My parents made sure that I developed an appreciation for art from an early age. I have a childhood memory of going to an L.A. museum with my parents, who were, at the time, taking an art appreciation course. As we looked at the works on display they imported to me an my siblings the insights and information they had received. Gainsborough's "Blue Boy" and Thomas Lawrence's "Pinkie" were always a highlight of our trips to the Huntington Library during my young years in L.A. A visit with my parents during my early teen years to a retrospect of the work of Claus Oldenburg introduced me to the wonderful and imaginative work of this most original artist. The spare, angular interior of the museum on the U.C. Berkeley campus provided an excellent setting for his outsized world view. Visits to museums across the U.S. and Europe were always integral parts of our family vacations.
I live in an art rich city. Our public art plus museum collections contain an almost embarrassment of opportunities to see and appreciate works buy many of the world's greatest masters. This is augmented by special exhibitions providing me with the opportunity to appreciate an even wider range of works. Taking a cue from my parents, I make it a point when I travel to seek out the museums of the cities I visit. This has resulted in my often encountering the same work in different settings.
I have had the privilege, and good fortune, to view Van Gogh's "A Starry Night" 3 separate times in three different venues. It's permanent home is New York's Museum of Modern Art. During my first visit to New York the museum was closed due to the herculean task of dismantling a major Picasso retrospect. Upon my second day of wandering the galleries of the Metropolitan Museum, an art institution so vast that it takes at least two days to fully appreciate, I discovered, on an upper floor in a distant corner, the European Collection of the Modern Art museum. It had been loaned to the Metropolitan during the Picasso show. It was there I encountered the famous Van Gogh piece for the first time. It is a piece of incredible power. The madness and emotions of the tortured artist seem to emanate from the canvas and bombard the viewer. You can feel the inner demons he attempted to exorcise in his work in the swirling brushstrokes of the night sky encircling the stars. It left me simultaneously breathless and exhilarated. On another visit to New York, some years later I was able to see it at it's home, along with the rest of the works I had seen on that earlier visit at the Metropolitan. I experienced the same deep emotional response as I had the first time I saw it.
A special exhibition was mounted in Chicago centering on the summer Van Gogh and Gauguin shared a home and studio. My ex-roommate had come for a short visit over the holidays. Attending this exhibition was to be our major activity during his time here. We moved through the crowded galleries commenting to each other about the works on view. I suddenly saw, over the heads of the crowd the top portion of "A Starry Night". I watched my ex-roommates reaction as he viewed it for the first time and fondly recalled my initial encounter with the remarkable work. This same exhibition was touring Italy when we were there. Of course we did not take time out of our all too brief visit to see it again, we had the collections of the Vatican and Michelangelo's "David" to sate our artistic thirst.
Also on that first visit to New York the Whitney presented a retrospect of the work of the great American realist Edward Hopper. My time was too limited to attend this, however, several months later the show moved to San Francisco, my home at the time. It was there I saw for the first time "Nighthawks". The paining is odd and ambiguous, almost eerie. Despite it's hyper-realism, the figures depicted seem to inhabit a realm that is almost surreal. The attention to details such as the interiors of the shops along the street draw the viewer into this world. It's permanent home is Chicago's Art Institute, which is where I encountered it next. Having the opportunity to see it a number of times since I never tire of it. At one point another retrospect of Hopper's work was touring. "Nighthawks" was loaned as a centerpiece of the show. It's place at the Art Institute was left blank. A small card with a black and white photo of the painting explained it's absence. Finally, along with the rest of the retrospective, it returned. As I stood before it I smiled. Although I was glad others were able to experience it as I had, it felt like I was welcoming an old friend back after a long time away.
While in the Impressionist portrait gallery of the St Louis Museum of Art I came upon a Gauguin which had been part of the exhibit with Van Gogh. In the center of the room a sculpture by Degas had been in an exhibit I had seen in Milwaukee. The Art Institute mounted an exhibition of Jasper John's works entitled "Shades of Gray". While visiting the Nevelson Museum in Houston two of the pieces I had seen in that show hung side by side in one of the galleries there.....I could go on.......
I find that as I experience works of art in different settings, juxtaposed against different works, I gain a different perspective. I see things in the works I may not have seen before or gain a greater understanding of a pieces place in an artist's timeline.
Art, you are free to follow me around. In fact, I encourage you to do so.
Friday, March 22, 2013
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Civil Unions - It's Just Business
For the first time in my working life I have a job that will allow me to add my partner to my health insurance. This will save us several thousand dollars a year. In order to make certain that we were partners and not just two random people trying to scam the system, specific documentation of the relationship was necessary. In states where same sex relationships are not recognized I would have simply requested a form from my employer, filled it out and returned it. In states where same sex unions are recognized, i.e. Illinois, we had to go through the steps necessary to obtain the state's official recognition.
On a day we both had off we went downtown to the County Building to apply for Domestic Partner status. After 16 years of cohabitation and 6 years of dual ownership of our condo we were going to pay a fee, sign some papers and have the state of Illinois rubberstamp our foreheads officially certifying us as a committed couple...or so we thought. Upon arriving at the County Building we were informed that since Illinois was so progressive that it now recognize Civil Unions the Domestic Partnership designation was no longer available. Our only option was a Civil Union. The fees involved with a Civil Union, while fairly modest, are twice those associated with a Domestic Partnership. Furthermore, where the Domestic Partnership would have taken 90 minutes or so, the Civil Union requires two visits over two separate days. The first to obtain a license (what are we dogs?), the second to go before a judge and have him rubberstamp our foreheads certifying us, after 16 years of cohabitation and 6 years of condo co-ownership, as a couple in the eyes of the law. While processing all this information I was simultaneously holding an inner conversation with myself which went something like "I'm just trying to same a few bucks! Why is this getting so complicated!"
After getting the license it was a couple of weeks before we could arrange a common day off to go to the courthouse. During this fortnight I found myself explaining to everyone who was working themselves into a tizzy over our upcoming "Ceremony", "We're just doing it to save money for christ's sake. We've been together 16 years! If it was important to me on a personal level don't you think I would have taken care of it before now? No veils, no flowers, no gowns, no tuxes! I intend to wear jeans and a sweatshirt!"
The day arrived and we got on the El to go downtown. This is what we encountered next. The area where the ceremony is performed is in the basement of the Courthouse. We enter a room with badly stained carpet and several rows of stackable chairs decorated with equally stained framed prints on the walls. Plastic plants and a large furnace completed the decor. It resembled the waiting room of a Greyhound bus station. Behind the desk sat a silver haired woman who seemed to be waiting until she completed enough years in the state's service to collect her pension.
Shortly we were ushered into the Judge's chambers. Picture a poorly furnished windowless room featuring the kind of fake wood paneling found in the finest of trailer homes. Faded U.S. and State of Illinois flags completed the decor. The Judge was a tall balding man shaking from the effects of acute alchoholism. You could almost feel the romance in the air.
The Judge read our "vows", his words resounding with the passion and conviction one would expect to hear from someone reading a phone book. The entire process clocked in at approximately 5 minutes. Upon leaving my partner suggested that if we had exchanged rings the ceremony might have dragged on for a quarter of an hour. We then had lunch utilizing a gift card given to us the previous Christmas...this was November...we don't eat out much.
After 16 years of cohabitation and 6 years of owning property together the State has now declared our relationship valid within the borders of Illinois. If we should decide to venture into the neighboring States of Indiana or Missouri all bets are off....in Iowa we're good.....
On a day we both had off we went downtown to the County Building to apply for Domestic Partner status. After 16 years of cohabitation and 6 years of dual ownership of our condo we were going to pay a fee, sign some papers and have the state of Illinois rubberstamp our foreheads officially certifying us as a committed couple...or so we thought. Upon arriving at the County Building we were informed that since Illinois was so progressive that it now recognize Civil Unions the Domestic Partnership designation was no longer available. Our only option was a Civil Union. The fees involved with a Civil Union, while fairly modest, are twice those associated with a Domestic Partnership. Furthermore, where the Domestic Partnership would have taken 90 minutes or so, the Civil Union requires two visits over two separate days. The first to obtain a license (what are we dogs?), the second to go before a judge and have him rubberstamp our foreheads certifying us, after 16 years of cohabitation and 6 years of condo co-ownership, as a couple in the eyes of the law. While processing all this information I was simultaneously holding an inner conversation with myself which went something like "I'm just trying to same a few bucks! Why is this getting so complicated!"
After getting the license it was a couple of weeks before we could arrange a common day off to go to the courthouse. During this fortnight I found myself explaining to everyone who was working themselves into a tizzy over our upcoming "Ceremony", "We're just doing it to save money for christ's sake. We've been together 16 years! If it was important to me on a personal level don't you think I would have taken care of it before now? No veils, no flowers, no gowns, no tuxes! I intend to wear jeans and a sweatshirt!"
The day arrived and we got on the El to go downtown. This is what we encountered next. The area where the ceremony is performed is in the basement of the Courthouse. We enter a room with badly stained carpet and several rows of stackable chairs decorated with equally stained framed prints on the walls. Plastic plants and a large furnace completed the decor. It resembled the waiting room of a Greyhound bus station. Behind the desk sat a silver haired woman who seemed to be waiting until she completed enough years in the state's service to collect her pension.
Shortly we were ushered into the Judge's chambers. Picture a poorly furnished windowless room featuring the kind of fake wood paneling found in the finest of trailer homes. Faded U.S. and State of Illinois flags completed the decor. The Judge was a tall balding man shaking from the effects of acute alchoholism. You could almost feel the romance in the air.
The Judge read our "vows", his words resounding with the passion and conviction one would expect to hear from someone reading a phone book. The entire process clocked in at approximately 5 minutes. Upon leaving my partner suggested that if we had exchanged rings the ceremony might have dragged on for a quarter of an hour. We then had lunch utilizing a gift card given to us the previous Christmas...this was November...we don't eat out much.
After 16 years of cohabitation and 6 years of owning property together the State has now declared our relationship valid within the borders of Illinois. If we should decide to venture into the neighboring States of Indiana or Missouri all bets are off....in Iowa we're good.....
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Subject - The City and the Surburbs - Compare and Contrast
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.
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.
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!
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