I love Chicago.
I think the first time I went to Chicago was in the summer of 1987. I could be wrong. But I do know I took a Greyhound bus from Evansville, Indiana to Chicago, and spent my time there with my friend Dennis from high school and my friend Monica from university – both theater geeks like me. Chicago seemed like another planet, bigger than I could comprehend. I saw a terrific dinner theater production of Dream Girls on that trip (“And I am telling you I’m not going…”)
I went again a few years later, to see my friend Carmen and ring in a new year. I will always associate the city with her – no one loved it like she did. She told me tales from that city that could have filled a book – I should have written a book just one what she told me.
I went a third time in 2008 or so, flown over from Germany to speak at a conference. On that trip, Stefan got to see more of the city than me, although we did have a meal at an Italian restaurant that was epic in terms of its food and in terms of the clientele – take me out for a drink and I’ll tell ya about it… you won’t believe it.
So, not counting the many times I’ve transferred flights in Chicago, this was my fourth trip to the windy city. This time, it was primarily to see a friend I worked with in Kabul, Afghanistan, who I hadn’t seen since 2007. But this was the first time I’d been in charge of my own schedule in the city. My goal, other than seeing my friend, was to see the Art Institute because I felt like it was ridiculous that I’m 53 years old and still hadn’t been there. Luckily, another friend drove up from Hendo to see me and she also wanted to go.
It. Was. Amazing. I love art museums. I love the permanent exhibits, I love the special exhibits, I love them all. I love the British Museum, I love the Louvre, I love the Prado, I love the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I love the Speed Museum and now I get to love the Art Institute as well.
Here’s some important advice: go through the side entrance, not the main entrance: the lines are shorter, including at the coat check. Trust me on this.
We toured the American Art collection, European Painting and Sculpture, the Modern and Contemporary Art and the special Warhol exhibit. That took up almost the entire day – I would have loved to have seen more, but there’s a point where you aren’t seeing the art anymore, when your brain is full and it’s time for a coffee.
The highlight for me? Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks. It’s one of my favorite images ever. I love the subject, the composition, the themes and interpretation that’s on the surface and what you can make up about it. It represents so many things to me… more than I can put into a blog.
I also was thrilled to see The Picture of Dorian Gray by Ivan Albright – I audibly gasped when I saw it, because I wasn’t expecting it, and I walked around a corner and, ta da, there it was! I love the movie so much, I love the story so much… did George Sanders look at this painting? Did Angela Lansbury? Sigh…
I loved seeing Paris Street; Rainy Day, by Gustave Caillebotte. I can hear the rain…
All the Degas and Renoir was a thrill – anything by those two of my very favorites.
It was nice to see Grant Wood’s American Gothic and Georges Seurat’s A Sunday on La Grande Jatte, but they weren’t the thrill the others were.
As for the Warhol: most of his stuff doesn’t do it for me, and then, WHAM, I will love something. I love the Mao portrait more than I can put into words – what it represents, or, what I think it represents, I love what it mocks… it’s just stunning. Same for his The Last Supper, covered in military camouflage. I LOVED Ethel Scull 36 Times: Warhol took socialite Scull to a Times Square photo booth and prompted her to take 300 black and white photographs of herself. Warhol told her jokes so her headshots would be animated. The result is a character study – it’s awesome. And I laughed out loud at the Poloroid Hammer & Sickle with Wonder Bread. And I LOVED the Elvis prints, so much that I wish I had looked better, because I would have loved a photo with them (I wasn’t looking good that day – not good enough for Elvis).
But I feel like most of what gets exhibited from Warhol are outtakes – and I’m not fond of outtakes for MOST artists. When I watch “scenes deleted” section of a DVD’s special features, I rarely think “Oh, they should have included that!” They are experiments, they are tryouts, and they are NOT always brilliant. I think half of this could have been left out of the exhibit and we wouldn’t have missed out on anything. I don’t think all of his portraits are brilliant – Liza and Mick Jaggar, yes. Truman Capote or Pele? Meh.
I loved all of Chicago, from the friendly folks at my airport hotel to the gritty L trains full of hilarious people and more stories than I can possibly tell on a blog, to the glitter of the night sky. And I loved Volare restaurant so much, I went twice: the food and the service was oh-so-excellent. They fussed over my friend from Afghanistan when I brought her for her first Italian meal ever, and then recognized me two nights later and were THRILLED to see me.
I would love to have stayed at Cambria on Superior Street, where my colleague from Afghanistan got to stay, but it was almost twice as expensive a night as the place I found out by Midway, so… loved the paintings of Chicago’s own Bill Murray, Harrison Ford and Michael Jordan in the lobby.
I loved the diversity of Chicago, the different American and foreign accents all around me, the hugeness of the city, the African cab drivers, and the FRIENDLINESS of Chicagoans, whether they were born there or immigrated there. It’s glorious.
And a million songs go through my head when I’m in Chicago, everything from Blues Brothers covers to the Chicago song from Victor Victoria. I just so wish I’d visited when Robbie Fulks was doing his infamous weekly shows there – he’s moved to Los Angeles now…
Sweet home, Chicago, indeed. I just wish I hadn’t left my favorite gloves in one of the cabs I took.
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