A city in Colorado, in recognition of Gay Pride Month, replaced the POW flag outside one of it's civic buildings with a rainbow flag. Veteran's groups were up in arms proclaiming that the removal of the POW flag violated their "rights". To quell the disturbance the POW flag was moved to another civic building where it was flown, for the month of June, directly beneath the U.S. flag. I have heard religious groups state that the legalization of same sex marriage violates their "rights" as Christians. Some speak of the "rights" of illegal immigrants. The notion that those who have broken the law to immigrate have legal rights to stay is akin to the nonsense voiced by the King, Queen and others in "Alice in Wonderland".
There are rights granted to citizens in the U.S. constitution. Among these the right to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness", excepting, of course, the slaves owned by the founding fathers, but that is a story for another day. We are granted the "right to bear arms". What many seem to forget is that this right was given "in order to maintain a militia". Citizen militias are no longer necessary. It is time for the granting of the right to bear arms to be revisited. This "right" results in handgun deaths in the U.S. numbering in the tens of thousands. In other countries the number is counted in the dozens.
There are scores of laws and amendments granting and defining various rights. Many of these would be unnecessary if we were to focus on one simple, yet apparently hard to master concept, respect. Laws determining the right to a minimum wage would not be needed if corporations and business owners respected the work and dignity of their employees. Some complain of gays desiring "special rights". We merely ask for equal rights. We respect your right to marry who you please and not to have your home or employment threatened by an integral element of your nature. Our request is that those who oppose this for us do the same. As with the civil rights struggles of the 1950's and 60's if discrimination was not initially written or implied in the law an amendment to the law banning it would not be necessary.
With immigration the culture, civil procedure and laws of the country one wishes to move to needs to be respected. Those who break the laws fail to respect those that went through the proper channels to immigrate. While pride in ones native culture can be celebrated one also needs to respect the culture in which they have chosen to live. Were I to make the choice to move outside the U.S. I would learn the common language and not behave in a manner that would offend the place and people where I would chose to settle. I would treat my host with respect.
We will not agree, that is outside the basics of human nature. However we can respect one another. I do not request that you agree with or understand my views, opinions or lifestyle, that too goes against the sometimes headstrong nature of the human being. I do ask that my views, if they differ from yours, and do not cause harm to others, be respected, as I, if your views do not cause harm to others, will respect yours. Your "rights" do not include denying others that which you possess. We share the earth. On occasion, as some move forward within the boundaries of their self involved bubble, they seem to forget that.
Monday, July 14, 2014
Saturday, July 5, 2014
The Curse of Civic Duty
In my mail was the only thing I dread more than my post Christmas credit card bill, a jury summons. It was for a period of time when I would be visiting friends in Texas. I called and got a 3 month delay. When the new summons came it was for a courthouse whose location would require me to travel 2 plus hours EACH WAY!!!The other problem was that the courthouse is located in a dangerous, crime ridden area. It was also not outside the realm of possibility that I would be the only person of, well, shall we say Western European ancestry for miles in any direction. I called and got a change of venue. That was why, on an overcast Wednesday, when I would normally be attired in my black suit, dress shirt and tie, I was comfortably dressed in jeans, G star tennis shoes, a Christmas gift from my partner after I had to throw out an over worn favorite pair of foot gear and a fleece jacket picked up in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
Although the bus line from the train to the courthouse has a stop by my workplace, so I travel it regularly, I had never taken it past that stop. I was therefore going to head into what, for me, was virgin territory. It was a nightmare of a public transit trip which proved Murphy's Law and took much longer than it should have. I passed by a bit of forest preserve I never knew existed and the headquarters of PEAPOD, the online grocery delivery service, finally arriving at the Skokie Courthouse, which, incidentally, should go down in architectural annals as one of the most non descript buildings in world history. Inside further blandness assaults the senses,, beige walls, beige floors and mud colored upholstered chairs which were surprisingly and thankfully comfortable. I would be spending a long amount of time in them that day.
A court employee, whose announcements sounded disturbingly like those of a flight attendant, welcomes us and introduces a video instructing us as to what we should expect during our jury service. A judge, whose delivery was so wooden I feared he would go up in flames any moment, is joined by a semi celebrity local newscaster to explain why the hell we are there and the procedures of a trial. We were then informed by the court employee/flight attendant that these is only one jury trial scheduled for that day. If we are not picked we will be dismissed. We sat, a morning talk show droned, I read.
One of the unpleasant parts of jury duty is the tedium. If I were to be released early I could return home, cook, clean, perhaps visit the gym, I could do SOMETHING! If I am picked to sit on the jury, although depending on the case that could become a multi day process, I would still be doing SOMETHING! We sat, a morning talk show droned, we waited. Except for the T.V. the place was not unlike the D.M.V.
In the one jury trial the defendant pleaded guilty, however.....in this state someone can ask for a jury trial even if one has not been scheduled for their case. We were told to amuse ourselves for an hour and a half then return. I pulled out my sandwich and snacks thinking that perhaps between them, writing, reading and my phone I could stay diverted for that length of time.
As I walked down the hall past the doors of the courtrooms with their long glass windows my mind pondered what personal dramas were being enacted behind each one. Child custody cases, workers comp issues, perpetrators and victims of minor crimes confronting one another, maybe one neighbor suing another over their level of unneighborlylessness.The law, the search for a pat, written solution to the ills of the human race. Many of these ills are part of human nature. They cannot be tethered by the written word. They must be experienced, dealt with, learned from and moved past. Only one law should be necessary, look out for and be concerned for one another, essentially the Golden Rule of the Bible. But people and society seem more complicated than that. Our brains and emotions seem to crave the clutter of detail.
A father and daughter team of lawyers entered the lunchroom discussing various cases, loudly. I would have loved to seek solace in the forest preserve across the street but I could see no trail head and a busy road, sans stoplights, created a barrier between it and me. A song from the 80's stated "nobody walks in L.A.". The same could be said about the Chicago suburbs.
I walked back through the bland, beige interior. Couldn't they at least hang a painting or two? Create a high school mural competition. Allow the taggers of our subway system access to ply their craft? Anything would help!
After our break we returned to the waiting room. I had bought a book in January in anticipation of this day, "A Single Man" by Christopher Isherwood. An early openly gay author he wrote "The Berlin Stories" which was adapted for the stage into "I Am A Camera" which was the basis for the musical "Cabaret". The relative quiet of the room was a good venue for poring through Isherwood's dense, imagery filled prose.
Finally we were told that all cases on the docket that day had been settled and we were free to go. It was my good fortune to find a bus idling, waiting to depart as I left the building. Settling into my seat I reflected on the day. It wasn't a total waste, I got a good read in.
Although the bus line from the train to the courthouse has a stop by my workplace, so I travel it regularly, I had never taken it past that stop. I was therefore going to head into what, for me, was virgin territory. It was a nightmare of a public transit trip which proved Murphy's Law and took much longer than it should have. I passed by a bit of forest preserve I never knew existed and the headquarters of PEAPOD, the online grocery delivery service, finally arriving at the Skokie Courthouse, which, incidentally, should go down in architectural annals as one of the most non descript buildings in world history. Inside further blandness assaults the senses,, beige walls, beige floors and mud colored upholstered chairs which were surprisingly and thankfully comfortable. I would be spending a long amount of time in them that day.
A court employee, whose announcements sounded disturbingly like those of a flight attendant, welcomes us and introduces a video instructing us as to what we should expect during our jury service. A judge, whose delivery was so wooden I feared he would go up in flames any moment, is joined by a semi celebrity local newscaster to explain why the hell we are there and the procedures of a trial. We were then informed by the court employee/flight attendant that these is only one jury trial scheduled for that day. If we are not picked we will be dismissed. We sat, a morning talk show droned, I read.
One of the unpleasant parts of jury duty is the tedium. If I were to be released early I could return home, cook, clean, perhaps visit the gym, I could do SOMETHING! If I am picked to sit on the jury, although depending on the case that could become a multi day process, I would still be doing SOMETHING! We sat, a morning talk show droned, we waited. Except for the T.V. the place was not unlike the D.M.V.
In the one jury trial the defendant pleaded guilty, however.....in this state someone can ask for a jury trial even if one has not been scheduled for their case. We were told to amuse ourselves for an hour and a half then return. I pulled out my sandwich and snacks thinking that perhaps between them, writing, reading and my phone I could stay diverted for that length of time.
As I walked down the hall past the doors of the courtrooms with their long glass windows my mind pondered what personal dramas were being enacted behind each one. Child custody cases, workers comp issues, perpetrators and victims of minor crimes confronting one another, maybe one neighbor suing another over their level of unneighborlylessness.The law, the search for a pat, written solution to the ills of the human race. Many of these ills are part of human nature. They cannot be tethered by the written word. They must be experienced, dealt with, learned from and moved past. Only one law should be necessary, look out for and be concerned for one another, essentially the Golden Rule of the Bible. But people and society seem more complicated than that. Our brains and emotions seem to crave the clutter of detail.
A father and daughter team of lawyers entered the lunchroom discussing various cases, loudly. I would have loved to seek solace in the forest preserve across the street but I could see no trail head and a busy road, sans stoplights, created a barrier between it and me. A song from the 80's stated "nobody walks in L.A.". The same could be said about the Chicago suburbs.
I walked back through the bland, beige interior. Couldn't they at least hang a painting or two? Create a high school mural competition. Allow the taggers of our subway system access to ply their craft? Anything would help!
After our break we returned to the waiting room. I had bought a book in January in anticipation of this day, "A Single Man" by Christopher Isherwood. An early openly gay author he wrote "The Berlin Stories" which was adapted for the stage into "I Am A Camera" which was the basis for the musical "Cabaret". The relative quiet of the room was a good venue for poring through Isherwood's dense, imagery filled prose.
Finally we were told that all cases on the docket that day had been settled and we were free to go. It was my good fortune to find a bus idling, waiting to depart as I left the building. Settling into my seat I reflected on the day. It wasn't a total waste, I got a good read in.
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Celebration of Celebrity
I work for a large, well known department store chain. To generate traffic when promoting a product stores will, on occasion, host personal appearances of the designers or celebrities associated with them. These are known in the business by the abbreviation P.A.s.
So it happened that on a Wednesday morning people lined up to spend a few seconds of their lives and if very fortunate have a picture taken with one of the male dancers from the disturbingly popular program "Dancing With the Stars". Two women drive from St Louis, a 5 hour trip each way, and stayed overnight in a hotel, to ensure they would be one of the first in line for this experience. They arrived 2 hours prior to the scheduled start time of the appearance waiting with great anticipation as a queue formed behind them. The crowd was overwhelmingly female as the man is supposed to possess a certain sex appeal, which, as an aside, is completely lost on me. He had attached his name to a line of men's jewelry which I'm fairly certain he had little or no involvement in the designing of. He was clearly attempting to garner as much cash as he could before being condemned to trading on his former fame by opening a chain of ballroom dancing schools. One can imagine him in late middle age, still orange from a fresh spray tan, shirt unbuttoned to reveal a shaved, somewhat sagging chest, twirling suburban housewives about a linoleum floor in a strip mall storefront.
Slowly the dancers "people" filed in. These included handlers, including one exceptionally thin, elderly man in a black suit, moccasins and no socks, whose duties I never could quite pinpoint, as well as sound techs and managers. I found myself thinking the president of the United States travels with a smaller entourage. Local new reporters and cameramen appeared, determined to get a few words from our visitor and obtain a decent piece of video of this historic, news worthy event.
A squeal arose from the horde of women as the man of the hour appeared. Unshaven, his hair uncombed, it looked as if he had rolled out of bed and donned whatever clothing was lying around his hotel room floor that morning. This lack of attention to grooming did not dampen the adoration of the, at this point, terrifying, hormonally charged crowd of women.
The line began to move forward. The jewelry that he was there to promote displayed in a case beside him received scant, if any, attention. Our "star" proceeded to sign autographs, pose for pictures and hold and kiss the babies handed to him like a politician vying for votes. I am not exaggerating, people were actually handing their offspring to him. What did they expect him to do....bless them? Occasionally he would twirl or dip a member of the assembled masses. This caused the women, who at this point I was becoming acutely embarrassed for, to scream like teenagers. With almost superhuman will power I kept myself from approaching the line and screaming "Don't you people have lives!"
As the time drew near for our pseudo-celebrity to depart there was still a line of people waiting to bask in his aura. He suggested that as he left he would hug each of the people still in line. It was at this point that I believe several of the women wet themselves.
As the disheveled gentleman and his entourage departed in what, according to eye witness reports, was a limo of almost obscene proportions, the crowd began to disburse. Obviously, none of them purchased a thing making me wonder why my employer had even sponsored such an event. As I watched them scatter a single thought came into my head, "It could have been worse. His last name could have been Kardashian."
So it happened that on a Wednesday morning people lined up to spend a few seconds of their lives and if very fortunate have a picture taken with one of the male dancers from the disturbingly popular program "Dancing With the Stars". Two women drive from St Louis, a 5 hour trip each way, and stayed overnight in a hotel, to ensure they would be one of the first in line for this experience. They arrived 2 hours prior to the scheduled start time of the appearance waiting with great anticipation as a queue formed behind them. The crowd was overwhelmingly female as the man is supposed to possess a certain sex appeal, which, as an aside, is completely lost on me. He had attached his name to a line of men's jewelry which I'm fairly certain he had little or no involvement in the designing of. He was clearly attempting to garner as much cash as he could before being condemned to trading on his former fame by opening a chain of ballroom dancing schools. One can imagine him in late middle age, still orange from a fresh spray tan, shirt unbuttoned to reveal a shaved, somewhat sagging chest, twirling suburban housewives about a linoleum floor in a strip mall storefront.
Slowly the dancers "people" filed in. These included handlers, including one exceptionally thin, elderly man in a black suit, moccasins and no socks, whose duties I never could quite pinpoint, as well as sound techs and managers. I found myself thinking the president of the United States travels with a smaller entourage. Local new reporters and cameramen appeared, determined to get a few words from our visitor and obtain a decent piece of video of this historic, news worthy event.
A squeal arose from the horde of women as the man of the hour appeared. Unshaven, his hair uncombed, it looked as if he had rolled out of bed and donned whatever clothing was lying around his hotel room floor that morning. This lack of attention to grooming did not dampen the adoration of the, at this point, terrifying, hormonally charged crowd of women.
The line began to move forward. The jewelry that he was there to promote displayed in a case beside him received scant, if any, attention. Our "star" proceeded to sign autographs, pose for pictures and hold and kiss the babies handed to him like a politician vying for votes. I am not exaggerating, people were actually handing their offspring to him. What did they expect him to do....bless them? Occasionally he would twirl or dip a member of the assembled masses. This caused the women, who at this point I was becoming acutely embarrassed for, to scream like teenagers. With almost superhuman will power I kept myself from approaching the line and screaming "Don't you people have lives!"
As the time drew near for our pseudo-celebrity to depart there was still a line of people waiting to bask in his aura. He suggested that as he left he would hug each of the people still in line. It was at this point that I believe several of the women wet themselves.
As the disheveled gentleman and his entourage departed in what, according to eye witness reports, was a limo of almost obscene proportions, the crowd began to disburse. Obviously, none of them purchased a thing making me wonder why my employer had even sponsored such an event. As I watched them scatter a single thought came into my head, "It could have been worse. His last name could have been Kardashian."
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
Things I Feel Strongly About - Income Inequality
It's been estimated that, had it kept pace with inflation since it's inception, the minimum wage in the U.S. would be $16 per hour. It has not.There are several ironies regarding this. If employees were paid this rate companies profits would not have suffered. Factoring in inflation, the costs of raw materials and labor would have remained stable. The percentage of profit companies earned would not have been diminished. Also, our battered economy would be in better shape. If lower income people made a wage that would afford them a decent standard of living they would feel freer to both spend and save. A below standard wage keeps these people in a state of grinding poverty. Every penny is spent just to maintain a roof over their head and food on the table. In many cases not even these necessities can be covered.
Vast amounts of cash in this country, controlled and owned by the wealthiest corporations and individuals, sit on the sidelines. These dollars do not circulate, they lay dormant. It is akin to a farmer storing year after year of seed in his barn while his fields lie barren. There is a line from the musical "Hello Dolly", "Money is like manure, it must be spread around encouraging young things to grow."
Perhaps taxing the wealthy is one option. The increased revenue could be used for public works projects putting people to work building bridges and roads. We would be able to develop and revitalize mass transit, which is sorely lacking in the U.S., cutting down on our use of fossil fuels. We would have the ability to research renewable and enviormentally friendly sources of power.
The far right often states that 50% of taxes are already paid by the top 20% of earners. These top earners control 85% of this country's wealth. This means that they are actually underpaying their fair share.
Some are concerned about the solvency of our Social Security system. Pensions are quickly disappearing. Without Social Security many seniors would have to work until they are physically unable to do so. First our retirement age should be raised. Age 65 is no longer what it was when the program was started. Second, the cap on earnings taxed should not be raised but eliminated entirely. Why should people, even those at poverty level, have to pay 6 3/4% of their income into a program while the wealthy, in many cases, pay 1% or even less. If the cap were eliminated and the rate lowered for all to 4 1/2% there would actually be more money coming into the program than there is at present. Another irony is that those high earners, who are more able to put away funds for their old age, get more out of the Social Security system than those that earn less, even though they pay a smaller percentage of their income into it.
In the founding papers of our country are words ensuring that all citizens have a right to "Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." My request to government officials sworn to uphold those words and ideals.....GET CRACKIN!
Vast amounts of cash in this country, controlled and owned by the wealthiest corporations and individuals, sit on the sidelines. These dollars do not circulate, they lay dormant. It is akin to a farmer storing year after year of seed in his barn while his fields lie barren. There is a line from the musical "Hello Dolly", "Money is like manure, it must be spread around encouraging young things to grow."
Perhaps taxing the wealthy is one option. The increased revenue could be used for public works projects putting people to work building bridges and roads. We would be able to develop and revitalize mass transit, which is sorely lacking in the U.S., cutting down on our use of fossil fuels. We would have the ability to research renewable and enviormentally friendly sources of power.
The far right often states that 50% of taxes are already paid by the top 20% of earners. These top earners control 85% of this country's wealth. This means that they are actually underpaying their fair share.
Some are concerned about the solvency of our Social Security system. Pensions are quickly disappearing. Without Social Security many seniors would have to work until they are physically unable to do so. First our retirement age should be raised. Age 65 is no longer what it was when the program was started. Second, the cap on earnings taxed should not be raised but eliminated entirely. Why should people, even those at poverty level, have to pay 6 3/4% of their income into a program while the wealthy, in many cases, pay 1% or even less. If the cap were eliminated and the rate lowered for all to 4 1/2% there would actually be more money coming into the program than there is at present. Another irony is that those high earners, who are more able to put away funds for their old age, get more out of the Social Security system than those that earn less, even though they pay a smaller percentage of their income into it.
In the founding papers of our country are words ensuring that all citizens have a right to "Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." My request to government officials sworn to uphold those words and ideals.....GET CRACKIN!
Thursday, May 22, 2014
Ode to Spring 2014
There is a special shade of green that appears in spring. Lighter, seeming somehow fresher than it's darker summer hue. It is as if it lives in that moment when you first wake up in the morning and shake off the fuzziness of sleep. Perhaps this moment happens with your first sip of coffee or as the prickle of the spray from the shower touches your skin. Even as the first leaves to appear darken, preparing to do their service providing welcome shade from the hot summer days to come, this special green prevails on the new growth as the plants stretch their limbs after their long winter dormancy.
I associate summer with spotted orange lilies and Queen Anne's lace, the beige of beach sand and the blues, grays and greens of water. Spring colors are brighter. The varied and brilliant hues of tulips, butter yellow daffodils, the blossom laden branches of fruit bearing trees and the fresh color of new leaves. Their visit is not long lasting only a few short weeks. As we watch them transition we look forward to their appearance next year, signaling the end of the dark, cold days of winter and foretelling the long sunlit days of summer.
I associate summer with spotted orange lilies and Queen Anne's lace, the beige of beach sand and the blues, grays and greens of water. Spring colors are brighter. The varied and brilliant hues of tulips, butter yellow daffodils, the blossom laden branches of fruit bearing trees and the fresh color of new leaves. Their visit is not long lasting only a few short weeks. As we watch them transition we look forward to their appearance next year, signaling the end of the dark, cold days of winter and foretelling the long sunlit days of summer.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Afternoon Delight - Part Two - Macy's Annual Flower Show
I walked past the 19th century facades and jewelry showroom windows that line Wabash Avenue. Chicago's iconic El trains rumbled by on the tracks overhead. The small green heads of tulips peaked above the earth in the beds which edge the sidewalks hinting at the colorful blooms to come.
Entering the State Street Macy's is a history lesson in small victories. Marshall Field's was a name virtually synonymous with Chicago. When Macy's bought Marshall Field it was requested that, due to it's long association with the city, the Marshall Field name be, at least in part, retained. One suggestion was that for the Chicago area they could call it Marshall Field by Macy's. Macy's was unyielding. Their attitude was, we bought the store, it will be called Macy's, end of discussion. This caused bad blood among old line Chicagoans, some of which persists to this day.
The State Street store building is landmarked. It's exterior cannot be altered in any way. Hence, the bronze plaques on each corner bearing the name Marshall Field and Company remain unmolested. The massive clocks, made famous by Norman Rockwell in an often reproduced Saturday Evening Post cover still keep passersby appraised of the time of day as they have for decades. Inside, the elevator doors retain the molded metal image of sheaves of hay, a Marshall Field trademark. Likewise the Walnut Room, the in store restaurant where during the holidays as many as 4 generations of one family can be seen at the same table sharing a meal, a cherished Christmas season tradition for some, remains unchanged in appearance. The towering Christmas tree in it's center has however become less interesting than it's predecessor's were during the Field's days.
So too has the annual Spring Flower Show changed. In years past, during Marshall Field's tenure, the tops of the fixtures on the first floor were filled with fresh flowers. The scent as one entered was wonderful and heady, demanding that the shopper deeply breath in their strong perfume. Today the show is confined to an exhibition space on the uppermost floor. This years theme was "The Secret Garden", a vague description which allowed designers a great deal of leeway when it came to the displays. A maypole was set among topiaries shaped as animals and chessmen. A floral portrait of Salvador Dali resting on a base created from shards of pottery dishes, with a pair of blue manikin legs upturned, feet in the air, left me scratching my head. So too did the upright piano surrounded by blooms. The centerpiece of the exhibition, though lovely and impressive, made even less sense. A tall white manikin wearing a gown fashioned from dried leaves spray painted bright red kept watch over the various displays. The gown's bustle and train were created using a number of various type of dried flowers, also painted red. It was a beautiful piece of workmanship which seemed, however, to have little to do with a "Secret Garden". I left the exhibition seriously underwhelmed.
As I left the store I gazed up at the venerable Tiffany designed mosaic dome which graces the interior of the landmark building. One of Chicago's hidden civic treasures it reassured me that, no matter who owns what, some things remain the same.
Entering the State Street Macy's is a history lesson in small victories. Marshall Field's was a name virtually synonymous with Chicago. When Macy's bought Marshall Field it was requested that, due to it's long association with the city, the Marshall Field name be, at least in part, retained. One suggestion was that for the Chicago area they could call it Marshall Field by Macy's. Macy's was unyielding. Their attitude was, we bought the store, it will be called Macy's, end of discussion. This caused bad blood among old line Chicagoans, some of which persists to this day.
The State Street store building is landmarked. It's exterior cannot be altered in any way. Hence, the bronze plaques on each corner bearing the name Marshall Field and Company remain unmolested. The massive clocks, made famous by Norman Rockwell in an often reproduced Saturday Evening Post cover still keep passersby appraised of the time of day as they have for decades. Inside, the elevator doors retain the molded metal image of sheaves of hay, a Marshall Field trademark. Likewise the Walnut Room, the in store restaurant where during the holidays as many as 4 generations of one family can be seen at the same table sharing a meal, a cherished Christmas season tradition for some, remains unchanged in appearance. The towering Christmas tree in it's center has however become less interesting than it's predecessor's were during the Field's days.
So too has the annual Spring Flower Show changed. In years past, during Marshall Field's tenure, the tops of the fixtures on the first floor were filled with fresh flowers. The scent as one entered was wonderful and heady, demanding that the shopper deeply breath in their strong perfume. Today the show is confined to an exhibition space on the uppermost floor. This years theme was "The Secret Garden", a vague description which allowed designers a great deal of leeway when it came to the displays. A maypole was set among topiaries shaped as animals and chessmen. A floral portrait of Salvador Dali resting on a base created from shards of pottery dishes, with a pair of blue manikin legs upturned, feet in the air, left me scratching my head. So too did the upright piano surrounded by blooms. The centerpiece of the exhibition, though lovely and impressive, made even less sense. A tall white manikin wearing a gown fashioned from dried leaves spray painted bright red kept watch over the various displays. The gown's bustle and train were created using a number of various type of dried flowers, also painted red. It was a beautiful piece of workmanship which seemed, however, to have little to do with a "Secret Garden". I left the exhibition seriously underwhelmed.
As I left the store I gazed up at the venerable Tiffany designed mosaic dome which graces the interior of the landmark building. One of Chicago's hidden civic treasures it reassured me that, no matter who owns what, some things remain the same.
Friday, May 2, 2014
Afternoon Delight - Part one - The Art Institute
I had just worked a long, grueling stretch of days. With a day off and being caught up with chores and errands I decided I had earned some "me time". The Art Institute had just installed three new exhibits. Two I was interested in, the third not so much. Also the historic Macy's, nee Marshall Field, store on State Street, just a few blocks from the museum, was hosting it's annual spring flower show. I donned a new sweater I had not had the opportunity to wear yet. I had bought it on impulse. It had been marked down repeatedly and a special, generous employee discount had been added making it remarkably affordable. I made a present of one to my partner as well, albeit in a different color. It was the perfect weight for the cool, early spring day.
The late morning bus traffic seemed exceptionally heavy. One of the few remaining seats was a bench running sideways to the one which runs along the rear of the bus. The back bench is raised slightly above the level of the other seats to accommodate the buses engine, an integral part of the vehicle. On this day it was populated by a line of exceptionally tall people exacerbating my somewhat Lilliputian dimensions as I perched on my seat near them. We whizzed by lakefront parkland. My mind wandered as I thought of the bike rides I hoped to enjoy there in the coming months as the weather warmed. Our country's economic woes were evidenced by the number of large empty storefronts along Chicago's renown Michigan Avenue. Once hailed as one of the nations premier shopping destinations it's high end stores are now clogged with tourists from surrounding states visiting every one of the venues yet ultimately purchasing nothing.
I got off the bus and peered across the street at my "safe zone", my Xanadu, the classical facade of the Chicago Art Institute, one of the world's greatest repositories of art, historic furnishings and historical and artistic artifacts. I have spent many hours over the course of my life in Chicago exploring the corridors , galleries and hidden corners of this artistic treasure trove. I have my favorite spots which I visit and revisit, each time I seem to regain a portion of my soul, each time I experience something different and new.
I did not have a great interest in seeing the current exhibition, a retrospect of the contemporary, abstract artist Christopher Wool. As I moved through the galleries looking at the large scale paintings I found his work, like that of a number of his contemporaries, callus and cynical. Many pieces were black and white, some mere squiggles of paint on a bare white background resembling a building side tagged by vandals. Some graffiti does rise to the level of art, this did not. One canvas had the word FOOL stenciled on it. The curators called it a melancholy self portrait. It seemed to me to be a comment on those who would spend grotesque amounts of money on these works. Many of the paintings are untitled. Perhaps Mr. Wool was laughing too hard as he attempted to pull his name over our eyes to come up with one.
Next on my agenda was a visit to a Renoir, a permanent piece of the museum's massive collection of Impressionist artworks. During a recent conservation project they discovered, upon removing the frame, remnants of bright red pigment that had been completely shielded from light. Further research revealed that the background of the portrait had been much more vivid than the muted shade which appears today. Apparently Renoir had used a pigment that was unstable and faded easily, not uncommon with red tones. A digital recreation of the portrait as it looked when it was new reveals a crisper image of the subject compared to the works present day state. The back of the painting is visible providing a rare view of the work's history. During previous conservation work in 1939 the canvas was mounted on a hardboard panel. After this work the original stretcher was reused but, somehow, reinstalled upside down. There is a paper label on the back identifying the work and artist. The canvas merchant's stamp is also visible on the stretcher. One can imagine Renoir visiting the merchant, selecting the right size canvas for the work. X ray images reveal the changes Renoir made as his work on the painting progressed.
This exhibit shares a gallery with 2 Degas', including one of my favorites by the artist "The Milliner's Shop", also in the museums permanent collection. The character of the figure in the painting has always been questioned. She appears to be holing pins in her mouth, suggesting that she is a shopgirl, yet the richness of her costume, her kid gloves and fur color, seem to belie this humble profession. X rays reveal that originally the figure was unmistakably a customer before Degas gave her the more ambiguous nature seen in the finished work.
Across from the Oriental collection is a warren of galleries which are devoted to works on paper. These are rotated due to the fragile nature of the artworks displayed. Sometimes the exhibitions are from the Institutes's permanent collection, some are borrowed, some are still in private hands but promised to the museum. A collector recently donated hundreds of works on paper, one of the largest bequests in the Institutes's history. A portion of these new acquisitions were on view. The collection of works was astonishing. The exhibition opened with a water color by Mondrian of the Amsterdam skyline. It is always interesting to see his more realistic work which preceded the abstract geometric style he adopted later and is primarily known for. There are drawings by Picasso and Matisse. A chalk portrait by Modigliani features his trademark representation of the sitter with an elongated face. Further on one encounters a whimsical Tischbein watercolor depicting 3 beavers building a dam entitled "Three Beavers Building A Dam".
The unclothed human form is in abundance in this exhibition. There is a Romney illustration of a scene from the first act of "Twelfth Night". It indicates, judging from the well muscled forms of the nude men depicted, that gym rats and protein supplements existed as far back as the work's date of 1776. One wall consists of nudes by Klimt, Renoir and Degas. There is a spellbinding male nude by Cezanne which depicts the innocent beauty of youth in a strangely sad, haunting manner.
Landscapes by John Constable and Gainsborough share one wall. Gainsborough's work, a humble pencil sketch, shows the remarkable attention to detail evidenced in his more well known portraits. The viewer can imagine the water rippling and the leaves of the trees rustling in the breeze.
Chalk haystacks by Monet add to the appreciation of the Haystack series housed in the Institutes's Impressionist galleries.
I left the museum enroute to Macy's where I hoped to "stop and smell the roses".
The late morning bus traffic seemed exceptionally heavy. One of the few remaining seats was a bench running sideways to the one which runs along the rear of the bus. The back bench is raised slightly above the level of the other seats to accommodate the buses engine, an integral part of the vehicle. On this day it was populated by a line of exceptionally tall people exacerbating my somewhat Lilliputian dimensions as I perched on my seat near them. We whizzed by lakefront parkland. My mind wandered as I thought of the bike rides I hoped to enjoy there in the coming months as the weather warmed. Our country's economic woes were evidenced by the number of large empty storefronts along Chicago's renown Michigan Avenue. Once hailed as one of the nations premier shopping destinations it's high end stores are now clogged with tourists from surrounding states visiting every one of the venues yet ultimately purchasing nothing.
I got off the bus and peered across the street at my "safe zone", my Xanadu, the classical facade of the Chicago Art Institute, one of the world's greatest repositories of art, historic furnishings and historical and artistic artifacts. I have spent many hours over the course of my life in Chicago exploring the corridors , galleries and hidden corners of this artistic treasure trove. I have my favorite spots which I visit and revisit, each time I seem to regain a portion of my soul, each time I experience something different and new.
I did not have a great interest in seeing the current exhibition, a retrospect of the contemporary, abstract artist Christopher Wool. As I moved through the galleries looking at the large scale paintings I found his work, like that of a number of his contemporaries, callus and cynical. Many pieces were black and white, some mere squiggles of paint on a bare white background resembling a building side tagged by vandals. Some graffiti does rise to the level of art, this did not. One canvas had the word FOOL stenciled on it. The curators called it a melancholy self portrait. It seemed to me to be a comment on those who would spend grotesque amounts of money on these works. Many of the paintings are untitled. Perhaps Mr. Wool was laughing too hard as he attempted to pull his name over our eyes to come up with one.
Next on my agenda was a visit to a Renoir, a permanent piece of the museum's massive collection of Impressionist artworks. During a recent conservation project they discovered, upon removing the frame, remnants of bright red pigment that had been completely shielded from light. Further research revealed that the background of the portrait had been much more vivid than the muted shade which appears today. Apparently Renoir had used a pigment that was unstable and faded easily, not uncommon with red tones. A digital recreation of the portrait as it looked when it was new reveals a crisper image of the subject compared to the works present day state. The back of the painting is visible providing a rare view of the work's history. During previous conservation work in 1939 the canvas was mounted on a hardboard panel. After this work the original stretcher was reused but, somehow, reinstalled upside down. There is a paper label on the back identifying the work and artist. The canvas merchant's stamp is also visible on the stretcher. One can imagine Renoir visiting the merchant, selecting the right size canvas for the work. X ray images reveal the changes Renoir made as his work on the painting progressed.
This exhibit shares a gallery with 2 Degas', including one of my favorites by the artist "The Milliner's Shop", also in the museums permanent collection. The character of the figure in the painting has always been questioned. She appears to be holing pins in her mouth, suggesting that she is a shopgirl, yet the richness of her costume, her kid gloves and fur color, seem to belie this humble profession. X rays reveal that originally the figure was unmistakably a customer before Degas gave her the more ambiguous nature seen in the finished work.
Across from the Oriental collection is a warren of galleries which are devoted to works on paper. These are rotated due to the fragile nature of the artworks displayed. Sometimes the exhibitions are from the Institutes's permanent collection, some are borrowed, some are still in private hands but promised to the museum. A collector recently donated hundreds of works on paper, one of the largest bequests in the Institutes's history. A portion of these new acquisitions were on view. The collection of works was astonishing. The exhibition opened with a water color by Mondrian of the Amsterdam skyline. It is always interesting to see his more realistic work which preceded the abstract geometric style he adopted later and is primarily known for. There are drawings by Picasso and Matisse. A chalk portrait by Modigliani features his trademark representation of the sitter with an elongated face. Further on one encounters a whimsical Tischbein watercolor depicting 3 beavers building a dam entitled "Three Beavers Building A Dam".
The unclothed human form is in abundance in this exhibition. There is a Romney illustration of a scene from the first act of "Twelfth Night". It indicates, judging from the well muscled forms of the nude men depicted, that gym rats and protein supplements existed as far back as the work's date of 1776. One wall consists of nudes by Klimt, Renoir and Degas. There is a spellbinding male nude by Cezanne which depicts the innocent beauty of youth in a strangely sad, haunting manner.
Landscapes by John Constable and Gainsborough share one wall. Gainsborough's work, a humble pencil sketch, shows the remarkable attention to detail evidenced in his more well known portraits. The viewer can imagine the water rippling and the leaves of the trees rustling in the breeze.
Chalk haystacks by Monet add to the appreciation of the Haystack series housed in the Institutes's Impressionist galleries.
I left the museum enroute to Macy's where I hoped to "stop and smell the roses".
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