguished fellow, and I had seen him at art exhibits around campus before so I knew him to be a great fan of art and the freedom of expression.

“You don’t like the work?” I asked.

“Oh, no,” he said, “I like Mr. Adkins works very much. What I think is disgusting is that I have to hide behind a screen — only a foot away from the work — to enjoy it.

“This is idiotic.” he continued, seeing that I was shaking my head in agreement. “If the purpose of these screens is to hide the works because of complaints, and to prevent passer-byers from having to see the art, then the screens are defeating the purpose. These screens have drawn more attention to Adkin’s work than any other work that has been in this gallery in a long, long time!”

I knew this to be true. I also knew that these screens have been layed down several times by admirers of the works.

And his work has been vandalized by non-admirers.

As we looked at the profane comment scrawled on one of the drawings, the man sighed and said, “You know, that writing wouldn’t be there if these screens weren’t here. This person would never have the courage to express this critique publicly.”

“It is sad,” he continued, his ire starting to rise again, “that this vandal — and most of the people who just walk by these paintings laughing or showing disgust, not trying to understand the purpose — have never called Mr. Adkins to ask him about the meaning of these self-portraits!”

“One doesn’t have to like the works to appreciate them. Most people probably don’t even care to know that these portray society’s obsession with homophobia and sexual intercourse.!”

As he finished his statement, three guys stepped behind the screen with us.

“This guy’s a fag!” was the first comment by a guy wearing sweats and a baseball cap.

“Look at that,” he sneered, “a barbed-wire condom! What a psycho!”

Meanwhile, his friends were laughing hysterically.

And when they saw the graffiti on the center drawing, they went nuts. In between their chokes of laughter, the first guy kept repeating the obscene phrase — which seemed to increase the humor of the situation for them.

The man next to me had heard enough.

“Have you guys ever thought about what these works might mean, and why the artist drew them?” he asked patiently, controlling his obvious anger.

“Who cares what they mean!” the man in sweats said. “The guy is obviously a homo!”

And with another spurt of laughter, they all strolled away.

I turned back to say that this type of immaturity can be expected from some college students, but the man wasn’t next to me anymore. He had walked off in the opposite direction of the students.

He looked back over his shoulder after a few steps, though, and said, “You know, this university and their wonderful screens are just as immature as those kids. Once again, the students are learning by example!”