Sep 2018 – Wendy's Out of Station

A more Classy type of Tourist

Soundtrack: The Sound of White
Missy Higgins

Today was a really good day. Starting with a walk to a Farmer’s Market, finding a Compost Club, sharing a warm drink and ideas in a stimulating space, before heading off to the Art Institute of Chicago where I became a member. So happy. On the bus on the way in I heard a somewhat pretentious man declaring his love for John Singer Sargent, the feature artist of the exhibition I was going to see. The thing this gentlemen declared as breathtaking about Sargent’s work is his use of white. I therefore made a mental note to attend to the use of white in the exhibition.

Those of you who’ve seen my posts about other exhibitions know that rather than reproducing each painting in full I mostly tend to post images of fragments of the works that speak to me. On the way in, my first taste of white was a marble where Zeus turned himself into a goose (swan, but goose works for me) to seduce this Queen of Sparta.

Anyway goose neck distractions resisted, when I eventually entered the Sargent exhibition I aimed to capture what to me is The Sound and smell and taste of White in Sargent’s work, the richness of his palette, the fullness and emptiness of White which must be the hardest tone to paint.

Oh, and before we go to Sargent, one of his influences was a gentleman who should always be indulged for his atmospheric use of white and light, Merci Claude.

Like a freeze-dried rose, you will never be,
What you were, what you were to me in memory.

I deliberately photographed this Street in Venice from the side, adopting a position of leaning on the wall, and like the men allowing this determined young woman to walk on, her thoughts uninterrupted.

I love the strength about these women that Sargent manages to embrace.

If things get real for me down here…

This lovely child was described as an Italian or Spanish beggar girl in Paris. So exposed and real for her down there, begging dressed like a virgin, a world apart from the high class portraits he went on to complete.

And if I listen to, the sound of white,
Sometimes I hear your smile, and breath your light.

That clear white skin, and the incredible detail, all accentuated with tones of white. Sadly the only woman of colour in the exhibition was also the only nude: in coloniality white is pure, black skin is always licentious.

But if I listen to the dark,
You’ll embrace me like a star
Envelope me, envelope me

This incredibly self-possessed woman is not a Sargent, this work is by Giovanni Boldini. Love Miss Clark, Actress.

Sargent did have an en plein air phase which for my taste could be skipped over with one exception.

And of course Claude was an influence on this phase of Sargent’s career too. Love Claude.

Thankfully Sargent returned to portraits and for a while also painted some men, where the detail in the White on White is exquisite.

At that time he also painted this stunning watercolour in Florida.

Of course as I wandered out from Sargent’s White I discovered my favourite elephant god looking on the reflected white of the Chicago skyline, and thought my day complete.

But a trip to any excellent gallery can include an unexpected twist, and in this case I embraced the fact that no one does White like a Japanese artist.

And so coming complete circle with Missy Higgins, I found this incredible work by Japanese artist Mineo Mizuno, whose father died in WWII before the artist was born. Called Water Drop, the gouged empty centre speaks physically to the silent sound of the characters repeated over the surface that mean “null”, “void” or “nothingness”.

My silence solidifies,
Until that hollow void erases you,
Erases you so I can’t feel at all.
But if I never feel again, at least that nothingness
Will end the painful dream, of you and me.
If things get real for me down here, promise to take me to
Before you went away, if only for a day.
If things get real for me down here, promise to take me back to
The tune we played before you went away.

And if I listen to, the sound of white,
Sometimes I hear your smile, and breath your light.
Yeah if I listen to, the sound of white
You’re my mystery. One mystery. My mystery. One mystery..

Being a Tourist

Wednesday we walked and walked and eventually we went to Shedd Aquarium. Aquariums (Aquaria?) have a tough gig when Australians and Kenyans who’ve dived The Reef turn up, and yep, we were a tough audience in the Shedd. The place was crowded with otherwise happy folk, which possibly shows that we don’t know what we’re talking about. But there we were, and somewhat sullen (academic concentration V said), we will have featured in the background of many people’s holiday snaps. We all know I’m not good around hoards of children. In front of some particularly horrid looking eels I had a desire for Harry Potter to arrive and make the glass disappear so they could slide to freedom (and certain death out of the water I know, but I wanted them to be FREE). And I know that Beluga whales are endangered in the wild, but I really felt sad for the female who had been there for 27 years. The less said the better about how we felt when we saw a Dolphin staring over the edge of the infinity pool at the lake so close but so far away.

There was however an art exhibition on around the aquarium that excited our environmental sensibilities. The See Art to Save the Sea exhibition featured marine life made from items that have been salvaged from the sea. I’m often a cynic and I did wonder how the colors could be so clear and the pieces so pristine when they’d been flotsam with someone’s jetsam for so long, but I’m ready to believe the website that says that over 20 tons of trash have been collected from Oregon beaches and made into 70 works of art. Brilliant premise – force people to see an immediate connection between sea creatures and trash (sorry, rubbish). Love it: create art that evokes ocean creatures using the medium of the very rubbish that is making the marine environment uninhabitable for such creatures. Inspired concept and it’s cleaning beaches. Anyway, we walked the full aquarium looking for the art, (wishing it had been better curated so that the purple fish above wasn’t hidden behind a bar selling wine in plastic cups) and otherwise trying to avoid children and the entrapped animal life.

The exhibits just stood there, signage understated. You could assume they had no voice and thoughtlessly disregard them as untidy decorations, but there they stood nonetheless, wordlessly declaring the reckless abuse of this planet by human thoughtlessness. They were the most important things in the building.

I love the idea of making jellyfish that stick and cling and scare and sting humans, out of the plastics that humans recklessly discard and which then strangle so much marine life.

Grumpy Nemo is very angry about plastic water bottles – be Grumpy Nemo and don’t buy plastic bottles.

Chicago, and so the blog begins

Ah dear, after three days pushing myself to the extreme to get settled into Chicago, today the Goddess decided to remind me who’s in charge. Sigh, laugh, take a bite of berry cheesecake from the recently discovered patisserie. Yes, a food related reward for retaining my sense of humour, humility, heat. Dripping hot heat.

Pretty much everything’s going really well. It is so hot! I arrived as did all my luggage and we were all intact: bonus. My apartment was here, the keys mine. It’s smaller than memory exaggerated, but it’s lovely. The building is called The Piccadilly and was constructed 1926-27 as a cinema with a hotel above: the hotel is now converted student accommodation. It looks scrappy from the outside and in the common areas, but there’s a development application for a roof top area with lake views that will make it divine. So there’s no picture of my scrappy building (those shown are in my street), but the view of the lake is from my roof top. My apartment’s exactly what I need. And yes there are Emergency alert buttons on every corner for our safety.

Days 1 to 3 were a total bustle, rushing about with my new friend V in the hot weather. We scoured the paltry local shops, finding or not finding household necessities, making multiple trips because really who would think shower curtains would come with shower hooks? Or that there would be no knives available in any stores? Forks yes, Spoons yes, but no knives. Generally doing tens of thousands of steps, laughing a lot and spending a lot of money, because really if you’re only going to have one piece of furniture until your ship comes in, then it should be a modern designer chair (Gus) with a triumvirate of ottomans. I bought that one morning before meeting V, and had to get chair and ottomans 3 ½ blocks home and into the freight elevator on a borrowed wonky trolley. It was a hoot, people laughing along with me laughing at myself, and two lovely gentlemen offering to help. It was only after everything fell off the trolley for a second time that I regretted my independence and thought that maybe fish do need bicycles.

My ottomans

My new chair

But today nearly brought me undone. Up at 830 for delivery of my bed between 9 and 12. YES I finally have a bed and won’t be sleeping on the floor any longer. Praise deity, that counts as a big tick for the day. While I’d been waiting for the delivery men I’d given up on local shopping and resorted to online, but that big company named for Wonder Woman’s matrilineality didn’t play nicely with my Aussie cards. After the bed delivery dudes left I dashed back down to 53^rd to the internet company who assured me that I have the correct cables and “just” need to connect my modem to a hidden optical cable outlet. Mam there is one, the previous tenant had a connection through us. Mmm. Exhibiting unusual faith I left, and V and I decided to walk to the stationery outlet. Did I mention it’s hot? Yay, I was in heaven, biggest post-its you’ve ever seen, and yes Miss B they have color pens too, and staplers and tape. As I was trying to choose a printer my local phone rang, yep I got one yesterday, big tick. A perfectly innocent delivery man was trying to reach me as he had a delivery at my building for me. No I said, I’m not expecting a delivery today. Oh I re-joined, is it from Australia? I was thinking of the 40 kg I posted myself when I couldn’t close my 3 suitcases. No it’s from right here in the ‘hood, Innocent delivery man said, can you be here by 3? So, dumping printer decisions and dealing with a call from a collection agency looking for the previous holder of my new phone number and a very rude register-person, my post-its, color pens and I dashed into a U-car and raced home. While waiting for Innocent delivery man I re-joined my battle with the modem and the connection in the cupboard. Nope. Modem two, Wendy nil. After 1 hour on the phone to support, thank goodness for that local phone and it’s calls and sms alerts for Kimberley, they’re sending a man. I guess at that time, like a fish with a bicycle, I’ll be sorted.

Some hours after 3, Innocent delivery man had girded his loins and returned with a beautiful floral arrangement for Miss Wendy. I’ve long abjured Miss Wendy as an appellation, but from the mouth of an African American Gentleman of a certain generation exuding calm and bearing flowers it is redeemed. Ah flowers. Thanks Cuz.

Feeling it was safe to leave my apartment I ventured to the building’s laundry. I had spent the time post-modem pre-flowers downloading the relevant laundry app, creating an account and loading it with money to do my washing. The two above photos showing lighting and cornice detail – yep, my laundry circa 1927. Two loads of new sheets and towels on, then my next error, I combined the two wash loads in one drier load.

Naively leaving my damp clothes to tumble intermingled I decided on a walk around the ‘hood. Exercise, air, a quick pop into Bonne Santé for face wash, buy dinner (I’d forgotten lunch and coffee in my rush) then back to close out the evening. Good plan. Exercise, tick. Air, tick. Dinner, tick, a very nice chicken pita 350 cal. I then experimented with a different route home, hmm new patisserie and berry cheesecake, and a (thankfully closed) bagel shop. I returned to my room, had half my cheesecake and decided it was time for bed. Mrs J will have realised the bedding was still in the drier and that I hadn’t thought of that until I was on my way into my nightie. She will have already giggled because this is a regular occurrence for us both, but sadly tonight my drier is on the 2^nd floor and I’m on the 11^th. Throwing myself back into public clothes I headed for the elevator. Hello again, I said to my neighbour who lives between me and the elevator and that I’ve bumped into at least half a dozen times since moving in. Are you stalking me, he asked? Really? Last time I saw you, you were trailing a snotty child, I thought silently. Really? So I’m back in the laundry to retrieve my blue sheets and cream towels… and you guessed it the towels have lost their new fluff and it’s all over my blue sheets. Really!

While I was failing to buy my face wash, I saw to my total astonishment a box of my favourite incense. I last bought it over 10 years ago and only have one box left which is on my slow boat. I hope my boat’s not being further delayed by hurricanes. Sigh. Yet here in a health food shop in Chicago at the end of a day of chaos, is another full box of Darshan. I stopped in the laundry hugging fluff covered sheets and thanked the Goddess in whom I don’t really believe. I’m reminded by another Goddess that I don’t have to do everything in one day. And besides, who can say it was a bad day when I got a bed, flowers, incense and have a vacuum coming that will get its first work out collecting towel fluff.