After turning in not one, not two, but three articles yesterday, I felt justified in blowing off today and taking AJ downtown on what is supposed to be the only nice day of the week.
I had just finished my coffee and was getting up from the breakfast table, where AJ was still pushing his Cheerios around his plate, to get ready to teach water aerobics when AJ asked, “Do you think we could go see the new wing at the Art Institute today?” And how could I refuse?
So I decided to stick my class with the same playlist I’d used last Friday and instead of futzing around with iTunes, I packed lunches and a sketchbook and sharpened a slew of colored pencils. I found the train ticket and the schedule and the cell phone and an change of shorts and underwear for AJ in case he got soaked in a fountain, and headed to class.
Class was great fun. Several people who’d I’d thought to be still on vacation were there and it feels like summer has finally begun. The weather helped, by managing to be close to 70 before we even started.
Afterwards I sprinted home to shower and change and AJ and I made it to the train in plenty of time. We ate our sandwiches on the train (peanut butter and jelly for AJ, cucumber and spinach with cream cheese for me) and played the alphabet game with signs outside the window. The train was packed — standing room only. Most of our car seemed to be full of high school students headed for the beach, all chattering loudly and occasionally singing. AJ rolled is eyes at them.
Once downtown, we hit the pavement on sidewalks packed with lunch-goers (AJ bobs and weaves like a pro — he’s a city kid at heart) and walked to Millennium Park, cutting through Exelon Plaza on the way in order to pay our respects to Chagall’s “Four Seasons.”
We headed up Monroe and into the Park by the Crown Fountains (better known as the “Face Fountains”). AJ looked at them longingly, but I promised him he’d be able to splash later. First we had to find the entrance to the new bridge that extends from the park into the new American wing of the Art Institute.
On our way there, we stopped to admire the wing.
AJ was struck by the way the “U” in “Institute” was written as a “V.” He took a picture.
Later in the day, when we stopped at the old Michigan Avenue sculpture garden (the one where I met you, freshhell), we noticed that the artists’ names, which are engraved all around the top of the original building also use “V” for “U.” It was a nice homage to the old building. (Mr. Spy tells me it’s part of their logo. Funny, I’ve never noticed before.)
We had to back track a bit for the entrance, but it was totally worth it. The views from the bridge were incredible. About halfway across, two girls stopped us and asked us to take their picture. They looked happy to be there. So did everyone, out enjoying the day.
The new wing was gorgeous. I usually let AJ take the lead at the Art Institute, as we both generally have more fun that way, although it means there are some of my favorite things that I haven’t seen in years. The first thing he noticed was the floating staircase just inside the entrance. “I like how ordinary objects look like art,” he said, admiring it. We went first to the photography gallery, which was hot, so we raced through, looking at Diane Arbus’ over our shoulders. We emerged back in the main hall and went to see the Cy Twombly room, which we both liked. We especially liked how he sometimes writes words on his paintings. And we wondered whether his paintings would have been as attractive if they had been small instead of huge. I’m inclined to think not. AJ wasn’t so sure.
Then we found ourselves surrounded by a mix of minimalist and conceptual art. This wing was dominated by the sounds of This video work which was creepy as all get out. Someone’s posted a video of it on UToob, if you want to see for yourself:
Afterwards, we ducked around a corner that we suspected went to a utility closet but which, in fact, turned out to be another installation of all-white paintings on all-white walls. One wall was windows, gently screened, overlooking the park. This room also held the only bench we found in any of the galleries of the new wing (we didn’t visit every room). Lack of benches is, indeed, a criticism. AJ likes to look at art and draw, but without benches, this is difficult unless you like getting stepped on. The white paintings didn’t seem to be copyable, however, so he drew something abstract out of his own head. But in honor of the right room, he spurned the array of colored pencils in the case and picked out plain graphite. My favorite part of the room, though, was watching all the people look in and comment. They quickly became the exhibit. One woman with the perfect pixie haircut, dressed in a black dress with black on black horizontally striped tights and the perfect black art student shoes walked in and gushed, “It’s GORGEOUS.” But most people walked in and said something like, “It’s all white. This is art?” or, my favorite, “I guess I’m a Philistine because this all looks like crap to me.”
When AJ had finished his drawing, he requested that we go back to the main museum and we dove into the impressionist rooms, in search of his favorite painting, Van Gogh’s Room at Arles. On our way, we walked through a gallery of Ellsworth Kelly paintings and a room devoted to Gerhardt Richter. I wasn’t familiar with Richter, but I absolutely fell in love with his “Ice” series. You can see them here (that’s my favorite; the rest of the series follows it). the pictures don’t do justice to the incredible texture and technique, which looked extremely precise yet organic. I’ve been thinking about them all afternoon.
We visited our old friends in the impressionist room, and descended the main staircase (not nude, alas for M. Duchamp), inhaling the lilies from the enormous floral arrangement over the main desk. After a brief and fruitless attempt at finding a Father’s Day present for Mr. Spy in the gift shop, we headed out past the lions to take a spin through the sculpture garden and head back to Millennium Park.
We walked back up past the bridge, past the temporary exhibit of contemporary Chinese sculpture…
…to The Bean in search of an ice cream vendor. We didn’t find one, but we did take some pictures — because how can you not?
(I need a haircut and some less embarrassing sunglasses)
Can you find us?
We descended to the cafe that sits on the rink where we skated this winter and found some softserve, which we ate in the cool dark cafe before heading back up. We investigated the Family Pavilion where some kids were playing with dirt (courtesy of the Garfield Conservatory) and others were building enormous towers of blocks:
We sacked out on the shade with some drinks where AJ practiced his photo-stalker skills on a seagull:
And I took pictures of other things:
Then we decided to cut across the bandshell lawn to go check out the Lurie Garden. But as we crossed, we heard music. A contemporary chamber group was rehearsing on the stage, a piece with tape. I’m not sure what the piece was or who the group was. They were very good, particularly the oboe soloist. The conductor was young, as emphasized by his rock-star leap in the air after a particularly successful moment, an action that resulted in dissolving the ensemble into giggles. AJ and I sat down in the back row of seats for a few minutes and watched before continuing on our mission.
On our way, I took this picture:
And AJ took a better one:
The Lurie garden was beautiful, full of purple flowers and grasses blowing in the breeze.
We stopped to cool our feet in the small canal. It should have been peaceful, but the security guard was shrieking in our ears: “Keep your HANDS OUT OF THE WATER! Don’t STAND up! You can’t STAND IN THE WATER! SIR, DID YOU HEAR WHAT I SAID? KEEP YOUR CHILD OUT OF THE WATER!” The thing that was weird about this is that clearly it was okay for us to put our feet in the water. As AJ and I wandered back toward Michigan Avenue, disgusted, he said, “So let me get this straight. You can put your feet in, but you can’t stand up and you can’t put your hands in? That doesn’t make any sense.” I couldn’t agree with them more. We were wondering why she wasn’t yelling at the pair of ducks floating further down the canal, who very clearly had their WHOLE BODIES in the water.
Very soon, so did AJ. We walked back to the Crown Fountains and after some arguing about whether or not AJ would remove his shirt (I said yes, because I hadn’t brought backup. He said no because the only kids without shirts were wearing bathing suits), he headed in.
Cooler and damper (me too, as I waded in and was splashed by kids tearing by me), we grabbed a cab back to the train and just made the first express train home. It was packed, so AJ and I had to sit across the aisle from each other for the first half of the trip. I was kind of surprised none of the people sitting one to a two-person seat offered to move and let us sit together. I would have done that in a heartbeat if I’d seen a mother coming on with a child. But I guess that’s not done anymore. Pity. AJ was very stressed out about not sitting together, even though we were only a couple of feet away and could easily hand things back and forth. He was clearly relieved when the two women behind us got off and told us to grab their seats. He stared out the window and chattered happily all the way home.
Strangely, while we were eating dinner on the screened porch, two ducks strolled out of the woods and across the lawn, stopping to check out Mr. Spy and he made duck noises at them, which only encouraged him (AJ finally asked him to stop). They meandered around the yard and eventually stood in the street at the end of our driveway quacking at all passers-by. Did they follow us home from the park?
Posted by harri3tspy 
