Monday, September 16, 2013
Mid September
The light slants in from a different angle, lower in the sky. Sundown arrives earlier, sunrise later. The nights and mornings are cool. During the day summers heat has given way to mild warmth. As I bike home from the gym in the morning children with backpacks fill the sidewalks and crosswalks on their way to school, their long summer vacations over. Along the underside of the trees which shade the street, where sunlight no longer penetrates, the leaves have begun their annual metamorphose. They start to turn the dusty yellows, oranges and reds, the soft hues that are the hallmark of a midwestern fall. They turn the colors of the freshly harvested gourds found in supermarket aisles and at roadside farmstands. They are calming and soothing, allowing us to take a few final deep breaths before the onset of winter.
Friday, September 6, 2013
The Art of Fashion
The legendary hot, humid Chicago summer almost seemed to have past us by. Cold and rainy well into June we waited wondering when, if, we would experience the torrid conditions we were accustomed to and steel ourselves against each year. It was a season of pleasantly warm temperatures and cool lake breezes. A short spell of uncomfortably hot weather came and went in the blink of an eye. While I was visiting the furnace that is central Texas late in July Chicago's high one day was 57 degrees. Windows were left open and air conditioners were left off.
Late in the season the dreaded moment finally arrived. Weather forecasters across the region announced the approach of severe heat moving in our direction. Heat advisories were issued and the population panicked as they watched the severe weather conditions advance toward them. Along with the heat and humidity came flies,their sharp, stinging bites adding to the misery. I took refuge where I have in torrid times past, Chicago's Art Institute.
There are some things I will admit to being old fashioned about, particularly in terms of appropriate dress. For instance, I dress when going to the theatre, almost always donning a blazer or sport jacket, at the very least , for the occasion. I also, when going to a museum, particularly an art museum, wear long pants. On this day I broke one of my own cardinal rules and wore shorts. I attempted to mitigate my fashion faux pas by also sporting an expensive silver bracelet given to me by a vendor at work for attaining a certain level of sales of their product. I quickly ascertained, after arriving at the Art Institute, that I was not the only man, or woman for that matter, who was baring my knees on that extremely hot afternoon.
The special exhibition "Impressionism Fashion and Modernity" explored the depiction and importance of fashions of the day in the works of Impressionists. Apparel and accessories from the era, most culled from the remarkable collection of New York's Metropolitan Museum, were showcased with impressionist works, many on loan from the D'Orsay in Paris, featuring similar fashions.
Before heading upstairs to the main event, I visited one of my favorite spots in the museum. As you pass the grand staircase and go through a set of glass doors there are a series of rooms, accessed through a rather small, nondescript entry, where selections from the Art Institutes expansive collection of works on paper are exhibited. Due to their extremely fragile nature, the pieces are rotated frequently virtually assuring a happy new discovery with each visit.
The works on view that day, exhibited under the title, "Undressed, The Fashion of Privacy" explored nude and partially unclothed figures in works by many of the same artists whose interest in fashion was shown in the main exhibition. Drawings, lithographs, woodcuts and pastels by impressionist masters such as Degas and Renoir graced the walls. The works ranged from studio figure studies to works from the artist's imagination. A grouping of works depicting male bathers by Cezanne and Munch, because of the placement and relationship to one another of the figures pictured, carried subtle homoerotic undertones. One room depicted visions of sex, death and violence. The disturbing quality of these pieces were juxtaposed against the tranquility expressed in the following room which was anchored by a large, charming pastel by Mary Cassatt.
I continued on my way to the main exhibit. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the art I have become familiar with over my many visits to the museum. Grant Wood's "American Gothic", the large, surrealist work that was commissioned for Frank Lloyd Wright's "Falling Water", and Hopper's "Nighthawks". This work by Hopper has the ability to draw me into it's ambiguous story. I can feel the cool night air and hear the silence of the deserted street. When it is on loan I miss it like I would miss a friend who is far away.
The exhibition relates how, with the advent of printed fashion illustration and department stores, information on the current trends of dress of the late 19th century became widespread. The show opens with two small works by Manet and Renoir depicting women reading fashion ads followed in the next room by a large Monet portrait of his mistress complimented by a dress much like the one in the painting displayed in a case nearby. There is an imposing, breathtakingly beautiful Renoir of a woman posing with her two identically dressed children and their family dog. The languid and sensual "Woman with Fans" by Manet pictures a woman lounging on a couch, the fans of the title hanging on the wall behind her. A favorite holding of the Art Institute by Degas, "The Millinery Shop" is shown in a room showcasing hats, gloves and evening slippers in a gallery devoted to the depiction of fashion accessories in impressionists works.
I enter a room with faux grass on the floor and the recorded sounds of birds in the air. Devoted to outdoor scenes it is dominated by two surviving fragments of a monumental, life size work by Monet, "Luncheon on the Grass". Damaged when Monet's landlord stored it in a cellar, Monet giving it to him in lieu of rent, only these two fragments remain. Earlier studies give the viewer an idea of how the finished work would have appeared. This was the first time the two pieces had been shown together in the U.S. Examples of fashions in these paintings are provided by day dresses on turntables in the center of the room.
Throughout the exhibit the mirrored backs of some of the cases containing dresses and gowns allow the visitor to enjoy the detail in the back of these fabulous costumes. I was amazed at the condition of these fashions, especially considering their age.
One gallery is focused on women's undergarments. Featured there is a highly erotic work by Henri Gervez. "Rolla", painted in 1878 portrays a woman sprawled seductively on a bed entirely nude. A well positioned bit of the bedsheet covers the area between her legs but all else is bared. A man stands at a window, dressed but with several buttons undone on his shirt. In the poem which inspired the painting the man, from a good family, commits suicide after suffering the shame of a relationship with a courtesan. The painting was removed from the studio during it's initial showing for "indecency". Not because of the naked seductress pictured but because, lying over a chair in the room, her corset and petticoats are shown in the painting.
Near the end of the exhibition is a small room focusing on men's fashion. While providing a handsome silhouette, it seemed, outside of ceremonial military garb, to be invariably black and white and lacked the individuality afforded to women.
One gallery is devoted to fashion illustration from the period. This innovation was a large part of the introduction of the concept of fashion trends to the masses. It propelled fashion forward as the industry needed to provide new looks and ideas to keep the interest of a now more informed population.
The exhibition ends with the presentation of Seurat's pointillist masterwork "A Sunday on La Grande Jatte", regarded as one of the two most important works in the Art Institute's collection. The painting, in terms of fashion, portrays a range of people from a number of classes. From the wealthy couple out for a stroll to the man in the sleeveless shirt lounging on the grass. Men in military uniform mix with middle class families, one person famously walks a monkey on a leash.
As I leave the museum I stop into one of the libraries to view another small display of fashion illustration and women's magazines from the period. As I head back out onto Michigan Avenue I observe the locals and tourists who swarm the street on this extremely hot afternoon, wondering how the fashion of today would be rendered by the impressionist masters of the past.
Late in the season the dreaded moment finally arrived. Weather forecasters across the region announced the approach of severe heat moving in our direction. Heat advisories were issued and the population panicked as they watched the severe weather conditions advance toward them. Along with the heat and humidity came flies,their sharp, stinging bites adding to the misery. I took refuge where I have in torrid times past, Chicago's Art Institute.
There are some things I will admit to being old fashioned about, particularly in terms of appropriate dress. For instance, I dress when going to the theatre, almost always donning a blazer or sport jacket, at the very least , for the occasion. I also, when going to a museum, particularly an art museum, wear long pants. On this day I broke one of my own cardinal rules and wore shorts. I attempted to mitigate my fashion faux pas by also sporting an expensive silver bracelet given to me by a vendor at work for attaining a certain level of sales of their product. I quickly ascertained, after arriving at the Art Institute, that I was not the only man, or woman for that matter, who was baring my knees on that extremely hot afternoon.
The special exhibition "Impressionism Fashion and Modernity" explored the depiction and importance of fashions of the day in the works of Impressionists. Apparel and accessories from the era, most culled from the remarkable collection of New York's Metropolitan Museum, were showcased with impressionist works, many on loan from the D'Orsay in Paris, featuring similar fashions.
Before heading upstairs to the main event, I visited one of my favorite spots in the museum. As you pass the grand staircase and go through a set of glass doors there are a series of rooms, accessed through a rather small, nondescript entry, where selections from the Art Institutes expansive collection of works on paper are exhibited. Due to their extremely fragile nature, the pieces are rotated frequently virtually assuring a happy new discovery with each visit.
The works on view that day, exhibited under the title, "Undressed, The Fashion of Privacy" explored nude and partially unclothed figures in works by many of the same artists whose interest in fashion was shown in the main exhibition. Drawings, lithographs, woodcuts and pastels by impressionist masters such as Degas and Renoir graced the walls. The works ranged from studio figure studies to works from the artist's imagination. A grouping of works depicting male bathers by Cezanne and Munch, because of the placement and relationship to one another of the figures pictured, carried subtle homoerotic undertones. One room depicted visions of sex, death and violence. The disturbing quality of these pieces were juxtaposed against the tranquility expressed in the following room which was anchored by a large, charming pastel by Mary Cassatt.
I continued on my way to the main exhibit. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the art I have become familiar with over my many visits to the museum. Grant Wood's "American Gothic", the large, surrealist work that was commissioned for Frank Lloyd Wright's "Falling Water", and Hopper's "Nighthawks". This work by Hopper has the ability to draw me into it's ambiguous story. I can feel the cool night air and hear the silence of the deserted street. When it is on loan I miss it like I would miss a friend who is far away.
The exhibition relates how, with the advent of printed fashion illustration and department stores, information on the current trends of dress of the late 19th century became widespread. The show opens with two small works by Manet and Renoir depicting women reading fashion ads followed in the next room by a large Monet portrait of his mistress complimented by a dress much like the one in the painting displayed in a case nearby. There is an imposing, breathtakingly beautiful Renoir of a woman posing with her two identically dressed children and their family dog. The languid and sensual "Woman with Fans" by Manet pictures a woman lounging on a couch, the fans of the title hanging on the wall behind her. A favorite holding of the Art Institute by Degas, "The Millinery Shop" is shown in a room showcasing hats, gloves and evening slippers in a gallery devoted to the depiction of fashion accessories in impressionists works.
I enter a room with faux grass on the floor and the recorded sounds of birds in the air. Devoted to outdoor scenes it is dominated by two surviving fragments of a monumental, life size work by Monet, "Luncheon on the Grass". Damaged when Monet's landlord stored it in a cellar, Monet giving it to him in lieu of rent, only these two fragments remain. Earlier studies give the viewer an idea of how the finished work would have appeared. This was the first time the two pieces had been shown together in the U.S. Examples of fashions in these paintings are provided by day dresses on turntables in the center of the room.
Throughout the exhibit the mirrored backs of some of the cases containing dresses and gowns allow the visitor to enjoy the detail in the back of these fabulous costumes. I was amazed at the condition of these fashions, especially considering their age.
One gallery is focused on women's undergarments. Featured there is a highly erotic work by Henri Gervez. "Rolla", painted in 1878 portrays a woman sprawled seductively on a bed entirely nude. A well positioned bit of the bedsheet covers the area between her legs but all else is bared. A man stands at a window, dressed but with several buttons undone on his shirt. In the poem which inspired the painting the man, from a good family, commits suicide after suffering the shame of a relationship with a courtesan. The painting was removed from the studio during it's initial showing for "indecency". Not because of the naked seductress pictured but because, lying over a chair in the room, her corset and petticoats are shown in the painting.
Near the end of the exhibition is a small room focusing on men's fashion. While providing a handsome silhouette, it seemed, outside of ceremonial military garb, to be invariably black and white and lacked the individuality afforded to women.
One gallery is devoted to fashion illustration from the period. This innovation was a large part of the introduction of the concept of fashion trends to the masses. It propelled fashion forward as the industry needed to provide new looks and ideas to keep the interest of a now more informed population.
The exhibition ends with the presentation of Seurat's pointillist masterwork "A Sunday on La Grande Jatte", regarded as one of the two most important works in the Art Institute's collection. The painting, in terms of fashion, portrays a range of people from a number of classes. From the wealthy couple out for a stroll to the man in the sleeveless shirt lounging on the grass. Men in military uniform mix with middle class families, one person famously walks a monkey on a leash.
As I leave the museum I stop into one of the libraries to view another small display of fashion illustration and women's magazines from the period. As I head back out onto Michigan Avenue I observe the locals and tourists who swarm the street on this extremely hot afternoon, wondering how the fashion of today would be rendered by the impressionist masters of the past.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Martians and Stuff
For several decades now some of our best minds have spent billions of dollars to determine if Mars was capable, in the distant past, of sustaining life. Was there water, a source of energy and carbon; was Mars, at one time, hospitable to life as we know it on earth?
As I consider this several issues come to mind. First, with all the problems we have on our own planet, such as disease, starvation and environmental degradation, might all that time, ingenuity and money be better spent on our own celestial plane? Earlier in our history the cold war era "race for space" helped stoke patriotism as we competed with the Soviets for the bragging rights of global alpha dog. Those pioneers of space helped develop the network of lightening fast and far reaching satellite communication technology that we enjoy and take for granted today. Although I do recall at the time that some felt that a bit of the romance of the moon had been diminished by the knowledge that we had traveled, walked and hit golf balls there, the initial manned moon landings left those of us who are old enough to remember them with a sense of awe and helped further our understanding of the origins of our own planet. Within the context of their time I understand the reasons for the space exploration of that day. What I do not understand, in the present day, is what useful information can be gleaned from spending an investment of time and intellectual and financial treasure sending a robotic device to a tiny red speck in the night sky.
I am further intrigued by the lack of intellectual creativity evidenced in the minds of those engaged in these pursuits. They seem to not have developed an ability to conceive of life forms unlike our own. They insist that without water, for instance, life cannot exist. They seem to not consider that there may be forms of life that thrive in arid, airless conditions. The toxic atmospheres of other known planets could be tailor made for life that may inhabit them. There may be forms of intelligence, far greater than we can comprehend, that have evolved beyond the need for physical form. Beings of pure thought for instance unencumbered by the limitations of a body.
Man is a creature with a curious mind. He longs for new ideas and a greater understanding of the world and space that surrounds him. This curiosity has led to the development of the satellites which orbit our earth enabling us to communicate with one another with astonishing speed. These accomplishments allow mankind to progress. But perhaps it is time for us to step back. To stop expanding and turn our concerns inward. To return to marveling at the night sky. Perhaps some things are not meant to be understood too deeply. Perhaps some things are meant to remain slightly mysterious. Perhaps it is time to turn our attention, to apply out intellect and wealth to that which will benefit us here.
As I consider this several issues come to mind. First, with all the problems we have on our own planet, such as disease, starvation and environmental degradation, might all that time, ingenuity and money be better spent on our own celestial plane? Earlier in our history the cold war era "race for space" helped stoke patriotism as we competed with the Soviets for the bragging rights of global alpha dog. Those pioneers of space helped develop the network of lightening fast and far reaching satellite communication technology that we enjoy and take for granted today. Although I do recall at the time that some felt that a bit of the romance of the moon had been diminished by the knowledge that we had traveled, walked and hit golf balls there, the initial manned moon landings left those of us who are old enough to remember them with a sense of awe and helped further our understanding of the origins of our own planet. Within the context of their time I understand the reasons for the space exploration of that day. What I do not understand, in the present day, is what useful information can be gleaned from spending an investment of time and intellectual and financial treasure sending a robotic device to a tiny red speck in the night sky.
I am further intrigued by the lack of intellectual creativity evidenced in the minds of those engaged in these pursuits. They seem to not have developed an ability to conceive of life forms unlike our own. They insist that without water, for instance, life cannot exist. They seem to not consider that there may be forms of life that thrive in arid, airless conditions. The toxic atmospheres of other known planets could be tailor made for life that may inhabit them. There may be forms of intelligence, far greater than we can comprehend, that have evolved beyond the need for physical form. Beings of pure thought for instance unencumbered by the limitations of a body.
Man is a creature with a curious mind. He longs for new ideas and a greater understanding of the world and space that surrounds him. This curiosity has led to the development of the satellites which orbit our earth enabling us to communicate with one another with astonishing speed. These accomplishments allow mankind to progress. But perhaps it is time for us to step back. To stop expanding and turn our concerns inward. To return to marveling at the night sky. Perhaps some things are not meant to be understood too deeply. Perhaps some things are meant to remain slightly mysterious. Perhaps it is time to turn our attention, to apply out intellect and wealth to that which will benefit us here.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
The Importance of First Impressions
It is sometimes said that a person's opinion of someone is formed within the first few seconds after meeting them. Although that opinion may change as the acquaintance deepens those first moments can be crucial. This same adage can be applied to places as well as people.
I enjoy visiting museums, both at home and when I travel. They are places of interest and intellectual and emotional enrichment for me. I appreciate not only the collections housed within the institutions but also the skill and artistry of the curators in their presentations of them. Lighting, placement of the objects or artwork and use of space can all greatly enhance the visitors experience. But it is that critical first impression that can often set the mood for what is to follow.
The stately, almost imposing facade of New York City's Metropolitan Museum speaks volumes of what lies within. As one ascends the steps a feeling of almost religious reverence can be experienced. The grandeur of the building sets the mood for the grandeur of the priceless riches inside.
In my own beloved Chicago the Art Institute has for years wrapped the visitor in a warm, midwestern embrace from the moment you set eyes on it. Lions bearing a blue green patina of age and the elements, occasionally adorned with Chicago Bears helmets, Cubs regalia or evergreen holiday wreaths, sit on either side of the wide staircase that ascends from Michigan Avenue. Passing through two sets of glass doors brings you into the classically designed entry hall. A grand staircase leads up to the second floor galleries. The space imparts an immediate sense of history. A sense that this building, with it impressive holdings, is a place of stature and importance. The welcoming staff provides the warmth and friendliness that is one of the hallmarks of my hometown.
Several years ago a new wing was added to the museum, as the enormity of it's collection had outgrow it's original home. The wing, designed by architect Renzo Piano, is accessed by an entrance around the corner from the museum's grand Michigan Avenue entrance. Instead of going up a flight of stairs, one goes down a short flight. Beyond this building's glass doors is a large, spare, sunlit space, a fitting introduction to the modern works the wing was built to house. A floating staircase off to one side, which adds to the airy feeling of the space, leads to the galleries. Louvered ceilings provide natural light inside the galleries. Windows afford exquisite views of the park across the street with it's Frank Gehry designed bandshell. The Gehry structure quickly became one of the city's defining symbols.
Chicago's neighbor to the north sports a museum entry that is almost sculptural in nature. Over a glass walled atrium huge movable wings fan out from the buildings rooftop. It gives one the feeling that you are entering a work of art, setting the stage for the experience which awaits you within it's walls.
In Mexico City's Museum of Anthropology a case can be made that the building's design competes with the artifacts in it's collection. In the central courtyard water flows from the top of a stone column to the courtyard floor. Reflecting pools hold aquatic life, small fish and turtles, delighting the children that visit.
In Merida, Mexico the former home of the Museum of Anthropology and History contained a touch of irony. Many of the exhibits relate to the history and customs of the Mayan people, indigenous to the region. The exhibits were housed in the former Governor's Mansion, which could be seen by some as a symbol of the domination, suppression and eventual destruction of the very culture celebrated by the museum.
A failure, in my view, are the I.M. Pei designed glass pyramids in the courtyard of the Louvre in Paris. The attempt to juxtapose the old and new was, for me, odd and jarring. A repository for some of the greatest art in the world deserves an entrance that reflects and respects the grandeur of that art.
There is no standard blueprint for the designs of museums nor should there be. The museum on the campus of the University of California at Berkeley, with it's concrete ramps and open galleries, broke all rules when it was first opened to the public yet is a hugely successful example of a modern, non traditional setting for art and exhibitions. However a sensitivity to the collections should be evident. There should be a respect for and a relationship between collections and the places in which they are housed. In that way the design of the buildings and the art they hold can both be celebrated and enjoyed by the visitor.
I enjoy visiting museums, both at home and when I travel. They are places of interest and intellectual and emotional enrichment for me. I appreciate not only the collections housed within the institutions but also the skill and artistry of the curators in their presentations of them. Lighting, placement of the objects or artwork and use of space can all greatly enhance the visitors experience. But it is that critical first impression that can often set the mood for what is to follow.
The stately, almost imposing facade of New York City's Metropolitan Museum speaks volumes of what lies within. As one ascends the steps a feeling of almost religious reverence can be experienced. The grandeur of the building sets the mood for the grandeur of the priceless riches inside.
In my own beloved Chicago the Art Institute has for years wrapped the visitor in a warm, midwestern embrace from the moment you set eyes on it. Lions bearing a blue green patina of age and the elements, occasionally adorned with Chicago Bears helmets, Cubs regalia or evergreen holiday wreaths, sit on either side of the wide staircase that ascends from Michigan Avenue. Passing through two sets of glass doors brings you into the classically designed entry hall. A grand staircase leads up to the second floor galleries. The space imparts an immediate sense of history. A sense that this building, with it impressive holdings, is a place of stature and importance. The welcoming staff provides the warmth and friendliness that is one of the hallmarks of my hometown.
Several years ago a new wing was added to the museum, as the enormity of it's collection had outgrow it's original home. The wing, designed by architect Renzo Piano, is accessed by an entrance around the corner from the museum's grand Michigan Avenue entrance. Instead of going up a flight of stairs, one goes down a short flight. Beyond this building's glass doors is a large, spare, sunlit space, a fitting introduction to the modern works the wing was built to house. A floating staircase off to one side, which adds to the airy feeling of the space, leads to the galleries. Louvered ceilings provide natural light inside the galleries. Windows afford exquisite views of the park across the street with it's Frank Gehry designed bandshell. The Gehry structure quickly became one of the city's defining symbols.
Chicago's neighbor to the north sports a museum entry that is almost sculptural in nature. Over a glass walled atrium huge movable wings fan out from the buildings rooftop. It gives one the feeling that you are entering a work of art, setting the stage for the experience which awaits you within it's walls.
In Mexico City's Museum of Anthropology a case can be made that the building's design competes with the artifacts in it's collection. In the central courtyard water flows from the top of a stone column to the courtyard floor. Reflecting pools hold aquatic life, small fish and turtles, delighting the children that visit.
In Merida, Mexico the former home of the Museum of Anthropology and History contained a touch of irony. Many of the exhibits relate to the history and customs of the Mayan people, indigenous to the region. The exhibits were housed in the former Governor's Mansion, which could be seen by some as a symbol of the domination, suppression and eventual destruction of the very culture celebrated by the museum.
A failure, in my view, are the I.M. Pei designed glass pyramids in the courtyard of the Louvre in Paris. The attempt to juxtapose the old and new was, for me, odd and jarring. A repository for some of the greatest art in the world deserves an entrance that reflects and respects the grandeur of that art.
There is no standard blueprint for the designs of museums nor should there be. The museum on the campus of the University of California at Berkeley, with it's concrete ramps and open galleries, broke all rules when it was first opened to the public yet is a hugely successful example of a modern, non traditional setting for art and exhibitions. However a sensitivity to the collections should be evident. There should be a respect for and a relationship between collections and the places in which they are housed. In that way the design of the buildings and the art they hold can both be celebrated and enjoyed by the visitor.
Monday, August 26, 2013
"Churchbells Chiming on a Sunday Morn"
When one lives in a city one hears noise. Traffic, televisions blaring through open windows, the revving of motorcycles ridden by men who you sometimes feel are covering up "inadequacies" with the sound of their engines. There are the voices of people, arguing, debating, laughing, sharing their day with one another. Occasionally there are gunshots, occasionally there are sirens, occasionally there are the musical tones of songbirds. Along shorelines there is the sound of water as it meets the land and the squawk of seagulls. And there are churchbells.
I once lived in a neighborhood of Chicago where the bells of the numerous churches in the area rang on Sunday mornings. Although, at the time, I, and many of my friends, were out till the wee hours of Saturday night, we all agreed that we enjoyed the peal of the bells as we lay in bed.
Staying in an apartment in Dayton one weekend, the bells from the church across the street, as I awoke, announced the start of Sunday services. I've heard them ring out over the streets of St. Louis as I waited for a bus one rainy Sunday morning. There is something about the sound of church bells that is soul filling. A sound full, comforting and soothing.
As children, pulling the rope to ring the church bell was a special treat. Sometimes it would take the efforts of more that one of us. At the base of the Tetons my partner rang the outdoor bell of a tiny historic church on a quiet weekday afternoon.. The sound and moment was special and private, shared only by us and the grand, snowcapped mountains in the distance.
Sometimes church bells allow me to ascertain the time without looking at my watch, or my phone. Every 15 minutes an increasingly longer series of chimes until the bells peal out their full chorus followed by rings counting out the hour as it turns. They sound out from the gothic belfry of
the St. Ida's as I walk down Broadway in Chicago. Venerable bells tolled the early afternoon hour as I walked across the grounds of an 18th century mission outside of San Antonio. I hear them in the distance as I lay on the beach where they mingle with the gentle sound of small lake waves breaking on the shore.
In Florence the bells of the Doumo sounded at intermittent, seemingly random intervals. They rang at dusk as we sat on the roof deck of our hotel on my partner's 50th birthday sending a swarm of bats out from the belfry into the early evening sky, repeating an ancient ritual performed countless times in countless places over the centuries.
I once lived in a neighborhood of Chicago where the bells of the numerous churches in the area rang on Sunday mornings. Although, at the time, I, and many of my friends, were out till the wee hours of Saturday night, we all agreed that we enjoyed the peal of the bells as we lay in bed.
Staying in an apartment in Dayton one weekend, the bells from the church across the street, as I awoke, announced the start of Sunday services. I've heard them ring out over the streets of St. Louis as I waited for a bus one rainy Sunday morning. There is something about the sound of church bells that is soul filling. A sound full, comforting and soothing.
As children, pulling the rope to ring the church bell was a special treat. Sometimes it would take the efforts of more that one of us. At the base of the Tetons my partner rang the outdoor bell of a tiny historic church on a quiet weekday afternoon.. The sound and moment was special and private, shared only by us and the grand, snowcapped mountains in the distance.
Sometimes church bells allow me to ascertain the time without looking at my watch, or my phone. Every 15 minutes an increasingly longer series of chimes until the bells peal out their full chorus followed by rings counting out the hour as it turns. They sound out from the gothic belfry of
the St. Ida's as I walk down Broadway in Chicago. Venerable bells tolled the early afternoon hour as I walked across the grounds of an 18th century mission outside of San Antonio. I hear them in the distance as I lay on the beach where they mingle with the gentle sound of small lake waves breaking on the shore.
In Florence the bells of the Doumo sounded at intermittent, seemingly random intervals. They rang at dusk as we sat on the roof deck of our hotel on my partner's 50th birthday sending a swarm of bats out from the belfry into the early evening sky, repeating an ancient ritual performed countless times in countless places over the centuries.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Texas 2013
This was my second visit to Texas. In my first I explored areas in around Houston, as well as Galveston. This time I was able to explore a wider area of this immense state, incidentally the state in which I was born and spent the first 5 years of my life.
In my friends, both the ones I had prior to the trip and the new ones I made while there, I experienced grace and sweetness. In strangers I found a friendliness that somehow seemed only skin deep. It was an attitude that felt deeply guarded. In the Midwest people wear their hearts on the sleeves. In Texas, at least in my experience, they wear them inside, only displaying them when they desire.
For an area that is so hot I found that many buildings are kept almost freakishly cold. I had assumed that the people there would be accustomed to warmth. They seem, however to be in a state of denial of it. A recent documentary I saw mentioned that the rapid growth of sunbelt cities would not have been possible with air conditioning. The people of Texas seem to have taken this and run with it. The spread out nature of these cities, making long commutes the norm and public transit virtually impossible, strains the energy supply and poisons the enviorment. Again, this is in contrast to my home town of Chicago and it's enviormentally friendly mindset. The green nature of my city is evident in the amount of wildlife, raccoons, possums, hares and even the occasional small fox, that exist in my city's parks.
I experienced a dry humor. As we left one small town the billboard outside a church bore the message "He who dies with the most toys is still dead!" I discovered great beauty in the hill country, still largely natural and pristine. Multihued birds flit through indigenous trees designed by nature to endure the sometimes harsh climate of the region. Meadows filled with wildflowers cover the rolling terrain. I've been told that in spring, when the bluebonnets are in bloom filling the fields with their color, is a sight one would find difficult to forget.
I found history, particularly in the areas in and around San Antonio. As I stood in a building 250 years old I pondered the lives of the people, with their own individual histories, that have passed through these walls and stood where I had. I pondered my own life and my own personal history , adding it to those who came before me.
In my friends, both the ones I had prior to the trip and the new ones I made while there, I experienced grace and sweetness. In strangers I found a friendliness that somehow seemed only skin deep. It was an attitude that felt deeply guarded. In the Midwest people wear their hearts on the sleeves. In Texas, at least in my experience, they wear them inside, only displaying them when they desire.
For an area that is so hot I found that many buildings are kept almost freakishly cold. I had assumed that the people there would be accustomed to warmth. They seem, however to be in a state of denial of it. A recent documentary I saw mentioned that the rapid growth of sunbelt cities would not have been possible with air conditioning. The people of Texas seem to have taken this and run with it. The spread out nature of these cities, making long commutes the norm and public transit virtually impossible, strains the energy supply and poisons the enviorment. Again, this is in contrast to my home town of Chicago and it's enviormentally friendly mindset. The green nature of my city is evident in the amount of wildlife, raccoons, possums, hares and even the occasional small fox, that exist in my city's parks.
I experienced a dry humor. As we left one small town the billboard outside a church bore the message "He who dies with the most toys is still dead!" I discovered great beauty in the hill country, still largely natural and pristine. Multihued birds flit through indigenous trees designed by nature to endure the sometimes harsh climate of the region. Meadows filled with wildflowers cover the rolling terrain. I've been told that in spring, when the bluebonnets are in bloom filling the fields with their color, is a sight one would find difficult to forget.
I found history, particularly in the areas in and around San Antonio. As I stood in a building 250 years old I pondered the lives of the people, with their own individual histories, that have passed through these walls and stood where I had. I pondered my own life and my own personal history , adding it to those who came before me.
San Antonio 2013 - A City of Contrasts
San Antonio is a city of contrasts. Venerable buildings stand next to modern ones. Poor people, some appear to be desperately so, walk along side well heeled tourists and businessmen. Both extremes seem to be invisible to the other. The cool tree shaded oasis of the riverwalk contrasts with the sun baked streets above it. A block boasting a magnificent theatre marquee and beautifully restored late 19th and early 20th century office buildings and hotels, is followed by a homeless man, his tattered possessions lying around him, sitting in a park in the intense Texas heat.
In the King Williams historic district tidy Victorian cottages sit next to grand Italianate mansions. Across the street resides a pre war bungalow, it's porch sagging and paint peeling. Loving, respectful restoration abuts neglect and decay. A forms a juxtaposition of eras, architectural styles and uneven wealth. On the porch of one well kept 19th century cottage a young, skinny, shirtless punk, complete with mohawk and tattoos stands playing an acid green electric guitar, his large golden lab sitting faithfully beside him. One mansion is on sale for $1.5 million, a bungalow nearby is listed at $220,000.
Located near the center of the city are the Spanish Governors home and the cities main Cathedral, both dating from the 18th century. The Cathedral is the oldest "Cathedral Sanctuary" in the U.S. This specificity seemed odd, however I could find no explanation for the seemingly overly precise nature of the description. In the simple, spare interior of the cathedral faith takes precedent over ostentatious ornamentation. It allows worshipers to concentrate on the their spiritual health and relationship with God undistracted by the trappings of the structure itself. It is a reverent space designed for quiet contemplation. The Spanish governors home, closed the day I visited, is a small, unpretentious one story hacienda. There is a 19th century brick courthouse in the same area. I failed to notice, until it was pointed out by my partner as I was showing him pictures of the trip, the phallic nature of it's torpedo shaped turret.
Outside of the city 6 missions were constructed in the 18th century. We visited two of these. The first was a fortified compound. Around a large grassy area, where workshops once stood, are rows of cells where the indigenous people who built the Cathedral were housed. The imposing main building, like many of the buildings in the region, is constructed of native limestone. The outside was originally c plastered and then painted to appear as if it was covered in tile. A small section of the painted plaster surface remains allowing one to imagine what it would have looked like. The temperature had soared to 100 degrees yet in the simple interior the air was comfortable due to the thick, solid walls. Ornately carved statues frame the Cathedral doors. Brick buttresses support the brick walls of the large granary. A series of arches juts off the main Cathedral, the remains of the convent housing the priests and nuns. Reconstruction was begun in the mid 19th century then abandoned leaving a half ruined reminder of what once stood there. The ancient bells of the cathedral rang out the early afternoon hour as we explored the grounds. Nuns, their habits fluttering walked past us reminding visitors that, although ancient and historical, these buildings are still functioning houses of worship.
The second mission, a mere 4 miles distant from the first, lacks the defensive walls and outbuildings of the other. It sits at the far end of a grass field. In one corner of the field is a small pit in the ground, once the quarry where much of the stone for the construction of the missions was gathered. This mission complex is the most well preserved of the 6 in the area. The remnants of the paint in the rooms and chapels hint at what once was. A blue sun decorates the center of the ceiling in one small room. In a chapel off to the side of the main Cathedral sanctuary the faded remains of a frescoed crucifix hover above an elaborately carved baptistery.
The beauty and age of the missions stands in contrast to the industrial and in some cases, poor and squalid neighborhoods that surround them As the city grew to encompass the missions which once sat outside of it, it created another contrast in a city full of them.
In the King Williams historic district tidy Victorian cottages sit next to grand Italianate mansions. Across the street resides a pre war bungalow, it's porch sagging and paint peeling. Loving, respectful restoration abuts neglect and decay. A forms a juxtaposition of eras, architectural styles and uneven wealth. On the porch of one well kept 19th century cottage a young, skinny, shirtless punk, complete with mohawk and tattoos stands playing an acid green electric guitar, his large golden lab sitting faithfully beside him. One mansion is on sale for $1.5 million, a bungalow nearby is listed at $220,000.
Located near the center of the city are the Spanish Governors home and the cities main Cathedral, both dating from the 18th century. The Cathedral is the oldest "Cathedral Sanctuary" in the U.S. This specificity seemed odd, however I could find no explanation for the seemingly overly precise nature of the description. In the simple, spare interior of the cathedral faith takes precedent over ostentatious ornamentation. It allows worshipers to concentrate on the their spiritual health and relationship with God undistracted by the trappings of the structure itself. It is a reverent space designed for quiet contemplation. The Spanish governors home, closed the day I visited, is a small, unpretentious one story hacienda. There is a 19th century brick courthouse in the same area. I failed to notice, until it was pointed out by my partner as I was showing him pictures of the trip, the phallic nature of it's torpedo shaped turret.
Outside of the city 6 missions were constructed in the 18th century. We visited two of these. The first was a fortified compound. Around a large grassy area, where workshops once stood, are rows of cells where the indigenous people who built the Cathedral were housed. The imposing main building, like many of the buildings in the region, is constructed of native limestone. The outside was originally c plastered and then painted to appear as if it was covered in tile. A small section of the painted plaster surface remains allowing one to imagine what it would have looked like. The temperature had soared to 100 degrees yet in the simple interior the air was comfortable due to the thick, solid walls. Ornately carved statues frame the Cathedral doors. Brick buttresses support the brick walls of the large granary. A series of arches juts off the main Cathedral, the remains of the convent housing the priests and nuns. Reconstruction was begun in the mid 19th century then abandoned leaving a half ruined reminder of what once stood there. The ancient bells of the cathedral rang out the early afternoon hour as we explored the grounds. Nuns, their habits fluttering walked past us reminding visitors that, although ancient and historical, these buildings are still functioning houses of worship.
The second mission, a mere 4 miles distant from the first, lacks the defensive walls and outbuildings of the other. It sits at the far end of a grass field. In one corner of the field is a small pit in the ground, once the quarry where much of the stone for the construction of the missions was gathered. This mission complex is the most well preserved of the 6 in the area. The remnants of the paint in the rooms and chapels hint at what once was. A blue sun decorates the center of the ceiling in one small room. In a chapel off to the side of the main Cathedral sanctuary the faded remains of a frescoed crucifix hover above an elaborately carved baptistery.
The beauty and age of the missions stands in contrast to the industrial and in some cases, poor and squalid neighborhoods that surround them As the city grew to encompass the missions which once sat outside of it, it created another contrast in a city full of them.
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