I had two requests during the time I was to be in Minneapolis. One was a visit to the Institute of Art, check, the second seeing the cathedral in St. Paul, highly regarded for it's exterior and interior beauty. Heading towards St. Paul we pass a restaurant we have driven by several times prior called "Rusty Taco". My nephew insists the food is quite good and the name is derived from the establishments humble beginnings as a food truck. Their good reputation notwithstanding I felt they may have wanted to consult with marketing experts. I, given their present name, would hesitate to dine there.
The cathedral sits on a bluff overlooking St. Paul's downtown. It's placement as well as it's massive size would make it visible to much of the city, a constant symbol of the dominance of the church over the lives of the people of St. Paul during the early part of the 20th century. Or, taking a different viewpoint, if you are a city named after a saint it makes sense that your cathedral should be impressive, in this case verging on imposing.
I have visited many houses of worship in the U.S., Canada, Mexico and Europe. Many are places of astounding man made splendor created and decorated by some of the greatest artists in history. Yet, as I admire the beauty of these, to some people, sacred places, I find myself questioning the magnificence of them. What if the money and energy put into a church had instead been put into the work of the church? While awed I remember finding the Vatican, with it's extreme display of material wealth, offensive. The bible tells us Jesus was committed to serving the poor. He set an example by living a simple life eschewing the trappings of other religious figures of the time. I fear that over the course of 2000 years many religious leaders have, through their pursuit and acquisition of money and power, turned their backs on the teachings they profess to follow.
The cathedral, built in 1915, is an interesting mixture of a classic style with distinct Arts and Crafts influences. A wrought iron chandelier would seem equally in place in it's present surroundings as it would in a prairie style structure. Molding is at one time simple and stripped down, in the early 20th century style, yet opulent. The most visually impressive feature, to my eye, are the leaded glass windows, again showing the influence of an Arts and Crafts sensibility. In the Shrines of the Nations folds in the cloth of the costumes worn by the biblical figures are delineated by a plethora of colors held within the confines of lead outlines. In some of the glass panels shades mix, changing from one hue to another within a single pane. Silver pieces with gild overlay, gifts to the church from wealthy parishioners, decorate the altar. Here again I think of what could have been done for people with the money spent on these lavish offerings. Downstairs in the visitors center a stunning 16th century carved wood lintel is displayed, rather oddly as my nephew noted, over the door leading to the elevator.
Leaving the cathedral my nephew directed us through streets lined with the grand turn of the century homes of St. Paul's gentry. The structures were beautiful, massive verging on intimidating. It was wonderful to see such a sizable intact area from that era. Too often in American cities we have been neglectful in preserving, protecting and respecting our architectural history.
We placate the grandniece with a trip to an ice creme shop which I am told is well known in the area. As I do last minute packing the next morning she begins to reclaim her room. Sitting on the top bunk, swinging her legs, she tells me about a dream she had the night before. "I dreamed that you didn't have to leave, that you lived in the house next door." She elicits a promise from me to take care of the heart necklace she had gifted to me on my first day with her. "It will remind you of me", she states. I, in turn, promise to send her a photo of it, hanging with my other necklaces, when I get home. I cherish her sweet, tight hug as she, my sister in law and niece drop me off at the airport.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Minnesota 2015 - Minnehaha Falls
It was at my nephews suggestion that we pay a visit to Minnehaha Falls and park, a short distance from downtown Minneapolis. It's a natural water feature, although augmented through the years by water being pumped in for aesthetic reasons. Due to concerns regarding enviormental damage, including the spread of invasive species, the decision was made to shut down the pumps leaving the flow of the river and falls up to the whims of nature.
The falls are large, broad and powerful. A single rush of water plunging over a sharp limestone precipice into the stream below. The stream ripples over rocks and under fallen tree branches which span it from bank to bank. It's gentle sound as I stood on one of the bridges which crossed it imparted a soul refreshing sense of peace and contentment. It splits around a tiny island, one side forming a shallow pool where children wade and play in the cool water. On the far side of the diminutive isle it reforms itself again into a single ribbon and continues on it's path. We hiked along it's banks enjoying natures mix of water, air and the sunny sky of the summer morning.
Returning to the car my grandniece shouts "Adventures Commence!", apparently a catch phrase of hers, as she buckles herself into her booster seat. I make the decision not to disappoint her by pointing out that they already have.
The falls are large, broad and powerful. A single rush of water plunging over a sharp limestone precipice into the stream below. The stream ripples over rocks and under fallen tree branches which span it from bank to bank. It's gentle sound as I stood on one of the bridges which crossed it imparted a soul refreshing sense of peace and contentment. It splits around a tiny island, one side forming a shallow pool where children wade and play in the cool water. On the far side of the diminutive isle it reforms itself again into a single ribbon and continues on it's path. We hiked along it's banks enjoying natures mix of water, air and the sunny sky of the summer morning.
Returning to the car my grandniece shouts "Adventures Commence!", apparently a catch phrase of hers, as she buckles herself into her booster seat. I make the decision not to disappoint her by pointing out that they already have.
Tuesday, August 4, 2015
Minnesota 2015 - Minneapolis Skyways
The final leg of my motorcycle tour was a quick ride through the downtown financial and business center of Minneapolis. Several large corporations, among them Target, U.S. Bancorp and General Mills are headquartered there. Many buildings are connected by overhead skywalks, allowing people to move from one place to place without having to brave the frigid conditions of a Midwestern winter. The manner in which they are used was brought home the next day when my nephew planned a trip to pick up groceries while my grandniece was in her swimming class by utilizing them. The streets seem broad and plazas in front of many buildings give the area an open feel as opposed to the claustrophobia inducing downtowns of other cities. I noticed throughout all my travels that day the large areas of open space In the city. Neighborhoods form a ring around downtown making it easily accessible. I also noticed in the neighborhoods a certain entrepreneurial spirit. Small shops, restaurants and service businesses occupy storefronts along the commercial strips. Many of these are housed in the surprisingly large number of historic buildings intact in this vibrant, charming and friendly city.
Minnesota 2015 - Minneapolis Institute of Art
My nephew and I pulled up in front of the Museum's front entrance and I performed the ritual of the helmet. As we climbed the steps I noticed a sign in front of the doors which read "The Minneapolis Institute of Art bans guns on these premises". Minnesota, for all it's live and let live vibe, has gun laws that are well, liberal. Guns anywhere, anytime, we'll shoot you if you disagree. To be fair, in a state with vast amounts of wilderness housing God only knows how many varieties of flesh loving carnivores, these laws, or the lack thereof, do, in a sense, make sense.
The museum opens with a collection of ancient classical statues which echo the building's classical façade. In the center is a sculpture of an athletic youth symbolizing the artist's concept of ideal physical perfection and beauty, except for the genitals which appear to have been hacked off, possibly in a spasm of religious zealotry. There are similar works from the same classical era in the Vatican's collection bearing the same alteration.
The rest of our family band had used another entrance. Going to meet up with them allowed me to gat a look at a large Calder mobile perfectly displayed in a stairwell. We decided to begin our visit on the museum's 3rd floor, home to it's European and American collections.
We came upon a gallery which holds a collection of pieces showcasing the American Arts and Crafts movement. A plate glass window forms one wall of the area giving the museum visitor a spectacular view of the Minneapolis skyline. An informational plaque shows an outline of the skyline with information on the architects and dates of construction of the more notable buildings visible through the window. The collection of Arts and Crafts pieces includes architectural fragments, period furnishings and architect models of important structures emblematic of this style. I felt entitled to bragging rights as the Chicago area is mentioned more than once here.
The galleries are small allowing the visitor to focus on the art in each one instead of being overwhelmed by it. A trio of Russells, an almost trademark O'Keeffe, I recognized it as her work from across the room, and Remington sculptures are shown together in a gallery devoted to art of the American west. A Rembrant, my nephew claims it as his favorite piece in the institution, is found in an area featuring Dutch works. Other Rembrant's, his etchings, in a small exhibition of prints and etchings, show how he changed his work over time. The work may be of the same scene but a town's skyline is made more distinct and moved from the left hand side of the setting to the right. In another, Jesus, in an early example, is an almost ghostly figure. In the later version he is a blood and sinew human being. The crowd beneath the platform on which he stands has been eliminated, changed to a symbolic depiction of the pit of Hell.
There is Thomas Hart Benton's powerful piece "The Slave Market". His unyielding, almost angry brushstrokes and colors show the cruelty and horror of humans forced into labor and bondage.
The impressionist gallery is filled with a soul soothing mix of Van Goghs, Monets, Gauguins and a lovely view of St. Mark's Square in Venice by Renoir. In one room two artists I would never put together in my mind, Matisse and German Expressionist Max Beckman, are juxtaposed, each providing a surprising complement to the other.
The final stop is a special exhibition focusing on art rock, in particular the music group Devo and the punk art of Mark Mothersbaugh. It proves that art can both soothe and assault the senses. Art does not need to be conventionally beautiful, art needs to awaken emotions. To make us ask questions that we may never have known existed. To make us think or feel in ways different than we have thought or felt before.
The museum opens with a collection of ancient classical statues which echo the building's classical façade. In the center is a sculpture of an athletic youth symbolizing the artist's concept of ideal physical perfection and beauty, except for the genitals which appear to have been hacked off, possibly in a spasm of religious zealotry. There are similar works from the same classical era in the Vatican's collection bearing the same alteration.
The rest of our family band had used another entrance. Going to meet up with them allowed me to gat a look at a large Calder mobile perfectly displayed in a stairwell. We decided to begin our visit on the museum's 3rd floor, home to it's European and American collections.
We came upon a gallery which holds a collection of pieces showcasing the American Arts and Crafts movement. A plate glass window forms one wall of the area giving the museum visitor a spectacular view of the Minneapolis skyline. An informational plaque shows an outline of the skyline with information on the architects and dates of construction of the more notable buildings visible through the window. The collection of Arts and Crafts pieces includes architectural fragments, period furnishings and architect models of important structures emblematic of this style. I felt entitled to bragging rights as the Chicago area is mentioned more than once here.
The galleries are small allowing the visitor to focus on the art in each one instead of being overwhelmed by it. A trio of Russells, an almost trademark O'Keeffe, I recognized it as her work from across the room, and Remington sculptures are shown together in a gallery devoted to art of the American west. A Rembrant, my nephew claims it as his favorite piece in the institution, is found in an area featuring Dutch works. Other Rembrant's, his etchings, in a small exhibition of prints and etchings, show how he changed his work over time. The work may be of the same scene but a town's skyline is made more distinct and moved from the left hand side of the setting to the right. In another, Jesus, in an early example, is an almost ghostly figure. In the later version he is a blood and sinew human being. The crowd beneath the platform on which he stands has been eliminated, changed to a symbolic depiction of the pit of Hell.
There is Thomas Hart Benton's powerful piece "The Slave Market". His unyielding, almost angry brushstrokes and colors show the cruelty and horror of humans forced into labor and bondage.
The impressionist gallery is filled with a soul soothing mix of Van Goghs, Monets, Gauguins and a lovely view of St. Mark's Square in Venice by Renoir. In one room two artists I would never put together in my mind, Matisse and German Expressionist Max Beckman, are juxtaposed, each providing a surprising complement to the other.
The final stop is a special exhibition focusing on art rock, in particular the music group Devo and the punk art of Mark Mothersbaugh. It proves that art can both soothe and assault the senses. Art does not need to be conventionally beautiful, art needs to awaken emotions. To make us ask questions that we may never have known existed. To make us think or feel in ways different than we have thought or felt before.
Minnesota 2015 - Tales of Lunch and Tattoos
Lunch that day was at the outside area of a restaurant in a hipster and, judging from the 2 large rainbow flags I saw, gay friendly neighborhood. One of the flags was hanging in the window of a Walgreen's. I was slightly befuddled by the notion of gay friendly Walgreen's but decided thinking about it too much would make my head hurt, and I already had the rigors of taking off and putting on the motorcycle helmet to contend with.
Our bearded, bespectacled, tattooed waiter took our order. Wine, beer and hard cider were involved. He carded my niece. In all fairness I in his place would have carded my niece. He carded my nephew. That act seemed to emanate from an excess of caution. When he got to me I noted that although asking for my I.D. would be exceptionally flattering, it was probably unnecessary. He replied, "You look honest", at least he didn't say old, and brought me my wine. He continued in a manner that seemed to swing between friendly and flirty. Perhaps had family members not have been present I would have been better able to ascertain which of these two behaviors he was exhibiting.
As I left to visit the restroom I saw the bartender, young, heavily inked, the cashier, also young, also heavily inked, I began to wonder if there was a place on the job application for that restaurant where one noted the number of their tattoos.
I commented on the handsome silver ring worn by the waiter. Jewelry is my business, I notice such things. He told us how he came about owning it. Friendly, flirty, I still couldn't sort it out.
We finish lunch and my nephew and I return to his bike. I go through what I begin to refer to as "the ritual of the helmet" and we are off to the Minneapolis Institute of Art.
Our bearded, bespectacled, tattooed waiter took our order. Wine, beer and hard cider were involved. He carded my niece. In all fairness I in his place would have carded my niece. He carded my nephew. That act seemed to emanate from an excess of caution. When he got to me I noted that although asking for my I.D. would be exceptionally flattering, it was probably unnecessary. He replied, "You look honest", at least he didn't say old, and brought me my wine. He continued in a manner that seemed to swing between friendly and flirty. Perhaps had family members not have been present I would have been better able to ascertain which of these two behaviors he was exhibiting.
As I left to visit the restroom I saw the bartender, young, heavily inked, the cashier, also young, also heavily inked, I began to wonder if there was a place on the job application for that restaurant where one noted the number of their tattoos.
I commented on the handsome silver ring worn by the waiter. Jewelry is my business, I notice such things. He told us how he came about owning it. Friendly, flirty, I still couldn't sort it out.
We finish lunch and my nephew and I return to his bike. I go through what I begin to refer to as "the ritual of the helmet" and we are off to the Minneapolis Institute of Art.
Minnesota 2015 - Weissman Sculpture Garden - Part #2 - The Garden Party
Arriving at the gardens I discovered a beautiful park like setting with sculptures by artists of varying degrees of fame. It's centerpiece is Claes Oldenburg's Spoonbridge and Cherry". I had seen photos of the sculpture, a typically whimsical Oldenburg work of an over sized cherry resting in the bowl of an equally over sized spoon. That it was a fountain was news to me! A mist sprays from the top of the cherry and water pours down it's sides which flows down the spoon and is captured in the shallow pool where the sculpture resides. Another whimsical piece is a clapper less bell which swings back and forth through the use of a magnetic motor titled "For Whom". A rendering of a giant fish graces one room of the conservatory on the grounds. There are two works by Henry Moore featuring the trademark muscular look and feel of the artist. Several of the pieces are interactive allowing children to climb around them and in one case swing on a platform suspended from the work of art, suggesting to even the youngest of children that art can be enjoyable and fun. What a concept!
We returned to the bike and my nephew and I donned our helmets. Bear with me and allow me to digress for a moment to describe what, on paper, sounds like a fairly easy, if not downright mundane, act. I revolves around the actions required to put on the motorcycle helmet. My nephew has a half bowl helmet, popular with bikers in movies from the 50's and early 60's' as well as The motorcycle riding troops in World War 2. The spare helmet is the sort of thing worn by extreme riders and astronauts. First my glasses needed to come off. Then, I squeeze my head through an opening the size of a nostril and push the helmet around until it is properly aligned with my head. I return the glasses to my face and fasten the straps under my chin, occasionally having to dig them out from within the helmet where they have become lodged during steps one, two and three. Taking it off is an even more arduous task. First my glasses come off. I then wiggle the helmet until my head emerges from the nostril sized hole. I swear I almost heard a pop like that of a champagne bottle being opened every time my head was freed from it's fiberglass confines. My glasses are returned and I check my ear to ensure that my earring is still in place, also to ensure that it has not ripped the lower part of my ear in half during the preceding steps.
I am not complaining, I was having the time of my life.
We returned to the bike and my nephew and I donned our helmets. Bear with me and allow me to digress for a moment to describe what, on paper, sounds like a fairly easy, if not downright mundane, act. I revolves around the actions required to put on the motorcycle helmet. My nephew has a half bowl helmet, popular with bikers in movies from the 50's and early 60's' as well as The motorcycle riding troops in World War 2. The spare helmet is the sort of thing worn by extreme riders and astronauts. First my glasses needed to come off. Then, I squeeze my head through an opening the size of a nostril and push the helmet around until it is properly aligned with my head. I return the glasses to my face and fasten the straps under my chin, occasionally having to dig them out from within the helmet where they have become lodged during steps one, two and three. Taking it off is an even more arduous task. First my glasses come off. I then wiggle the helmet until my head emerges from the nostril sized hole. I swear I almost heard a pop like that of a champagne bottle being opened every time my head was freed from it's fiberglass confines. My glasses are returned and I check my ear to ensure that my earring is still in place, also to ensure that it has not ripped the lower part of my ear in half during the preceding steps.
I am not complaining, I was having the time of my life.
Minnesota 2015 - Weissman Sculpture Garden - Part #1 - The Ride
Stop number one of that day was to be the Weissman Sculpture Garden adjacent to the Walker Art Center. It's wonderful collection and beautiful surroundings would be considered a civic treasure by any metropolis fortunate enough to house it. It is free to the public and provides children with an opportunity to experience important 20th century artists at an early age without the sometimes intimidating nature of a museum visit.
As we headed across the backyard to the garage I called "shotgun" to be better able to see the city as we traveled around it that day. My nephew was taking his motorcycle as there wouldn't be room for all of us in the car. When I mentioned, offhand and half joking, that the back of the bike would the best way to experience the sights he said "You're welcome to it". My eyes went wide, my knees went weak, he handed me the extra helmet and we were off.
Yes motorcycles can be dangerous. Yes you can be severely injured if there were to be an accident.....blah, blah, blah........
Yes I didn't care a wit as I rode on the back of that bike on that sunny summer afternoon.
As we headed across the backyard to the garage I called "shotgun" to be better able to see the city as we traveled around it that day. My nephew was taking his motorcycle as there wouldn't be room for all of us in the car. When I mentioned, offhand and half joking, that the back of the bike would the best way to experience the sights he said "You're welcome to it". My eyes went wide, my knees went weak, he handed me the extra helmet and we were off.
Yes motorcycles can be dangerous. Yes you can be severely injured if there were to be an accident.....blah, blah, blah........
Yes I didn't care a wit as I rode on the back of that bike on that sunny summer afternoon.
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