Shoulder Towers

I spotted this pair of sculptures on my way home from Target recently. They are on opposite sides of South Des Plaines St. on the north side of the Taylor St. intersection. I can't find any information about these on the City of Chicago or State of Illinois websites, even though they are located directly in front of the Illinois Department of Transportation Dan Ryan Field Office building. The two large metal frame-like structures are about 16 feet tall and painted in red oxide primer. They closely echo the lines of the skyline clearly visible to the northeast, particularly the looming Sears Tower. The Sears Tower, famously designed by Skidmore, Owings and Merrill to have smaller floors on the top of the tower and larger floors lower down, appears to consist of nine smaller columns ending at different heights as the bundle of towers rises, creating structural "shoulders." The two smaller tower armatures flanking south loop traffic here each consist of four rectangles of different heights and widths, set at slightly different angles on the brick concrete base, to reserve, as in rotation, a greater volume than their actual material occupies. In fact, from the street corner in front of the sculpture, the skyline recedes in the background, and the relatively small structure of metal lines feels almost monumental. It seems intended to serve as a monument to the well-known skyline vista of Chicago approached from the south on the Dan Ryan Expressway, as it easily recalls this familiar view to mind. However, the form and site of these sculptures reference the less visible infrastructure of the city, both the physical infrastructure--its buildings, bridges, roads and highways--and its geographical infrastructure--the areas of the city without historically significant architecture, neighborhoods where rents are affordable enough for warehouse spaces NOT to be converted into condominiums, where the surface of things is not always shiny stainless steel and clean, unblemished glass. In this city thousands of miles of streets full of houses and businesses of all kinds are visible from observation windows in buildings like the Sears Tower only as a vast, textured grid sprawling out from the designed origin point, 0,0, the epicenter of the city. Appropriately, then, these "shoulder towers" support the city's structure, being all but invisible from far away, blending easily into the texture of the grid. And, even up close, they still allow a view between or even through them to always see the city's looming beacons of business, the heads of industry in the forms of the Sears Tower, the John Hancock building, the Aeon building, The Trump Tower, etc. Those towers, though, all serve as their own monuments to money, the real infrastructure that builds and supports this, or any other city--head, shoulders, knees and toes.

Episodic

This large metal sculpture at the corner of Western and Grand is the 1996 "Episodic" by Josh Garber. It was installed in June, 2000 as a gift to the City of Chicago Public Art Collection from the West Loop Gate Community Organization. A green "City that Works" banner now flies from a light post near the sculpture identifying the area as the Kinzie Industrial Corridor. The neighborhood may have been renamed or reorganized at some point recently, though it doesn't seem to have done much good in terms of retaining lessees, as there are no fewer than four "available" signs for commercial properties within sight of the corner. There are plenty of street lights and traffic light standards at the intersection, which makes the material of the sculpture seem particularly fitting for this kind of location. It is made of reused sections of discarded metal light poles, welded together as a meandering scribble, or "pretzel" on a small island between the main part of Grand and a right turn lane leading to southbound Western Ave. This sculpture was part of a coordinated effort by the City of Chicago Public Art Department, under the directorship of Michael Lash, to use such "concrete triangle" spaces as artistic gateways between neighborhoods, or as "streetscape oas[e]s," in the words of the artist, according to a Sun-Times article the week of its installation. At the time, a local business owner suggested the sculpture should be painted brown with white spots to look even more like a pretzel. It was black at the time of its installation, but was painted light blue shortly afterwards, and with the excusable exception of a few patches of rust, it remains "City of Chicago, Richard M. Daley, Mayor Blue" to this day. The color, like the sculpture, is both institutional and industrial, but still almost cheery, especially on a bleak, cloudy day like today. It proclaims itself urban and tough, but with a slight smile and a wink to let you know it's only acting. Acting like a precise and smoothly running machine, acting like a supporting structure that gives light to the dark streets, acting like a line that is going somewhere, a path with an end. But there is no end, the line meanders but then completes itself, a circuitous entry marker to another neighborhood in the city that works.

Angel of Halsted

I couldn't find any information about these cast concrete relief sculptures at the corner of Halsted St. and Division St. across from the Philips Towing yard. I only just noticed them a couple weeks ago, even though I have driven, biked or walked by the intersection probably a hundred times in the last few years. The first couple times I noticed them I assumed they were remnants of architectural decorative elements, but I couldn't see them very well behind the vines and bushes as I drove past. When I approached them on foot to look more closely, I was surprised by their subject matter and contextual details. The faded paint, crumbling bases, and overgrown state indicate they've been there for some time. They probably date from before the Cabrini Green complex began to be dismantled in favor of the many current "mixed income" townhouses in the area. There are three separate reliefs in front of a green metal fence on the southeast corner of the intersection. The relief on the right depicts an auburn-haired angel kneeling to place a plant into a hole in the ground in front of an overgrown chain-link fence with the Chicago skyline in the background. I wonder if the real fence behind the relief was chain-link when the sculptures were placed here. In the distance I could see the Hancock Tower and the Sears Tower through the fog, along with the rapidly rising Trump Tower, which is obviously missing from this earlier, condensed skyline in the upper right of the sculpture. The angel seems to belong to this site not only because of these background details, but because the plant she is gently lowering almost blends into the surrounding thick bushes and vines, and her gesture imbues this small patch of exposed earth amidst a world of concrete with the power to grow. If the angel on the right instills hope for a greener future, the dog on the left panel seems despondent even amidst the lush overgrowth. He looks to be standing next to a mature version of the plant the angel has planted, with another plant on the smaller panel next to him sprouting out of the ground. The dog is in fact positioned to be facing the angel, though his posture indicates an attitude more resigned to a fate of urban blight than one of spiritual and botanical renewal. He is sitting, slightly hunched, giant ears hanging limp, eyes and nose just downcast enough to project the hangdog air of an animal contained within a cage or fenced enclosure with no opening to freedom. These two panels are counterpoints to one another, and provide a realistic picture of a neighborhood with common urban problems. Is the angel a harbinger of nature's return, or rather of gentrification, planting seeds of Dominick's and Blockbuster and REI? Is the dog forever imprisoned here, or will he escape the concrete jungle, only to be trapped anew elsewhere for a time, then moved again and again in favor of still "greener" pastures? When and where will he find his forever home, and what angel can possibly guide and guard him there?

Lakeshore Sculpture Exhibit

After seeing "You Can't Keep a Down Man Good" I went looking for more of the pieces featured in the Lakeshore Sculpture Exhibit (LSE). I found a few, most of them located on former sites of Lincoln Park Community Art Initiative (LPCAI) public sculpture contest winners. That initiative, begun by 43rd Ward Alderman Vi Daley, lasted about 5 years, from 2002-2006, and exhibited work of 10 artists per year, with a number of repeat exhibitors. Some of the sculptures from the LPCAI are still installed, including this "Renaissance Man" at Burton and Wells by Boban Ilic from the 2003 exhibit. Many of the remaining LPCAI sculptures have been replaced recently by sculptures in the LSE, like this "Water" by Michael Young, sponsored by the Old-Town Triangle Association near Clark and Wisconsin St. at the edge of the park. It's a brushed aluminum sculpture of intertwined flat strips in a curved configuration about 9 feet tall. It resembles the surrounding trees more than it does water, and even calls to mind the way wind might move through gaps in the branches. I'm not sure why it is titled "Water" or why it is placed in this particular place. Many of the LSE sculptures seem plopped down on their respective sites without consideration of the characteristics of the exact location. "Moment" by Thomas Scharff at the corner of Lincoln and Fullerton and "Abduction" by Ron Gard at Wells and Burton are examples of this plop art problem as well. The artists didn't know where/if their sculptures would be displayed when they made them. When the site locations for groups of sculptures are chosen by a contest jury, neighborhood association or alderman's committee it can present problems for the way each sculpture interacts with its space, and the way the public interacts (or doesn't) with a sculpture. Then again, it could make for a more interesting public art, to open up the process (concept> construction> selection> installation> reception) to the public. If the public can actually participate at any point in this process, the sculpture can be more meaningful to that particular public. However, in the case of the LSE this effective perpetuation of the Modernist "plop art" model by parties more interested in conveying a neighborhood's wealth through culture than in truly engaging a public in meaningful art is counterproductive to an effective urban public sculpture, distilling out as it does anything that could potentially be deemed controversial, offensive, dangerous, ugly, or even thought-provoking. What is the purpose of putting these studio sculptures out into the public arena? Is there a way to contextualize a sculpture post-production into an urban environment? Is site-specificity important to our city's neighborhoods, or are chambers of commerce and aldermanic offices more concerned with simply having art displayed IN their districts than having art made FOR their people?

You Can't Keep a Down Man Good

I had a little trouble finding this Lincoln Park sculpture near the corner of Lincoln Park West and Clark St. It's nestled into a little grassy knoll just off the street, with tall trees on three sides. The recent street construction made the sculpture all but invisible, flanked on the only open side as it was by orange barriers and big yellow earth movers. In fact, the orange metal sculpture looked like part of the construction activity: a spare crane arm or piece of metal waiting to be installed underground. In fact, it is but part of a much larger sculpture exhibition. From the blue plaque on the concrete base, I learned it is one of twenty public sculptures on display as part of the Lakeshore Sculpture Exhibit (LSE) sponsored by the Mid-North Neighborhood Association. All the sculptures will be on sale at the conclusion of the exhibition in spring of 2009. Should I assume that money goes back to the private sources from which the funding came? I'll show you more of this exhibition in next week's entry.
A close inspection of the piece found the title inscribed on the base of the metal, "You Can't Keep a Down Man Good." The reversed maxim has an ominous, vaguely threatening implication, especially coming from what by name seems to be a Native American artist. Is Ted Sitting Crow Garner saying that the "Down Man" (oppressed? depressed?) will by necessity (or will) resort to "Bad" (violent? corrupt? self-destructive?) behavior? And what does the orange metal machine-arm-like structure have to do with his statement? Should the rich and the white be wary of the tools of the construction trade as potential instruments of their demise? Will the luxury living units along Chicago's north lakeshore fall to the malicious intent of a bulldozer or a crane, or will their homes, landscaping, roads and signs just continue to be immaculately improved year after year by members of the working class struggling to feed their families? Tell will time.

Tomb Fragments Towers

After learning about the deathly history of south Lincoln Park through the Hidden Truths project, I started looking more closely at the ground, the roads, the trees, and the people in the park. I imagined all sorts of possible resting (and restive) places for bygone Chicagoans. Along one path near N. Clark St. and Wisconsin St. I saw a scattered assortment of very old fragments of stone and concrete. Some still had remnants of decorative carvings, possibly part of a cornice or other adornment to a tomb or monument long since crumbled and forgotten. I wondered if these had just been dug up in a recent lawn improvement or path repaving, or if they had simply been sitting there where I found them for a hundred and fifty years. I wondered how many people like me had passed by them...if any of those people could have been related to the people whose monument these fragments once were. To whom do those rocks belong? I circled back by the rocks on my way home, and on an impulse, stacked them up in two towers, making new memorials to the unknown, unknowable past they lived. The lawn suddenly looked different. It was more peaceful, more settled. I hope more people find meaning now in the short stacks of old rocks as they walk around, breathing in the crisp air of autumn, alive and un-haunted by the ghosts of Lincoln Park. For now.