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?

Alicia Frantz

I drive by this memorial installation on Division St. under the Kennedy Expressway viaduct all the time. There are a number of these bikes-as-memorials of bikers killed in traffic on the city streets in Chicago. This one was recently refreshed with a clean coat of white paint and new fabric flowers. The bike, chained to the railing of the walkway under the north side of the viaduct, commemorates the death of Alicia Frantz on June 3, 2005, her 32nd birthday. I presume it was the bike she was riding when she was killed, but I'm not sure. Under her name and dates of birth and death is the epitaph "She heard everyday sounds as music." As I recently strained to catch a picture of the memorial with my cell phone as traffic moved forward into a green light, I flashed on a driver, a once-careless driver, someone like I was in that moment... A driver who has been driving for a long time, and sometimes takes for granted a certain amount of space around his/car that serves as the only buffer for swerves or strays, slow-stops or quick-starts... A driver who neglects to check a blind spot, a driver who sneezes, or a driver with the sun in his/her eyes... Maybe a driver using a cell phone... A driver who somehow, for some reason, for any reason, doesn't see the diminutive bicyclist in the road until she is already fallen. But the driver does hear a sound. Not an everyday sound, not music, but a sound too quickly muffled to be fully comprehended at first. A sound with a startling, pulse-quickening attack, and a silent sustain that never ends. I keep imagining the sound of metal and flesh, bone and asphalt, and the vocal chords of Alicia Frantz vibrating for the last time. The thought of that sound keeps me more alert when driving now, not on the cell phone, glasses always on, blind spots double-checked, blinkers utilized correctly, and buffer space respected. I don't want to be that driver. I don't want to hear that sound.