Retroblogging: Chicago Trip 2012, Art Institute

Art Institute of Chicago, January 2012

 What? Really? You know, sometimes I just don't "get" modern/contemporary "art."

 Kari more closely examines the "art"

 and follows the directions. What a good art patron!

Of course, then we had to schlep that rolled up piece of "art" all over Chicago and the trains.

Felix Gonzalez-Torres
American, born Cuba, 1957–1996

"Untitled" (Silver Beach), 1990

Offset print on paper, endless copies
50.8 x 66.4 x 58.7 cm (20 in. at ideal height x 26 in. x 23 in.)
Through prior bequest of Marguerita S. Ritman, through prior gift of Lucille E. and Joseph L. Block; Sara Szold and Marjorie and Louis Susman Funds, 2005.19

© The Felix Gonzalez-Torres Foundation. 

Check back here to see when this interactive piece of art will be back on display.

Retroblogging: Chicago Trip 2012, Art Institute

Art Institute of Chicago, January 2012

Leslie G. Bolling
American, 1898-1958

Sister Tuesday, 1934

Painted poplar
h: 33 cm (13 in.)
front: "Sister Tuesday"
back: "L.G. Bolling/3-10-34"
Through prior acquisition of the George F. Harding Collection; restricted gift of Charles C. Haffner III, 2009.582

For more information, click here. 

Retroblogging: Chicago Trip 2012, Art Institute

Art Institute of Chicago, January 2012

Thomas Schutte
German, born 1954

Bronze Woman No. 17, 2006

Bronze and steel
204 x 125 x 250 cm
Through prior gifts or bequests of Leo S. Guthman, Fowler McCormick, Albert A. Robin, Marguerita S. Ritman, Emily Crane Chadbourne, Florence S. McCormick, and Judith Neisser; restricted gift of Per Skarstedt; 20th Century Purchase and Robert and Marlene Baumgarten funds, 2011.293

© 2006 Thomas Schütte.

She's so fierce. You should see the whole piece ... 

Sadly, she doesn't seem to be on display right now, but check back, via here.

Retroblogging: Chicago Trip 2012, Art Institute

Art Institute of Chicago, January 2012

Arnold Rönnebeck
American, born Germany, 1885-1947

London Wedding, c. 1924

Bronze
35.6 x 15.2 x 15.9 cm (14 x 6 x 6 1/4 in.)
Signed: A. RONNEBECK Sc (second step edge)
Marked: KUNST-FOUNDRY N.Y. (rear top base)
Roger and J. Peter McCormick Endowments, 2004.490

For more information, click here.

Home Sweet (Dreams) Home

Tonight I’ll go to sleep in my childhood bedroom, probably for one of the very last times.

I walked in, dropped my many bags and cares down, and just sighed deeply – inhaling the distinctive smell of "home" -- one that has welcomed me in since the summer of 1981. I can almost feel the house sighing with, and embracing, me. 

I’m so comfortable in this oddly shaped room, with its lack of right angles, its slanted creaking wooden floors, and nooks, crannies, dings and dents. There’s the wall where my bed was placed; where my brother and I used to tap out messages to each other in our own code. There are the four large windows where I looked out on my corner of the world, out over the treetops where I imagined I saw mythical creatures. Windows that let in fresh air and so much sun-, street-, and moonlight, so I could read after the official “light’s out.” There is the tiny closet, a vintage, period-appropriate feature of the house, which still managed to house a teenager’s growing wardrobe – 1980’s shoulder-pads and all. Over there is the corner where a bookshelf housed not only my burgeoning library, but where my childhood toys gave way to tokens from friends and high school beaus, and then, in turn, gave way college catalogs that helped shaped my future. 

These memories are overlaid by fading snapshots of other scenes. While my eyes take in the current neutral stripe of the wallpaper, I still can almost feel the roses of the vintage raised velvet pink and white pattern that faded to beige and disintegrated with age while I grew up. Another long blink replaces my remembered view of a utilitarian fold-out table with older memories of the hours spent at my childhood writing desk in one spot in the room, and then just as quickly flickers to other, later memories of my grandfather’s desk tucked behind the door -- my mother’s bill-paying spot. If I turn too fast, out of the corner of my eye, I can almost see and hear the ghosts of childhood slumber parties just there, over there -- where now resides the fold-out couch I’m not-quite-looking forward to laying these “mature” bones down upon.

This lovely room, the largest of the bedrooms on the second floor, “straight ahead at the top of the stairs; don’t forget to duck” served so many functions. After my first two years of college, it began to house more of the family. One brother temporarily claimed it as his own, before he too was out of the house and on to new adventures. Then it served as my father’s office, as he needed a private sanctuary to counsel his flock and deal with all of the administrative work inherent in decades of church service. It was the gathering spot, above the football fray, for many a riotous Thanksgiving gathering, where women of many generations sat and gossiped. It became a guest room at holidays and breaks, Dad’s computer and computer-part equipment room, Mom’s storage room, a filing room, and my landing pad – always a safe haven to come home to – for any of its wandering former occupants.

The house is essentially empty now. The furniture that remains does so that the building is not totally vacant. (Or, in the instance of this massive fold-out couch, because it was so difficult to get it in, that it’s someone else’s problem to get out.) But it’s not really empty.

Throughout the house, but most especially in this room where I spent so many formative years, if I close my eyes and listen closely – I can hear the walls, windows, boards, and beams creaking back an echo of all the love and laughter and antics of my family and our friends. This place is a part of us, of who we were, of who we became, of who we are still becoming. We may have left, but in a sense, we will still remain. I know this place will always have a piece of my heart, even though I didn’t live here nearly as long as my parents. Despite that, our time here left an imprint – on us, and on the soul of the building. 

Although I've other trips back here since my parents moved away and we've waited for the next chapter to begin for this heritage house, this weekend is probably the last time I’ll sleep under its roof– and sleep in “my” bedroom. Despite the bittersweet poignancy of this realization, I know I’ll sleep safe and sound, and have sweet dreams, because …

Here?

This place?

There’s just no place like home.

Retroblogging: Chicago Trip 2012, Art Institute

Art Institute of Chicago, January 2012

TAKEN FROM HERE TO WHERE IT CAME FROM AND TAKEN TO A PLACE AND USED IN SUCH A MANNER THAT IT CAN ONLY REMAIN AS A REPRESENTATION OF WHAT IT WAS WHERE IT CAME FROM, 1980

Vinyl letters on wall
56 x 137 cm (22 x 54 in.), installed
Gift of Coosje Van Bruggen and Claes Oldenburg, 1982.402

© Lawrence Weiner

More here: http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/107069

Retroblogging: Chicago Trip 2012, Art Institute

I am so far behind on blogging on things, thanks to the business/busy-ness of my life, that I STILL haven't blogged about my epic Mid-Western/Chicago trip in January to see Kari and her Krew. So I'm just going to have to do things out of order.

We're going to focus on the Art Institute outing with Kari for a while, and highlight some of the works that jumped out at me for one reason or another. Where ever possible I've tried to get the information from the Art Institute's website so I can remember who made the work and learn more about it. It's in no particular period/acquisition/importance order. I'm just going to post as they come up, though some of the more macabre *might* show up around Halloween. Just 'cause.

The Art Institute of Chicago Main Entrance, c. January 2012

My gal Kari, also c. January 2012! (in the bathroom, sorry about that!)

We wandered, we talked, we pondered, we poked, we pretended, we pretensed. It was super fun, although by mid-afternoon our back hurt from all the stuff we were carrying and our legs/feet hurt too. I documented ... So I'm not in the photos ... Cause I'm smart like that!

Vincent van Gogh
Dutch, 1853-1890

The Bedroom, 1889

Oil on canvas
29 x 36 5/8 in. (73.6 x 92.3 cm)
Helen Birch Bartlett Memorial Collection, 1926.417

Edward Hopper
American, 1882–1967

Nighthawks
1942
Oil on canvas
84.1 x 152.4 cm (33 1/8 x 60 in.)
s.l.r. Edward Hopper
Friends of American Art Collection, 1942.51

Frank Lloyd Wright
American, 1867-1959
Avery Coonley Playhouse: Triptych Window, 1912
Clear and colored leaded glass in oak frames
Center panel: 35 1/4 x 43 in. (89.5 x 109.2 cm)
Two side panels: 36 x 7 3/4 in. (91.4 x 19.7 cm) (each)
Restricted gift of Dr. and Mrs. Edwin J. DeCosta and the Walter E. Heller Foundation, 1986.88
© 2012 Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

Pierre-Auguste Renoir
French, 1841-1919

Woman at the Piano, 1875/76

Oil on canvas
36 5/8 x 29 1/2 in. (93.2 x 74.2 cm)
Inscribed at lower left: Renoir
Mr. and Mrs. Martin A. Ryerson Collection, 1937.1025

Vincent van Gogh
Dutch, 1853-1890

Self-Portrait, 1887

Oil on artist's board, mounted on cradled panel
16 1/8 x 13 1/4 in. (41 x 32.5 cm)
Joseph Winterbotham Collection, 1954.326
Unknown 20,

Claude Monet
French, 1840-1926

Houses of Parliament, London, 1900–01

Oil on canvas
31 7/8 x 36 1/4 in. (81 x 92 cm)
Inscribed at lower right: Claude Monet
Mr. and Mrs. Martin A. Ryerson Collection, 1933.1164

  
India
Tamil Nadu, Nagapattinam

Buddha Seated in Meditation (Dhyanamudra),
Chola period, c. 12th century
Granite
160.0 x 120.2 x 56.3 cm (63 x 47 5/16 x 22 3/16 in.)
Restricted gift of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Andrew Brown, 1964.556





Felix Gonzalez-Torres
American, born Cuba, 1957–1996
"Untitled" (Golden), 1995
Strands of beads and hanging device
Dimensions vary with installation
The Art Institute of Chicago, through prior gift of Adeline Yates; San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, through prior gifts of J. D. Zellerbach, Gardner Dailey, and an anonymous donor; and the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, through prior gift of Solomon R. Guggenheim; partial gift of Andrea Rosen, in honor of Felix Gonzalez-Torres, 2008.400
© 1995 The Felix Gonzalez-Torres Foundation.

We wanted to stop where and sit and maybe get a cuppa, but these architecturally interesting chairs didn't look comfortable.

And I didn't know how to break in, sneak these out, and then ship them home without getting smashed to bits.




To be continued.