I suspect Mies had nothing to do with this detail, but it did seem that this little decal (on the window panes that skirt the front of the building) had been around as long as his minimalist chapel, known to the students on the IIT campus as "The God Box". Light was terribly low inside so, given my aversion to using a flash, I came away with only one other usable shot.
Carr Chapel, aka "The God Box"
Mies van der Rohe at IIT
Chicago, IL
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Thursday, April 13, 2006
modern living
“‘Modernism is above all a search for Utopia,’ says Christopher Wilk of the Victoria & Albert Museum, the curator of a new traveling show of designs for kitchens and cars, houses and health spas that were all part of the movement to rebuild a war-ravaged world.
***
“The most surprising and resonant part of this exhibition shows how healthy living became a key tenet of Modernism. Designers looked afresh at the human body and sought to turn it into a healthy machine. Architects believed that sunlight, fresh air and uncluttered living spaces would banish the contagions of tuberculosis and flu. This led to new designs for housing, clinics and sanatoria, all featuring flat roofs, balconies and industrially produced plates of clear glass to let in the light.”
From a write up in this week’s Economist re the exhibit: Modernism: Designing a New World, 1914-1939. Travels to the Germany’s MARTA next, and the Corcoran Gallery of Art in Washington DC after that.
“The most surprising and resonant part of this exhibition shows how healthy living became a key tenet of Modernism. Designers looked afresh at the human body and sought to turn it into a healthy machine. Architects believed that sunlight, fresh air and uncluttered living spaces would banish the contagions of tuberculosis and flu. This led to new designs for housing, clinics and sanatoria, all featuring flat roofs, balconies and industrially produced plates of clear glass to let in the light.”
From a write up in this week’s Economist re the exhibit: Modernism: Designing a New World, 1914-1939. Travels to the Germany’s MARTA next, and the Corcoran Gallery of Art in Washington DC after that.
saying it
So every once in a while I take a shot that I just LOVE and, being the addicted flickrite that I am, I expect that my pals on Flickr are going to be all over it once I post it.
This was one of those shots that, when I shot it, something inside me said YES -- but it met with absolutely no response when I posted it online.
Insert sad sound of deflating disappointment.
But then last night a fellow came along and got it; faved it; commented on it with a simple "wow".
Very satisfying. And it reminded me just how far a well-placed -- even off-handed -- word of praise will go. Currency that costs us very little to give -- other than to notice and to say it out loud -- that deeply enriches the folks who receive it.
This was one of those shots that, when I shot it, something inside me said YES -- but it met with absolutely no response when I posted it online.
Insert sad sound of deflating disappointment.
But then last night a fellow came along and got it; faved it; commented on it with a simple "wow".
Very satisfying. And it reminded me just how far a well-placed -- even off-handed -- word of praise will go. Currency that costs us very little to give -- other than to notice and to say it out loud -- that deeply enriches the folks who receive it.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
E.R.
Unexpected trip to the Emergency Room this morning. Conversation that put me there went something like this:It all ended just fine: All the swelling and throat closing that you see with folks who react violently to peanuts and bee stings moved in super slow motion, so I was never in any real danger. And after my two hour wait in the ER the good doc told me what I could have told that nurse on the tollway: that I needed a dose of Benedryl and I would be just fine. (And while I waited for the Benedryl to kick in I had a pair of plump and luscious bee-stung lips that the glam gals would kill for.)ME TO NURSE WHILE STUCK ON THE ILLINOIS TOLLWAY
Uh, yes, hi: I’m on the last day of a course of antibiotics to treat pneumonia and this morning, well, I developed a slight rash and I’m finding it difficult to swallow – I just want to confirm with you that I should probably skip this last dose – I think this might be an allergic reaction…
NURSE
You need to get to the ER right now.
ME
Oh. Okay. How bad could this get?
NURSE
There’s no way to know. You need to get to the ER right now. And don’t take your last dose.
ME
Okay. Thank You. (click)
CUT TO:
Me stuck in traffic on the Illinois toll way.
Going no where fast.
Oh right: And there’s that little problem where I can no longer take two entire classes of antibiotics because the next time the reaction will be compounded. So I need to avoid getting sick ever again. No worries. (Let’s just hope this pneumonia’s gone for good, or I’m hosed.)
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
sitting pretty
If there's one feature in the American landscape that (in my estimation) takes the prize for the meaningless expenditure of time and money, it's the lawn.I hate 'em. I won't go into it here. But I really. Don't. Like. Lawns.
But I DO really like this kind of lawn feature. Constructed from a cardboard form that's overlaid with soil and grass seed, it sprouts into a grass-covered armchair that becomes One with your yard. Kind of like a chia pet with a purpose.
Get all the details (at a peek at the cardboard form) at Treehugger »
the smell of fear
"Women can unconsciously detect the smell of fear, new research suggests, and the smell improves their performance on mental tasks."
The details of how this was determined are a bit untoward, and involve gauze and sweaty armpits. For the brave, here's the link to the New York Times article »
The details of how this was determined are a bit untoward, and involve gauze and sweaty armpits. For the brave, here's the link to the New York Times article »
kool-aid acid dreams
Was just approached by a publisher about using one of my Quirigua images for a book on the Global History of Architecture -- made my day.
I suspect it's not that easy to find images of the Quirigua site in Guatemala (mine are certainly not my best), possibly because of the difficulty of shooting these buggers -- the stone stelaes were so roughly textured that the imagery appears highly pixelated even though it's not. And did I mention the glare? If I remember right, it was around 102° the day we visited. Whole lotta heat and light.
Here's a shot from that trip last year around this time, with my original notes:
I suspect it's not that easy to find images of the Quirigua site in Guatemala (mine are certainly not my best), possibly because of the difficulty of shooting these buggers -- the stone stelaes were so roughly textured that the imagery appears highly pixelated even though it's not. And did I mention the glare? If I remember right, it was around 102° the day we visited. Whole lotta heat and light.
Here's a shot from that trip last year around this time, with my original notes:
Full-figure Mayan glyph. If Copan is the Mayan Paris then Quirigua is its Haight-Ashbury, circa Summer of Love -- a kaleidoscope of kool-aid acid dreams etched in stone. Outrageous artistry.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
crafty girls
I love crafty girls. I’m not one, but I bask in the goodness of those who knit and perl and stitch things from yarns and felts and stray buttons.
I’ve had a rough year – lost a friend, a pet, a wallet, had a bad round with a respiratory infection that just won’t die. Poured too much of my soul into a soulless job. My crafty girlfriends witnessed all of this, and knew just what was needed.
Two sent scarves. Entirely unique, utterly exquisite, wholly huggable, crafted by their own brilliant hands. Absolutely gorgeous. Another sent a felted stuffed virtual “’twas brillig” to warm the spot of the sweet grey cat that I lost. Cozy, comforting, lovely.
Not a whole lot of crying into our coffee here. Not a lick of pity. Just a notice and a nod and a heartfelt gift of goodness. A “this too will pass; and while we wait, we will craft.”
God bless the crafty girls.
I’ve had a rough year – lost a friend, a pet, a wallet, had a bad round with a respiratory infection that just won’t die. Poured too much of my soul into a soulless job. My crafty girlfriends witnessed all of this, and knew just what was needed.
Two sent scarves. Entirely unique, utterly exquisite, wholly huggable, crafted by their own brilliant hands. Absolutely gorgeous. Another sent a felted stuffed virtual “’twas brillig” to warm the spot of the sweet grey cat that I lost. Cozy, comforting, lovely.
Not a whole lot of crying into our coffee here. Not a lick of pity. Just a notice and a nod and a heartfelt gift of goodness. A “this too will pass; and while we wait, we will craft.”
God bless the crafty girls.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
sound opinions
Are they broadcasting this show outside Chicago? The rock critics from the Sun Times and Trib -- Jim DeRogatis and Greg Kot (and no, I don't know which belongs to which) -- get together every Saturday night on WBEZ to shoot the sh*t about music on a show called Sound Opinions. They often have musicians in the studio who shoot some more and then play some. Nice way to hear about new music.Tonight Jenny Lewis & the Watson Twins' played from their new Rabbit Fur Coat. I'm buying.
It's not clear to me what their reach is at this point -- the show only aired this last December. There's a Podcast if you're curious »
piping hot
Discovered I had boiled the kettle dry -- and fused the lid shut -- in one of those "do you smell something burning?" moments.
Yes: Plastic.
Yes: Plastic.
everyone an oakie
What hadn’t blown away with the dust, my grandmother and her family packed into their family car and moved from Hoisington, Kansas to McCloud, California (in Northern California, near Mt. Shasta) at the tail-end of October in 1935.
My grandmother, who would grow up to become an exacting business person and a successful online trader, kept a journal of their trip. This is one spread from that journal: Day Two, on which travel expenses, including gas, meals and lodging, came to $11.42. Click here to view large »
This entry is of particular interest to me because I did a lot of my growing up in the Denver area and I can readily see the terrain that she maps out in her careful chronology: Aurora, Denver, Broomfield, Eldorado. Dinner in Lafayette. It makes it easier to see it through my grandmother's eyes, leaving everything she'd known for something entirely new, and insisting, as she did, that she wear her entirely impractical new school shoes for the journey.
I'm helping her typeset her memoirs. They should be ready for self-publication within the next month or so.
My grandmother, who would grow up to become an exacting business person and a successful online trader, kept a journal of their trip. This is one spread from that journal: Day Two, on which travel expenses, including gas, meals and lodging, came to $11.42. Click here to view large »
This entry is of particular interest to me because I did a lot of my growing up in the Denver area and I can readily see the terrain that she maps out in her careful chronology: Aurora, Denver, Broomfield, Eldorado. Dinner in Lafayette. It makes it easier to see it through my grandmother's eyes, leaving everything she'd known for something entirely new, and insisting, as she did, that she wear her entirely impractical new school shoes for the journey.
I'm helping her typeset her memoirs. They should be ready for self-publication within the next month or so.
Friday, April 07, 2006
the gang
One of the reasons I absolutely love Flickr: 1) this photo 2) the attached photo notes, and 3) the comment thread that unfolded as a result.
You gotta clickthrough to feel the love »
My apologies and deepest regards to MER.
You gotta clickthrough to feel the love »
My apologies and deepest regards to MER.
view from the throne
Tip for ya if you’re in Chicago anytime soon and you start to flag on the Magnificent Mile: One of the best public washrooms downtown (just outside the Loop) can be found on the second floor of the Bloomingdale’s Home Shop, in the renovated Medinah Temple, tucked away behind a partition on the Eastern wall.
The farthest stall, generously equipped to accommodate wheelchairs, also contains four glorious stained glass windows. And on a fine day, when the light hits just right, a routine pit stop can become transcendent.
Can't speak for the men's room.
The farthest stall, generously equipped to accommodate wheelchairs, also contains four glorious stained glass windows. And on a fine day, when the light hits just right, a routine pit stop can become transcendent.
Can't speak for the men's room.
Bloomingdale’s Home Shop
600 N Wabash Ave Chicago, IL 60610
a busy week doing nothing
This week I learned from the people I love that in their lives:
a baby was born
a middle aged man died
a woman who deserved the job of her dreams, got it
a couple separated
a malignancy was found
a trust was betrayed
three tired travelers were jetlagged
a future was somewhat uncertain
and one pink slip was received.
And this morning, instead of boarding a flight to Philly as originally planned for U Penn's Maya Weekend, I'll stay home and nurse the last bitter goo of pneumonia in my lungs.
Ironically, the papers presented at the conference will focus on Maya Shamans and Spirit Healers. I could use me some of that. (And, yes, I'm trying not to pout.)
a baby was born
a middle aged man died
a woman who deserved the job of her dreams, got it
a couple separated
a malignancy was found
a trust was betrayed
three tired travelers were jetlagged
a future was somewhat uncertain
and one pink slip was received.
And this morning, instead of boarding a flight to Philly as originally planned for U Penn's Maya Weekend, I'll stay home and nurse the last bitter goo of pneumonia in my lungs.
Ironically, the papers presented at the conference will focus on Maya Shamans and Spirit Healers. I could use me some of that. (And, yes, I'm trying not to pout.)
Thursday, April 06, 2006
unhappy events
Sometimes fossils look tortured and twisted if the rock they were in shifted at variable rates over time. Sue, the T Rex at the Field, is a good example -- her skull is a bit of a mess because it was either crushed on deposit or dragged a bit.
But most times the fish fossils look serene, because when doesn’t a fish look serene? Well, when it's this fish.
Clickthrough to see this little guy large. He looks absolutely furious to be caught in whatever catastrophic onslaught just made him fodder for fossilization.
But most times the fish fossils look serene, because when doesn’t a fish look serene? Well, when it's this fish.
Clickthrough to see this little guy large. He looks absolutely furious to be caught in whatever catastrophic onslaught just made him fodder for fossilization.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
écrit sans fin
Was relatively well behaved at this weekend’s annual poster show at the Chicago Cultural Center, backing away from the gi-normous $2,400 Hervé Morvan that I wanted to take home and opting for a much more demure, much more affordable litho by Raymond Savignac for an old Reynolds pen ad. The tagline reads: “Écrit sans fin” Write without end. I can live with that.
The woman who sold it to me was a treasure. Her shop’s in Paris, but I could swear she sounded just like a Brooklyn girl, so I asked her if she was an ex-pat. She said “I suppose so, but I was born an American, and I’ll die an American.” Turns out she and her husband moved to France 40 years ago because they were both in the theatre and “the discrimination here was just so bad – but in Paris, they loved us.” As soon as she said that I realized she was African-American; before that moment I thought vaguely that she reminded of my grandmother, who has always reminded me of Lena Horne (it's that silver screen diva thing) and so maybe somewhere I registered her heritage – as a small tile within a much larger mosaic of this remarkable woman who was unfolding before me.
And it struck me that something that mattered so little to the encounter we were having just then, mattered enough 40 years ago that it drove her out of the country.
Racism is another one of those things that as a white girl in a white world I can never quite get my arms around; it leaves me angry and frustrated to try. It grieved me to meet someone who loves America and couldn’t live here because America didn’t love her. I want to think that it’s different today – but is it? There’s too much bad news that would seem to indicate otherwise. And I’m too far removed, by accident of my own skin tone, to ever really know what other people go through.
Regrettably that's one more big problem that I can’t solve in a hurry -- but I *can* recommend a great poster shop in Paris. I've never been there, but I’m a big fan of the proprietress. No web site, no email, this girl’s old school – you’ll just have to stop by:
The woman who sold it to me was a treasure. Her shop’s in Paris, but I could swear she sounded just like a Brooklyn girl, so I asked her if she was an ex-pat. She said “I suppose so, but I was born an American, and I’ll die an American.” Turns out she and her husband moved to France 40 years ago because they were both in the theatre and “the discrimination here was just so bad – but in Paris, they loved us.” As soon as she said that I realized she was African-American; before that moment I thought vaguely that she reminded of my grandmother, who has always reminded me of Lena Horne (it's that silver screen diva thing) and so maybe somewhere I registered her heritage – as a small tile within a much larger mosaic of this remarkable woman who was unfolding before me.
And it struck me that something that mattered so little to the encounter we were having just then, mattered enough 40 years ago that it drove her out of the country.
Racism is another one of those things that as a white girl in a white world I can never quite get my arms around; it leaves me angry and frustrated to try. It grieved me to meet someone who loves America and couldn’t live here because America didn’t love her. I want to think that it’s different today – but is it? There’s too much bad news that would seem to indicate otherwise. And I’m too far removed, by accident of my own skin tone, to ever really know what other people go through.
Regrettably that's one more big problem that I can’t solve in a hurry -- but I *can* recommend a great poster shop in Paris. I've never been there, but I’m a big fan of the proprietress. No web site, no email, this girl’s old school – you’ll just have to stop by:
Maria Carmen Salis
The Tree of Art
68, rue Georges Lardennois
75019 Paris
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
fever break
fire heals with reproach
in the woods after the blaze
seedlings hesitate
been nursing a fever for six days. finally, finally, it broke.
in the woods after the blaze
seedlings hesitate
been nursing a fever for six days. finally, finally, it broke.
Monday, April 03, 2006
disembarkation
It took me awhile to recover after seeing this image. A detail from The Auschwitz Album: The Story of a Transport, now on display at the Field Museum in Chicago, it was taken by an SS Officer on the day these individuals disembarked at Auschwitz.It was taken before they’ve been selected for the “showers” or as laborers; before they’ve been shaved, stripped of their clothing, depersonalized. They look concerned and wholly human. It appears that the gentleman first in line may be trying to reason with the German officer who roughly handles him by the lapel, or at least lighten the moment with a comment or two.
We know, as spectators to their misfortune, that if they are selected as laborers they may hope to live another three months, in the worst possible conditions. And we know, with the luxury of history, that this is just a brief glimpse into a much larger horror that will continue to unfold for some time yet to come.
And it's likely that they know none of the things that we know about this moment in their lives. The whole exhibit is like this: shots horrifying in their mundanity.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
letter from liam
Member's Night at the Field Museum in Chicago reminds me of Parent's Night when I was in Elementary School. Not only is the whole museum open after hours with special activities, but they open the top floor where the departmental offices are, and it has that cool "we'd be in trouble if we were here any other time" feeling. This letter was posted outside one of the anthropology offices. It reads:
Dear Matt,
Thank you for showing us the paleo-indian artifacts! I hope I can see you again sometime. You'r also my favorite archeologyst in the world! Your lucky you get to work in the Feild Museum. I went to a contest in the feild museum called "dino bee". I was one of the top four winners!
Sincerely,
Liam P. Edward
Saturday, April 01, 2006
management perks
Only chiefs owned fans and fly whisks
Throughout Polynesia, fans and fly whisks belonged to none other than chiefs, and came to symbolize that lofty position. In Samoa, only chiefs of a certain rank -- "talking" chiefs -- owned fly whisks. Known for skill in oratory, a talking chief drove home key points with a flick of a fly whisk.
Display placard in the Chicago Field Museum
Throughout Polynesia, fans and fly whisks belonged to none other than chiefs, and came to symbolize that lofty position. In Samoa, only chiefs of a certain rank -- "talking" chiefs -- owned fly whisks. Known for skill in oratory, a talking chief drove home key points with a flick of a fly whisk.
Display placard in the Chicago Field Museum
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