After working in cities virtually my entire adult life I now find myself making a living in the northern suburbs of Chicago. For the last two decades I have worked, off and on, along Chicago's Michigan Avenue, tagged by civic promoters as "The Magnificent Mile". It is an area of stores, hotels and restaurants. Some people do live in the residential highrises located there, although I have never been able to quite ascertain why. I like, in fact thrive on a metropolitan pulse. In the part of the city in which I live dozens of highrises cling to the lakefront. Yet, beyond these there is a neighborhood filled with tree lined streets, small businesses and people I know. By comparison the scores of downtown highrises give one an option to live in a state of almost complete anonymity. While it is obvious, from the large numbers of people that have chosen this lifestyle, it suits some. I think I would find it lonely, barren and quite frankly, boring.
Living downtown one must also cope with the tourists. Throngs of them. Tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands descend on the city from the surrounding states each year. They are characterized by their cloistered, small town mentality, sharing a lack of curiosity regarding the world. Many are obese, some morbidly so. They plod from store to store, oddly, not actually buying anything. When asked, some, the ones that acknowledged my existence when I would greet them , would often say, "We just come to Chicago once a year and go through the stores." I wanted to point out that my city has a treasure trove of architecture, as well as great theatre, museums and music, but somehow knew this would fall on disinterested ears. While I will admit to devoting a certain amount of time when traveling to shopping, it is never the main activity and, I usually make a purchase!
But now my work enviorment has changed. I have been forced to make some adjustments in my attitudes and thinking. My new work venue is an outdoor mall, unusual in the weather challenged Midwest. It is a handsomely appointed space of small plazas, fountains and a koi pond, although the water features are drained and filled with evergreens boughs during the winter months. Unlike my previous environs, people actually come to this mall to shop. The morbidly obese have been exchanged for surprisingly large numbers of Russians and Greeks. My boss is Greek. She will often lapse into her parents native tongue when speaking with customers and, occasionally, other employees. Listening to these conversations is, well, Greek to me. Then there are the Russians, large and occasionally quite hot. Both the Greeks and Russian customers have a fondness for fine jewelry. As this is what I sell, this is fine with me.
These are augmented by various configurations of older, jewelry laden women, and on occasion, entire, upwardly mobile families. The annual income in Chicago's northern suburbs ranges from comfortable to obscene. On Michigan Avenue large groups of women prowl the stores together. They often resemble gangs of "Oprah's Book Club" members. In the suburbs I see a sizable number of young and teenage boys shopping with their fathers. As I never engaged in this activity this is a relationship foreign to me, therefore interesting to observe.
There are two major differences in mindset I repeatedly encounter in the suburbs, other than that the people visiting the stores actually go there to make purchases. One is the assumption that everyone lives in a house, with a yard. I, like many city dwellers, reside in an apartment. It is one of 100 or so spread over the 12 floors of our building. I have difficulty relating to the conversations regarding family rooms, basements, garages and chest freezers. Not to mention the various mechanical systems necessary to keep a home in the Midwest habitable. At home I go about my business with the assurance that if something goes mechanically awry it will be attended to by the building engineer or the condo management company. I do not have to wait at home for workmen or compare quotes. While some may complain about a lack of privacy or noise from the neighbors, this arrangement suits me.
Then there is the reliance on the individual automobile. We, like many people in the city, do not own a car. Excellent and reliable public transit makes one an unnecessary expense. Working on Michigan Avenue the events of the day are discussed with friends and coworkers while waiting at bus and train stops. Taking a bus to work to the suburban dweller is as foreign as owning a house is to me. I made certain, prior to accepting suburban employment, that I would be able to get to and from work on public transit. That I do this each work day amazes my coworkers. Unfortunately my experience has been that even if widespread public transportation were available in the suburbs it would still be difficult to wean people from their cars.
I do not judge the mindset I encounter in the suburbs. I respect the decision the people who live there have made as I would hope they would respect the decision I have made in my citified lifestyle. However, that being said, as long as my tenure in the suburbs lasts, I sense I will always feel, at least in part, like an odd fish swimming in unfamiliar waters.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Milwaukee Art Museum - A Second Look
While prowling about on line I came across an announcement of a major special exhibition at the Milwaukee Art Museum. A manor house outside of London was being renovated. During the renovation, it's superlative art collection, instead of languishing in storage, was being shipped "across the pond" to be exhibited at 4 institutions in the U.S. Milwaukee's architectural masterwork of a museum was of of the 4 afforded this honor. This provided me with a reason to day trip to our neighbor to the north and revisit the museum.
It was the type of midwestern November day one hopes for, but realizes is unlikely to occur, windy but sunny with highs in the upper 60's. My friend arrived to pick me up in his convertible, top down to take advantage of what we both knew could be the last warmth we would experience before the onslaught of winters chill. Traveling past woods, suburban neighborhoods and rolling green pastures sprinkled with venerable farmhouses and dairy barns, we arrived a the museum and parked in the underground parking garage. It's curved steel columns mirror the architecture of the museum above it. My friend immediately proclaimed it the nicest garage he had ever parked in. Admitting that a parking structure being granted that honor is not a high bar to jump, this one, with it's temperature controlled interior and it's uppermost edge lined with celestry windows, is a particularly handsome example of it's genre.
Entering the lobby we purchased our tickets and went to the museum's cafe for lunch before touring the exhibit. The pavilion portion of the museum is situated on a slope. The cafe is housed on the bottom portion of the slope. Above it, entered from the upper part of the slope, is the stunning glass atrium with it's trademark rooftop wings. The cafe is lined with floor to ceiling windows giving diners a wonderful view of the lake as well as the people that were biking and jogging along the lakeshore path on that nearly impossibly warm and sunny November afternoon. It being a Sunday families were among those enjoying the weather, the young children appearing to have been given more than their usual considerable amount of energy by the temperate clime. The food was as satisfying as the view, unusual for a museum restaurant. Eggs scrambled with turkey, carrots, potatoes and asparagus, accompanied by hash browns blended with sharp, rich, melted cheddar cheese; we were in Wisconsin after all.
After lunch we headed up to the exhibition. It opened with several examples of 17th century Dutch maritime works, favored by the Earl that amassed the collection. Soon one encountered a Rembrandt self portrait. Since my early teens Rembrandt has been a favorite artist of mine. Usually I am deeply affected by his work. This piece was the cornerstone of the exhibition. Even though touted as one of the world's great art treasures viewing it left me underwhelmed. The thick, heavy brushstrokes used for the facial features more closely echo the quick, fevered, emotional style of Van Gogh than the elegant polish I associate with Rembrandt. The work, at least to me, appeared unfinished. The body of the artist, tools of his trade in his hand, looks slightly opaque. It's as if the image has been blocked in but never given detail. I felt almost as if it were a "rainy day" project he began one afternoon when he was bored and had nothing better to do. While this one work, in no way, dims the respect I have for his work or the sense of awe that accompanies that respect, I found the piece lacked the high standard on evidence in his other works that I have had the good fortune to view. Conferring with my friend he also found it less than he expected from an artist of such legendary stature.
The disappointment in the Rembrandt proved to be minor due to the rich visual treat that awaited us. Across the room from the Rembrandt hung a small Van Dyck, which excellently captured and brought to life the jovial nature of the sitter it portrayed. Exhibited in the next gallery was a portrait by Gainsborough titled "Mary Countess Howe". The extraordinary beauty of the painting served to draw the viewer in from across the room, momentarily overshadowing the great works which shared space with it. I marveled, as I did at the Gainsboroughs I had the opportunity to view in St. Louis, at the artist's ability to depict the light reflecting off of the satin gown worn by the beautiful young woman pictured. I admired the technical precision required to portray the delicate lace which overlaid the gown. Considering that it was only the third full length portrait he had ever done the work shows an advanced level of maturity in artistic skill and vision. His works involving male subjects, of which there were several examples, do not show the same care and skill as his portraits of women. Perhaps with women he was attempting to appease their sense of vanity while with men he was simply recording history. A staged photo session as opposed to a quick snapshot of a subject who has more important things to attend to . Several Gainsborough landscapes, I do not recall have seen one prior to this, are also on view. They too show his masterful depiction of light. In one piece the sunlit late afternoon scene almost appears to glow.
Works by Gainsborough's contemporary Joshua Reynolds are also included in this exhibition. He shares Gainsborough's excellent sense of light, however he often depicted his subjects as figures out of myths and legends, imparting in them a sense of drama. It is an interesting juxtaposition with Gainsborough's softer, more romantic vision.
A contemporary of both Gainsborough and Reynolds, George Romney, is also represented. He is an artist I was not familiar with prior to the exhibition. His soft brushstrokes and palette create a tranquil effect. His considerable skill as an artist disappears into the subjects he depicts. One excellent example of this is his gentle and endearing portrait of Anne Countess of Albemarle and her son. The love between mother and child is masterfully yet subtlety displayed in this work.
Later we encountered 2 portraits of the same woman. Her first love had been the 3rd son of a noble. As the son would not inherit the title or property of his families house the girl's father would not allow the marriage. She instead was forced into an arranged marriage in which she was very unhappy. By the time the second portrait was done she had apparently been linked romantically with several other men. Another portrait of 2 extremely homely women, with Kirk Douglas clefts in their chins and flat faces, makes arranged marriages seem somewhat more sensible, if not absolutely necessary! This painting was meant to attract suitors. My friend and I both agreed that it might send them running screaming in the opposite direction.
After the special exhibition we left the architectural brilliance of the pavilion and proceeded to the museum's permanent collection. We had viewed the collection, housed in concrete walled, loftlike galleries, several years earlier. The collection is impressive, particularly for a city the size of Milwaukee, and very well curated. Several works by the same artist are displayed together allowing visitors to get a strong impression of the artist's visual voice. 3 bright Hans Hofmanns hang in one alcove. In another Pissarros share space with Monet. Sculpture filled side galleries offer spectacular lake views through floor to ceiling windows. The collection is strong on German Expressionism, not surprising since fully one half of Milwaukee's population claims a German heritage.
Stepping briefly outside the museum to admire the pavilion's exterior, we discovered that the temperature had dropped steeply and a light rain had begun to fall. Traveling home with the convertible top down would not be an option. Sharp swings in weather conditions are not unusual in the midwest in November, or any of the other 11 months of the year for that matter.
Before leaving Milwaukee we took a short drive through it's historic downtown area. Although some buildings appeared to have been sacrificed to accommodate multistoried parking structures, much of the city's architectural legacy remains. A stylized flame glows atop the jazz era skyscraper housing the power company. A grand Victorian mansion, with an addition that complements the original structure, houses a private club. The East Commercial Historic District features streets lined with late 19th century storefronts. Milwaukee's pride in it's heritage and interest in historical preservation are well evidenced.
We rode home through a hard, occasionally driving rain, a far cry from our pleasant, warm and sundrenched trip earlier that day. We made the obligatory Wisconsin border "cheese stop" before crossing into Illinois and continuing home.
It was the type of midwestern November day one hopes for, but realizes is unlikely to occur, windy but sunny with highs in the upper 60's. My friend arrived to pick me up in his convertible, top down to take advantage of what we both knew could be the last warmth we would experience before the onslaught of winters chill. Traveling past woods, suburban neighborhoods and rolling green pastures sprinkled with venerable farmhouses and dairy barns, we arrived a the museum and parked in the underground parking garage. It's curved steel columns mirror the architecture of the museum above it. My friend immediately proclaimed it the nicest garage he had ever parked in. Admitting that a parking structure being granted that honor is not a high bar to jump, this one, with it's temperature controlled interior and it's uppermost edge lined with celestry windows, is a particularly handsome example of it's genre.
Entering the lobby we purchased our tickets and went to the museum's cafe for lunch before touring the exhibit. The pavilion portion of the museum is situated on a slope. The cafe is housed on the bottom portion of the slope. Above it, entered from the upper part of the slope, is the stunning glass atrium with it's trademark rooftop wings. The cafe is lined with floor to ceiling windows giving diners a wonderful view of the lake as well as the people that were biking and jogging along the lakeshore path on that nearly impossibly warm and sunny November afternoon. It being a Sunday families were among those enjoying the weather, the young children appearing to have been given more than their usual considerable amount of energy by the temperate clime. The food was as satisfying as the view, unusual for a museum restaurant. Eggs scrambled with turkey, carrots, potatoes and asparagus, accompanied by hash browns blended with sharp, rich, melted cheddar cheese; we were in Wisconsin after all.
After lunch we headed up to the exhibition. It opened with several examples of 17th century Dutch maritime works, favored by the Earl that amassed the collection. Soon one encountered a Rembrandt self portrait. Since my early teens Rembrandt has been a favorite artist of mine. Usually I am deeply affected by his work. This piece was the cornerstone of the exhibition. Even though touted as one of the world's great art treasures viewing it left me underwhelmed. The thick, heavy brushstrokes used for the facial features more closely echo the quick, fevered, emotional style of Van Gogh than the elegant polish I associate with Rembrandt. The work, at least to me, appeared unfinished. The body of the artist, tools of his trade in his hand, looks slightly opaque. It's as if the image has been blocked in but never given detail. I felt almost as if it were a "rainy day" project he began one afternoon when he was bored and had nothing better to do. While this one work, in no way, dims the respect I have for his work or the sense of awe that accompanies that respect, I found the piece lacked the high standard on evidence in his other works that I have had the good fortune to view. Conferring with my friend he also found it less than he expected from an artist of such legendary stature.
The disappointment in the Rembrandt proved to be minor due to the rich visual treat that awaited us. Across the room from the Rembrandt hung a small Van Dyck, which excellently captured and brought to life the jovial nature of the sitter it portrayed. Exhibited in the next gallery was a portrait by Gainsborough titled "Mary Countess Howe". The extraordinary beauty of the painting served to draw the viewer in from across the room, momentarily overshadowing the great works which shared space with it. I marveled, as I did at the Gainsboroughs I had the opportunity to view in St. Louis, at the artist's ability to depict the light reflecting off of the satin gown worn by the beautiful young woman pictured. I admired the technical precision required to portray the delicate lace which overlaid the gown. Considering that it was only the third full length portrait he had ever done the work shows an advanced level of maturity in artistic skill and vision. His works involving male subjects, of which there were several examples, do not show the same care and skill as his portraits of women. Perhaps with women he was attempting to appease their sense of vanity while with men he was simply recording history. A staged photo session as opposed to a quick snapshot of a subject who has more important things to attend to . Several Gainsborough landscapes, I do not recall have seen one prior to this, are also on view. They too show his masterful depiction of light. In one piece the sunlit late afternoon scene almost appears to glow.
Works by Gainsborough's contemporary Joshua Reynolds are also included in this exhibition. He shares Gainsborough's excellent sense of light, however he often depicted his subjects as figures out of myths and legends, imparting in them a sense of drama. It is an interesting juxtaposition with Gainsborough's softer, more romantic vision.
A contemporary of both Gainsborough and Reynolds, George Romney, is also represented. He is an artist I was not familiar with prior to the exhibition. His soft brushstrokes and palette create a tranquil effect. His considerable skill as an artist disappears into the subjects he depicts. One excellent example of this is his gentle and endearing portrait of Anne Countess of Albemarle and her son. The love between mother and child is masterfully yet subtlety displayed in this work.
Later we encountered 2 portraits of the same woman. Her first love had been the 3rd son of a noble. As the son would not inherit the title or property of his families house the girl's father would not allow the marriage. She instead was forced into an arranged marriage in which she was very unhappy. By the time the second portrait was done she had apparently been linked romantically with several other men. Another portrait of 2 extremely homely women, with Kirk Douglas clefts in their chins and flat faces, makes arranged marriages seem somewhat more sensible, if not absolutely necessary! This painting was meant to attract suitors. My friend and I both agreed that it might send them running screaming in the opposite direction.
After the special exhibition we left the architectural brilliance of the pavilion and proceeded to the museum's permanent collection. We had viewed the collection, housed in concrete walled, loftlike galleries, several years earlier. The collection is impressive, particularly for a city the size of Milwaukee, and very well curated. Several works by the same artist are displayed together allowing visitors to get a strong impression of the artist's visual voice. 3 bright Hans Hofmanns hang in one alcove. In another Pissarros share space with Monet. Sculpture filled side galleries offer spectacular lake views through floor to ceiling windows. The collection is strong on German Expressionism, not surprising since fully one half of Milwaukee's population claims a German heritage.
Stepping briefly outside the museum to admire the pavilion's exterior, we discovered that the temperature had dropped steeply and a light rain had begun to fall. Traveling home with the convertible top down would not be an option. Sharp swings in weather conditions are not unusual in the midwest in November, or any of the other 11 months of the year for that matter.
Before leaving Milwaukee we took a short drive through it's historic downtown area. Although some buildings appeared to have been sacrificed to accommodate multistoried parking structures, much of the city's architectural legacy remains. A stylized flame glows atop the jazz era skyscraper housing the power company. A grand Victorian mansion, with an addition that complements the original structure, houses a private club. The East Commercial Historic District features streets lined with late 19th century storefronts. Milwaukee's pride in it's heritage and interest in historical preservation are well evidenced.
We rode home through a hard, occasionally driving rain, a far cry from our pleasant, warm and sundrenched trip earlier that day. We made the obligatory Wisconsin border "cheese stop" before crossing into Illinois and continuing home.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
The Milwaukee Art Museum
It was over a cold February weekend that my travel buddy and I decided to take a short overnight trip to Milwaukee, about 2 hours north of Chicago. Our main objective was to tour the Milwaukee Art Museum. It's 25,000 pieces include one of the world's largest collections of works by the iconic American artist Georgia O'Keeffe.
Milwaukee may be larger that many people think. With a population of close to 600,000 it is certainly larger than I thought. Like many cities of this size without a strong tourism industry, there are only a fairly small number of hotels to choose from. We selected a historic hotel in the downtown area. The impressive proportions and grand period decor of the hotel's lobby belied the spare, modest room which awaited us upstairs. The view from the window was of the parking lot and unprepossessing convention center across the street. As this was to be a short stay we overlooked the inadequacies and settled in.
The Milwaukee Art Museum has, as it's signature structure, the Quadracci Pavilion, designed by Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava in 2001. Resembling a giant crane, the "wings" on the structure are adjusted twice each day to regulate sunlight inside the pavilion. Crossing the bridge leading to the museum and entering the glass pavilion, we were informed that the wings were just minutes away from being adjusted. We were further informed that the best vantage point to see this was from the bridge we had crossed a short time before. Considering the frigid conditions outside we opted to watch from the interior as the wings slowly lowered above the glass paned ceiling over our heads.
A special exhibition of sculptures by the impressionist artist Degas was on view during our visit. Having a longstanding, personal affection for both impressionism and dance, Degas has always been a favorite of mine. Being more familiar with his paintings, there are several in the holdings of Chicago's Art Institute, than his sculptures I found this exhibit fresh and interesting. His sculptures are stark, their strong angles highlighting the human body involved in the physical art of dancing. With their softer lines, a hallmark of impressionism, his female figures attired in tutus and pointe slippers, their hair caught up in tight chignons, his paintings convey a more romantic view of dance.
We moved on the the museum's permanent collection. We passed a canvas of rows of brightly colored squares by the modern artist Hans Hoffman. On one platform an 18th century highboy was juxtaposed with a chest crafted by one of the Memphis movement designers of the 1980s. We entered the gallery containing the Georgia O'Keeffe collection. The collection, justifiably, is housed in it's own space. Arranged chronologically, it allows the viewer the rare chance to experience the progression of an artist's work and vision. I felt a sense of reverence and privilege being allowed to share this room with the work of this important and original artist. I cherish moments such as these, like wonderful music or excellent theatre, they seem to renew and refresh a portion of my soul.
With some time left before we would need to begin our return trip to Chicago, we decided to make a brief stop at the Pabst mansion, the lavish home built by the famous beer brewer. Standing just outside the grand house is a gazebo, used by the family as a summer house. Originally the centerpiece of the Pabst exhibit and Beer Garden at the 1933 Chicago World's Fair, the beer magnate became so enamored with it that after the fair closed he had it dismantled, shipped to Milwaukee and reconstructed. The last house tour of the day had already begun so we contented ourselves with browsing in the gift shop and peeking in through long glass paned doors to catch a glimpse of the ornate, almost overdecorated room on the other side.
Feeling that our trip to Milwaukee was complete, we returned to the car and began the drive back to Chicago. After one final stop at the "Cheese Checkpoint" at the border, we crossed over to Illinois and headed home.
Milwaukee may be larger that many people think. With a population of close to 600,000 it is certainly larger than I thought. Like many cities of this size without a strong tourism industry, there are only a fairly small number of hotels to choose from. We selected a historic hotel in the downtown area. The impressive proportions and grand period decor of the hotel's lobby belied the spare, modest room which awaited us upstairs. The view from the window was of the parking lot and unprepossessing convention center across the street. As this was to be a short stay we overlooked the inadequacies and settled in.
The Milwaukee Art Museum has, as it's signature structure, the Quadracci Pavilion, designed by Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava in 2001. Resembling a giant crane, the "wings" on the structure are adjusted twice each day to regulate sunlight inside the pavilion. Crossing the bridge leading to the museum and entering the glass pavilion, we were informed that the wings were just minutes away from being adjusted. We were further informed that the best vantage point to see this was from the bridge we had crossed a short time before. Considering the frigid conditions outside we opted to watch from the interior as the wings slowly lowered above the glass paned ceiling over our heads.
A special exhibition of sculptures by the impressionist artist Degas was on view during our visit. Having a longstanding, personal affection for both impressionism and dance, Degas has always been a favorite of mine. Being more familiar with his paintings, there are several in the holdings of Chicago's Art Institute, than his sculptures I found this exhibit fresh and interesting. His sculptures are stark, their strong angles highlighting the human body involved in the physical art of dancing. With their softer lines, a hallmark of impressionism, his female figures attired in tutus and pointe slippers, their hair caught up in tight chignons, his paintings convey a more romantic view of dance.
We moved on the the museum's permanent collection. We passed a canvas of rows of brightly colored squares by the modern artist Hans Hoffman. On one platform an 18th century highboy was juxtaposed with a chest crafted by one of the Memphis movement designers of the 1980s. We entered the gallery containing the Georgia O'Keeffe collection. The collection, justifiably, is housed in it's own space. Arranged chronologically, it allows the viewer the rare chance to experience the progression of an artist's work and vision. I felt a sense of reverence and privilege being allowed to share this room with the work of this important and original artist. I cherish moments such as these, like wonderful music or excellent theatre, they seem to renew and refresh a portion of my soul.
With some time left before we would need to begin our return trip to Chicago, we decided to make a brief stop at the Pabst mansion, the lavish home built by the famous beer brewer. Standing just outside the grand house is a gazebo, used by the family as a summer house. Originally the centerpiece of the Pabst exhibit and Beer Garden at the 1933 Chicago World's Fair, the beer magnate became so enamored with it that after the fair closed he had it dismantled, shipped to Milwaukee and reconstructed. The last house tour of the day had already begun so we contented ourselves with browsing in the gift shop and peeking in through long glass paned doors to catch a glimpse of the ornate, almost overdecorated room on the other side.
Feeling that our trip to Milwaukee was complete, we returned to the car and began the drive back to Chicago. After one final stop at the "Cheese Checkpoint" at the border, we crossed over to Illinois and headed home.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Wherethehellarewe, Wisconsin
One weekend, at the last minute, my future partner and I decided to take a road trip. Picking me up at work in a rental car late Saturday afternoon we headed northwest. 5 hours later we arrived at our destination, the town of Prairie de Chein, on the Mississippi river, the border between Iowa and Wisconsin. It was October and the midwest had been basking in a freakish warm spell. For the last week high had been in the mid to upper 80's. People were out in droves. As we drove down the main road all the hotels and motels sported signs reading "No Vacancy". In desperation, my partner, leaving me in the car, went into one of the largest hotels to ask where we might get a room for the night.
Returning to the car he tells me what he has found out from the woman at the hotel desk. There is not a single room available in the town. They have been sending people to Dubuque, 90 miles away, although they are not sure if there are rooms available there. She has told us that if our car seats recline we can sleep in the car in the field across from the hotel. If anyone questions us tell them she said it was alright for us to do so, giving us her name.
After a few more minutes of fruitless searching my partner suggests that we return to the hotel and ask the woman if she will rent us pillows and a blanket for the night. Our seats did not recline but the back seat folded down which would make the hatchback a small, cramped and hard but serviceable place to sleep for the night. Upon entering the hotel the woman says "I'm so glad you came back! I found you something!" She handed him a piece of paper with a name and phone number on it. We go to the local casino boat and using the pay phone, cellphones were not ubiquitous then as they are now, dials the number. Speaking over the din of the casino and adjoining lounge he jots down the directions he is given. They go something like this.....
Head south on County Road 91. When you see the big rock on the left turn right. After you cross the second wooden bridge you'll see a barn and a farmhouse, that's the old Miller place. Turn right, go about 2 miles and you'll see the motel of the left. We were in the country.
When my partner says we will be arriving late so how will we get in the man at the motel replies, "It will be the last door on the left on the first floor. I'll leave the key in the lock." We were definitely in the country.
The casino boat sat in the river, which is technically Iowa. In Wisconsin, two feet away across the gangplank that connected the boat to the shore, gambling was illegal. After a period of unsuccessful gaming we crossed the gangplank and simultaneously the state border, returned to the car, said a prayer and headed south on County road 91.
There are no lights on these quiet county roads. Our headlights provided the only illumination. The need to pee became unbearable so we pulled over to the side of the road. As we "answered natures call" we looked up and were mesmerized by the star filled sky. We never experience that many stars at home as the city's glare overwhelms their more delicate brilliance and the beautiful, intricate patterns they create.
Following the directions we were given we do eventually come upon a small two story structure. There was indeed a key in the door of the last room on the left. The interior decor of the room resembled the interior of the ramshackle trailers envisioned by Hollywood set designers that are sometimes featured in slasher movies, fake wood paneling, poor, worn country reproduction furnishings and all.We were not there for the decor, we are there for the bed. Especially considering that it was the only one available for miles in any direction., We tucked ourselves in and fell fast asleep.
The next morning, after settling our bill with the owners; the ones that had provided us with the excessively rural directions of the night before; we began to wind our way thru the farm fields and small towns of Wisconsin. The tiny hamlets struggle for claims to fame, which are proudly provided to you on signs as you enter each one. "Home of the 1963 State High School Champion Falcons", "Home of Miss Wisconsin 1953" and my personal favorite, "The Wild Turkey Hunting Capitol of the World." Think about it, really, who is going to challenge that claim? Who else would want it? One towns overlong explanation is, not the place where the first Gideon bible was left, but the place where the two men first discussed the idea of leaving the bibles in motel rooms nationwide.
We traveled through the bright fall colors enjoying the warm autumn afternoon. We passed cows tranquilly grazing in fields, it was Wisconsin. We stopped at a farm stand and purchased gourds, jams, cider and fresh fruits and vegetables.
Stopping at the border we bought the obligatory cheese before crossing into Illinois and heading home.
Returning to the car he tells me what he has found out from the woman at the hotel desk. There is not a single room available in the town. They have been sending people to Dubuque, 90 miles away, although they are not sure if there are rooms available there. She has told us that if our car seats recline we can sleep in the car in the field across from the hotel. If anyone questions us tell them she said it was alright for us to do so, giving us her name.
After a few more minutes of fruitless searching my partner suggests that we return to the hotel and ask the woman if she will rent us pillows and a blanket for the night. Our seats did not recline but the back seat folded down which would make the hatchback a small, cramped and hard but serviceable place to sleep for the night. Upon entering the hotel the woman says "I'm so glad you came back! I found you something!" She handed him a piece of paper with a name and phone number on it. We go to the local casino boat and using the pay phone, cellphones were not ubiquitous then as they are now, dials the number. Speaking over the din of the casino and adjoining lounge he jots down the directions he is given. They go something like this.....
Head south on County Road 91. When you see the big rock on the left turn right. After you cross the second wooden bridge you'll see a barn and a farmhouse, that's the old Miller place. Turn right, go about 2 miles and you'll see the motel of the left. We were in the country.
When my partner says we will be arriving late so how will we get in the man at the motel replies, "It will be the last door on the left on the first floor. I'll leave the key in the lock." We were definitely in the country.
The casino boat sat in the river, which is technically Iowa. In Wisconsin, two feet away across the gangplank that connected the boat to the shore, gambling was illegal. After a period of unsuccessful gaming we crossed the gangplank and simultaneously the state border, returned to the car, said a prayer and headed south on County road 91.
There are no lights on these quiet county roads. Our headlights provided the only illumination. The need to pee became unbearable so we pulled over to the side of the road. As we "answered natures call" we looked up and were mesmerized by the star filled sky. We never experience that many stars at home as the city's glare overwhelms their more delicate brilliance and the beautiful, intricate patterns they create.
Following the directions we were given we do eventually come upon a small two story structure. There was indeed a key in the door of the last room on the left. The interior decor of the room resembled the interior of the ramshackle trailers envisioned by Hollywood set designers that are sometimes featured in slasher movies, fake wood paneling, poor, worn country reproduction furnishings and all.We were not there for the decor, we are there for the bed. Especially considering that it was the only one available for miles in any direction., We tucked ourselves in and fell fast asleep.
The next morning, after settling our bill with the owners; the ones that had provided us with the excessively rural directions of the night before; we began to wind our way thru the farm fields and small towns of Wisconsin. The tiny hamlets struggle for claims to fame, which are proudly provided to you on signs as you enter each one. "Home of the 1963 State High School Champion Falcons", "Home of Miss Wisconsin 1953" and my personal favorite, "The Wild Turkey Hunting Capitol of the World." Think about it, really, who is going to challenge that claim? Who else would want it? One towns overlong explanation is, not the place where the first Gideon bible was left, but the place where the two men first discussed the idea of leaving the bibles in motel rooms nationwide.
We traveled through the bright fall colors enjoying the warm autumn afternoon. We passed cows tranquilly grazing in fields, it was Wisconsin. We stopped at a farm stand and purchased gourds, jams, cider and fresh fruits and vegetables.
Stopping at the border we bought the obligatory cheese before crossing into Illinois and heading home.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Oshkosh, Wisconsin
Illinois neighbor to the north is the state of Wisconsin, known as "America's Dairyland". I sometimes say, only half jokingly, that as you leave they check your car at the border to ensure that you have purchased cheese during your stay. In truth, there are shops selling a variety of cheese products at all state border crossings.
I have a friend who grew up in, and whose family still lives in, Oshkosh, a city famous for the clothing company which carries it's name. It is a relatively small city in both physical size, 24 square miles, and population, around 66,000. It contains a number of historic structures, primarily due to the wealth generated by the timber industry in the late 19th and early 20th century, including a modest home designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.
My friend's family lives on a county road, yet still within the borders of the city. The home was part of a dairy farm, it is Wisconsin after all. A second home, a classic example of the Arts and Crafts movement, was rescued by the family from demolition during an urban renewal project. It sits next door to the original house on the property. There is a hay barn and the dairy barn, some of the milking equipment still in place. The grounds around the homes and outbuildings are well manicured. The rest of the property has been allowed to return to it's former state of prairie grasses and wildflowers. Wild hares and mice thrive in the tall grasses. Hawks float overhead. My friend's father and I once stood at the edge of the wild growth watching two adult hawks teaching their young to hunt.
My friend once told me the story of the house. Originally a much older home stood on the site. Apparently the husband who owned it was constantly telling his wife he would build her a new home to replace the old one. After postponing construction time and again the wife's patience wore out. She took a sledgehammer to the house causing so much damage that tearing down and rebuilding was the only option. What resulted was the charming one and a half story home that stands today.
The upper floor, where the bedrooms are located, is a cozy space of sloping ceiling lines and dormer windows. The mix of furnishings, punctuated by country antiques, makes the home feel comfortable, loved and lived in. Off the master bedroom is a deck built on top of the home's first floor mud room. The mud room is the entrance to the house. It opens into the kitchen, which is the heart and soul of this home. There is a front door the the house as well, but I can truthfully say that in all my visits there I have never seen anyone use it. The dining room has built in cabinets in it's corners showcasing a collection of transfer printed pottery. Racks containing a collection of silver spoons hang on one wall. A small book lined study sits at the back of the house. Out the living room's window cows can be seen grazing in the field across the road. Alas, the last time I was there this bucolic scene had begun to morph into the tract homes of a subdivision. In the basement a bar and pool table share space with the family's Christmas decorations.
Each year the Experimental Aircraft Association holds an event called AirVenture. People flying in from all over the world to display their small aircraft gives the city's municipal airfield, for this one weekend each year, the distinction of being the busiest airport in the world. Oh those magnificent men in their flying machines! My first visit to Oshkosh was to experience this aeronautical spectacle. 5 of us, plus their son, descended upon this hapless family that weekend. We took over the upper floor of the house, his parents graciously giving up their bedroom, sleeping on the sofa bed in the living room. I went to the air show knowing almost nothing about experimental aviation. I left knowing that it was a venture entirely out of my price range. The visit ended with a Sunday family lunch of hearty country fare prior to our drive home. 3 generations of this wonderful family graced the table that afternoon.
Subsequent trips revolved around the family's annual fall barn dance. Shopping at Goodwill and antique malls filled the afternoons. On occasion short visits to a local lighthouse were made, as a constant fellow on these trips is fond of them. He was fonder still when he discovered that this particular lighthouse carries his last name. Further investigation revealed that he is distantly related to the family that owns and maintains the structure.
In the evening the dance commences. It is a major event in the area and draws a large crowd. As it is Wisconsin there is a fair assortment of Packer's attire on display. The scene is peppered with guests sporting combinations of Green and Yellow and G's and B's. Hay bales provide seating, plank tables groan under the weight of kegs of beer and plates of candied apples. Jack o' Lanterns, carved by the lighthouse lover, flicker and two stepping couples fill the floor.
One dance of the night is reserved for the hosts, the parents of my friend. After over four decades of marriage the look they shared as they moved across the dance floor to the strains of "I Only Have Eyes For You" displayed a deep and abiding love that is beautiful, inspiring and enviable.
I wander outside. The barn blocks out the lights from the house and grounds as we sit behind it. I enjoy the crisp, fresh coolness of the fall night air and look up through the darkness at the multitude of twinkling lights in the broad, crystal clear, midwestern sky. I could not live in the country, but it's a great place to visit once in a while!
I have a friend who grew up in, and whose family still lives in, Oshkosh, a city famous for the clothing company which carries it's name. It is a relatively small city in both physical size, 24 square miles, and population, around 66,000. It contains a number of historic structures, primarily due to the wealth generated by the timber industry in the late 19th and early 20th century, including a modest home designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.
My friend's family lives on a county road, yet still within the borders of the city. The home was part of a dairy farm, it is Wisconsin after all. A second home, a classic example of the Arts and Crafts movement, was rescued by the family from demolition during an urban renewal project. It sits next door to the original house on the property. There is a hay barn and the dairy barn, some of the milking equipment still in place. The grounds around the homes and outbuildings are well manicured. The rest of the property has been allowed to return to it's former state of prairie grasses and wildflowers. Wild hares and mice thrive in the tall grasses. Hawks float overhead. My friend's father and I once stood at the edge of the wild growth watching two adult hawks teaching their young to hunt.
My friend once told me the story of the house. Originally a much older home stood on the site. Apparently the husband who owned it was constantly telling his wife he would build her a new home to replace the old one. After postponing construction time and again the wife's patience wore out. She took a sledgehammer to the house causing so much damage that tearing down and rebuilding was the only option. What resulted was the charming one and a half story home that stands today.
The upper floor, where the bedrooms are located, is a cozy space of sloping ceiling lines and dormer windows. The mix of furnishings, punctuated by country antiques, makes the home feel comfortable, loved and lived in. Off the master bedroom is a deck built on top of the home's first floor mud room. The mud room is the entrance to the house. It opens into the kitchen, which is the heart and soul of this home. There is a front door the the house as well, but I can truthfully say that in all my visits there I have never seen anyone use it. The dining room has built in cabinets in it's corners showcasing a collection of transfer printed pottery. Racks containing a collection of silver spoons hang on one wall. A small book lined study sits at the back of the house. Out the living room's window cows can be seen grazing in the field across the road. Alas, the last time I was there this bucolic scene had begun to morph into the tract homes of a subdivision. In the basement a bar and pool table share space with the family's Christmas decorations.
Each year the Experimental Aircraft Association holds an event called AirVenture. People flying in from all over the world to display their small aircraft gives the city's municipal airfield, for this one weekend each year, the distinction of being the busiest airport in the world. Oh those magnificent men in their flying machines! My first visit to Oshkosh was to experience this aeronautical spectacle. 5 of us, plus their son, descended upon this hapless family that weekend. We took over the upper floor of the house, his parents graciously giving up their bedroom, sleeping on the sofa bed in the living room. I went to the air show knowing almost nothing about experimental aviation. I left knowing that it was a venture entirely out of my price range. The visit ended with a Sunday family lunch of hearty country fare prior to our drive home. 3 generations of this wonderful family graced the table that afternoon.
Subsequent trips revolved around the family's annual fall barn dance. Shopping at Goodwill and antique malls filled the afternoons. On occasion short visits to a local lighthouse were made, as a constant fellow on these trips is fond of them. He was fonder still when he discovered that this particular lighthouse carries his last name. Further investigation revealed that he is distantly related to the family that owns and maintains the structure.
In the evening the dance commences. It is a major event in the area and draws a large crowd. As it is Wisconsin there is a fair assortment of Packer's attire on display. The scene is peppered with guests sporting combinations of Green and Yellow and G's and B's. Hay bales provide seating, plank tables groan under the weight of kegs of beer and plates of candied apples. Jack o' Lanterns, carved by the lighthouse lover, flicker and two stepping couples fill the floor.
One dance of the night is reserved for the hosts, the parents of my friend. After over four decades of marriage the look they shared as they moved across the dance floor to the strains of "I Only Have Eyes For You" displayed a deep and abiding love that is beautiful, inspiring and enviable.
I wander outside. The barn blocks out the lights from the house and grounds as we sit behind it. I enjoy the crisp, fresh coolness of the fall night air and look up through the darkness at the multitude of twinkling lights in the broad, crystal clear, midwestern sky. I could not live in the country, but it's a great place to visit once in a while!
Friday, November 2, 2012
Chicago Is
My partner has been posting on Face book a series of photos entitled "My Kind of Town". They feature diverse views of Chicago, the city we call home. I have never regretted, in fact often rejoiced, at my decision to move here over twenty five years ago. Knowing after 6 months of unemployment I would soon be returning to the workforce, and with our early fall weather generally being some of the finest of the year, I decided to take in just a small amount of what the city offers.
The Goodman Theater
This is a season ticket I subscribe to. The opening production just happened to coincide with my final moments of unemployment before beginning new job training the next day. I enjoyed a rare, albeit somewhat uneven, production of Tennesee Williams "Sweet Bird of Youth". With the high level of production values I have come to expect from this award winning theatre and featuring the outstanding performance of Diane Lane in the role of Alexandria Del Lago, it was a wonderful way to kick off a new chapter of my life.
The Lincoln Park Zoo
We try to get here a least once a year. A zebra had just given birth and the new foal, less than one month old, was a delight to watch as it's mother kept a vigilant eye over it's every move. There were several other newborns on display, a reflection of the zoo's successful breeding programs. With it's free admission, easy access via public transportation and lush park setting, it is well worth a visit from tourists and residents alike.
Outside the zoo's main entrance, across an expanse of green lawn, colorful flowerbeds and fountains sporting a blue green patina, stands the late 19th century conservatory. Temporary and permanent exhibitions share space inside the historic glass and steel structure. Admission to it is also free.
Through the back entrance to the zoo, a few steps to the north, is the tranquil oasis of the lily pond. Restored just a few years ago the waters of the pond provide a home for ducks and turtles. Again lushly landscaped, featuring Arts and Crafts style pavilions, it feels a world apart from the busy city streets less that a block away.
A Birthday Lunch with Friends
Again, I had no control over the timing of this, it was just coincidence that it took place during my last free weekend. Chicago contains an almost embarrassing wealth of unique and outstanding restaurants. Ranging from expensive fine dining to small neighborhood haunts there is something for every taste and budget.
This celebration was held in the private downstairs dining room of one of the city's finest Mexican restaurants. the guests ranged from the "Birthday Boy's" young granddaughters to his siblings. Our table was hosted by his daughter. He recognised us, during the obligatory speech; my partner in particular, for our assistance on his daughter's wedding day. The food was outstanding. The city's restaurants are not something we get to take advantage of very often making the rare opportunities to do so all the more special and memorable.
The Art Institute
We maintain a membership to this world class institution. They had mounted a special exhibition of 18th and 19th century textiles culled from their permanent collection. Bedcovers, samplers, quilts and even embroidered lace bonnet veils were displayed. An immense, spectacular star quilt, which had managed to retain it's bright colors, was one of the highlights here. A beautiful white bedcover had delicate stitching depicting flowers spilling out of a cornucopia in it's center. Mourning samplers were lovingly rendered remembrances of cherished ones who had passed on. Other samplers almost looked as if they were paintings due to the tight, thick stitches used to create them . Some of the pieces possessed extensive provenances including dates of birth, deaths and marriages of the previous owners. The incredible amount of work involved in crafting these pieces insured their status as treasured family heirlooms and contribute to their knowledge of their provenance and remarkable state of preservation.
This impressive exhibit made me think of the many other pieces of art and history that are stored out of sight in museums collections, not displayed due to lack of space or the fragile nature of the artifacts. When I first moved to Chicago I interviewed for a position in the cash office of the Art Institute. As I was led back to the managers office I vividly remember, decorating the cubicles and hanging on the office managers walls, the oil paintings in their elaborate gilt frames.
The museum does periodically change, reorganize and rotate some of it's exhibitions. A recent change is 10 pieces by Toulouse Lautrec, formerly interspersed with other works, pulled together in one gallery.
I have found that in museums you experience not only art but are often given the opportunity to experience and appreciate moments. As I moved through the modern wing I noticed a young woman speaking in French to a group of small children sitting on the floor gazing at a work by Jackson Pollock.
A minor disappointment, Hopper's "Nighthawks", one of my favorite pieces, is once again on loan.Tempering my slight dismay was that we had loaned it to a museum in Paris, securing my city's reputation as a repository of world class art.
The Goodman Theater
This is a season ticket I subscribe to. The opening production just happened to coincide with my final moments of unemployment before beginning new job training the next day. I enjoyed a rare, albeit somewhat uneven, production of Tennesee Williams "Sweet Bird of Youth". With the high level of production values I have come to expect from this award winning theatre and featuring the outstanding performance of Diane Lane in the role of Alexandria Del Lago, it was a wonderful way to kick off a new chapter of my life.
The Lincoln Park Zoo
We try to get here a least once a year. A zebra had just given birth and the new foal, less than one month old, was a delight to watch as it's mother kept a vigilant eye over it's every move. There were several other newborns on display, a reflection of the zoo's successful breeding programs. With it's free admission, easy access via public transportation and lush park setting, it is well worth a visit from tourists and residents alike.
Outside the zoo's main entrance, across an expanse of green lawn, colorful flowerbeds and fountains sporting a blue green patina, stands the late 19th century conservatory. Temporary and permanent exhibitions share space inside the historic glass and steel structure. Admission to it is also free.
Through the back entrance to the zoo, a few steps to the north, is the tranquil oasis of the lily pond. Restored just a few years ago the waters of the pond provide a home for ducks and turtles. Again lushly landscaped, featuring Arts and Crafts style pavilions, it feels a world apart from the busy city streets less that a block away.
A Birthday Lunch with Friends
Again, I had no control over the timing of this, it was just coincidence that it took place during my last free weekend. Chicago contains an almost embarrassing wealth of unique and outstanding restaurants. Ranging from expensive fine dining to small neighborhood haunts there is something for every taste and budget.
This celebration was held in the private downstairs dining room of one of the city's finest Mexican restaurants. the guests ranged from the "Birthday Boy's" young granddaughters to his siblings. Our table was hosted by his daughter. He recognised us, during the obligatory speech; my partner in particular, for our assistance on his daughter's wedding day. The food was outstanding. The city's restaurants are not something we get to take advantage of very often making the rare opportunities to do so all the more special and memorable.
The Art Institute
We maintain a membership to this world class institution. They had mounted a special exhibition of 18th and 19th century textiles culled from their permanent collection. Bedcovers, samplers, quilts and even embroidered lace bonnet veils were displayed. An immense, spectacular star quilt, which had managed to retain it's bright colors, was one of the highlights here. A beautiful white bedcover had delicate stitching depicting flowers spilling out of a cornucopia in it's center. Mourning samplers were lovingly rendered remembrances of cherished ones who had passed on. Other samplers almost looked as if they were paintings due to the tight, thick stitches used to create them . Some of the pieces possessed extensive provenances including dates of birth, deaths and marriages of the previous owners. The incredible amount of work involved in crafting these pieces insured their status as treasured family heirlooms and contribute to their knowledge of their provenance and remarkable state of preservation.
This impressive exhibit made me think of the many other pieces of art and history that are stored out of sight in museums collections, not displayed due to lack of space or the fragile nature of the artifacts. When I first moved to Chicago I interviewed for a position in the cash office of the Art Institute. As I was led back to the managers office I vividly remember, decorating the cubicles and hanging on the office managers walls, the oil paintings in their elaborate gilt frames.
The museum does periodically change, reorganize and rotate some of it's exhibitions. A recent change is 10 pieces by Toulouse Lautrec, formerly interspersed with other works, pulled together in one gallery.
I have found that in museums you experience not only art but are often given the opportunity to experience and appreciate moments. As I moved through the modern wing I noticed a young woman speaking in French to a group of small children sitting on the floor gazing at a work by Jackson Pollock.
A minor disappointment, Hopper's "Nighthawks", one of my favorite pieces, is once again on loan.Tempering my slight dismay was that we had loaned it to a museum in Paris, securing my city's reputation as a repository of world class art.
Leaving the Nest - Dedicated to My Brother
One of the things I enjoy as fall moves to winter and the trees finally concede to the season dropping their last leaves are the birds nests that appear nestled in their branches. Hidden by the foliage of summer, as they are exposed they serve as a reminder and promise of the rebirth and eventual warmth of a new spring. Some are reused and new ones are constructed. Lined and padded with grass and leaves, sometimes lint or bits of paper, they create warm, safe, snug places to lay and hatch eggs and rear young.
I have seen a blanket made of down stretched over the nest of a goose. The mother sacrifices her own coat to serve the fragile lives developing inside the eggs it covers. I have watched as she turns each egg with her bill to ensure the correct formation of that small life. I have been warned away when the mother or drake feel that I have ventured too close to their painstakingly cared for treasures.
Parents nurture their young, helpless in their newborn, unfeathered state. Mothers ferry food to them inside themselves and, when the time comes, teach them to fly. Eventually, they spread their wings and leave the nest, independent and free.
Recently, my brother's youngest child moved out of the home he and her mother had created with her. Her departure was met with what seemed a mixture of sadness and depression. I have known other parents whose emotional experience was similar after the departure of their children., I have never raised a child. I cannot empathise, only sympathise with these feelings. Perhaps it is loneliness. Perhaps it is a feeling of no longer being needed by the one that has always needed you most. But when children have the strength, will and determination to leave the security of their childhood home and face the uncertainty that defines adulthood it means that as a parent you have done your job exceedingly well. You have provided your child with the education, tools and insight to face the next phase of their lives and all that it will present to them.
Children never stop needing their parents. They will return for advise and love or for their comfort during difficult periods. They will also return to share their joy during happy times. A true love met or the expectation of a new life. There is no greater teacher in the rearing of a child than those that have done it before.
Children never truly leave home. They move away, but they always carry their home with them. It is part of the foundation they use to build their own home. As their children grow and move away that home travels with them also. Although they may no longer live with you, your children are always at home.
I have seen a blanket made of down stretched over the nest of a goose. The mother sacrifices her own coat to serve the fragile lives developing inside the eggs it covers. I have watched as she turns each egg with her bill to ensure the correct formation of that small life. I have been warned away when the mother or drake feel that I have ventured too close to their painstakingly cared for treasures.
Parents nurture their young, helpless in their newborn, unfeathered state. Mothers ferry food to them inside themselves and, when the time comes, teach them to fly. Eventually, they spread their wings and leave the nest, independent and free.
Recently, my brother's youngest child moved out of the home he and her mother had created with her. Her departure was met with what seemed a mixture of sadness and depression. I have known other parents whose emotional experience was similar after the departure of their children., I have never raised a child. I cannot empathise, only sympathise with these feelings. Perhaps it is loneliness. Perhaps it is a feeling of no longer being needed by the one that has always needed you most. But when children have the strength, will and determination to leave the security of their childhood home and face the uncertainty that defines adulthood it means that as a parent you have done your job exceedingly well. You have provided your child with the education, tools and insight to face the next phase of their lives and all that it will present to them.
Children never stop needing their parents. They will return for advise and love or for their comfort during difficult periods. They will also return to share their joy during happy times. A true love met or the expectation of a new life. There is no greater teacher in the rearing of a child than those that have done it before.
Children never truly leave home. They move away, but they always carry their home with them. It is part of the foundation they use to build their own home. As their children grow and move away that home travels with them also. Although they may no longer live with you, your children are always at home.
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