Along E. 57th Street, Chicago

Our stroll through a small slice of the Hyde Park neighborhood on Sunday took us westward on E. 57th St. for a few blocks, roughly between S. Kenwood Ave. and S. University Ave. As you head west, small businesses and flats give way to university property.

Mostly. This is the 57th St. side of the First Unitarian Church of Chicago.
According to the AIA Guide to Chicago, the church, which was completed in 1931, is a “textbook example of English Perpendicular Gothic design [that] fits in easily with the limestone facades and Gothic ornament of many Hyde Park residences and university buildings.”

Denison B. Hull did the design. “The son of a five-term, Republican U.S. representative, Morton Hull, he grew up in the Hyde Park area that his father represented in the 1920s,” the Chicago Tribune said in his 1988 obit.

“After serving as an officer in World War I, Mr. Hull was graduated from Harvard University. In 1922, he won first prize in an architectural design contest conducted by the university.

Among his noted architectural work, besides the First Unitarian Church, were the restoration of Old Church and the expansion of the historical museum, both in Bennington, Vt…

Mr. Hull was noted also as a scholar of ancient Greek and Greece.”

They don’t make ’em like that anymore.

I’ve never been able to see the inside of First Unitarian. Services are at 10 a.m. Sunday, and if I ever happen to be in Hyde Park then, I will attend one. Not just to see the interior, but also to see whatever it is Unitarians do during their services.

At 1219 E. 57th St. is the Neubauer Family Collegium for Culture and Society. More simply, the Neubauer Collegium.

According to a sign in front, exhibits can be seen inside, but not, as it happens, on Sunday. I wondered just what the organization was, and why I’d never heard of it. To answer the second question first: it was founded only in 2012, and makes its home in the former Meadville-Lombard Seminary Building.

As for what it does, the Neubauer — as best as I can describe it — is a humanities think tank.

UChicago News says: “The Neubauer Collegium will unite scholars in the common pursuit of ideas of grand scale and broad scope, making the University of Chicago a global destination for top scholars engaged in humanistic research while also pioneering efforts to share that research with the public.”

Here’s the view of the Reynolds Club bell tower from near 57th St.
As probably no one calls it: the John J. Mitchell Tower of the Joseph Reynolds Student Clubhouse. These days, the clubhouse, completed in 1903, is a student union. Joseph “Diamond Jo” Reynolds was a Gilded Age steamboat and railroad magnate whose bequest paid for the building; I believe John J. Mitchell was a Chicago banker who seems to have died in a road-rage incident.

As Time reported in 1927:

Near Chicago last week death came to banker John J. Mitchell, and to Mrs. Mitchell. They were driving in an open motor car from their country home at Lake Geneva, Ill., to Chicago for the funeral of their elder daughter’s father-in-law, when their machine met a roadside brawl. Two motor cars, going in opposite directions had tried to pass a hay wagon at the same time. Both cars went into a ditch; the drivers jumped clear and fell to words and fisticuffs. The haywagon stopped as did several machines. Their drivers wanted to see…

To read more, I’d have to subscribe, but I’d rather leave the story at that.

Here’s the view of the tower from inside the quad formed by the Reynolds Club and some other buildings.

Designed by Shepley, Rutan & Coolidge, the building was “derived from St. John’s College at Oxford, and its domestic feeling is enhanced by a stair hall that could have come straight out of an English manor house.”

Also inside — behind the row of windows to the left of the tower, above — is the Charles L. Hutchinson Common, which SRC did as well. Hutchinson, better known as founder of the Art Institute of Chicago, ponied up for building the hall.

It’s also like stepping into Oxford. According to Wiki, anyway, “The Harry Potter film series has used the original hall at Christ Church in each of its films, imparting a tourist interest in its American replicate.[citation needed].”

The Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth

If you want to see artful concrete, Tadao Ando is your man. I came to a fuller appreciation of that when we visited the 659 Wrightwood in Chicago late last year. On exhibit at the 659 were images of the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth, an Ando design that looked pretty artful, too.

As it is.

Modern Art Museum of Fort WorthThat’s the back of the structure, or at least the side facing the water feature and a scattering of outdoor sculptures, and sporting the museum’s distinctive Y beams.

The front, or at least the side facing the parking lot and a public street, isn’t quite as distinctive, but it is handsome in a modernist sort of way.
Modern Art Museum of Fort WorthAndo’s design is apparent not only in the exterior, but in the smooth concrete walls that form parts of the interior.

The Modern is one of a cluster of art museums in Fort Worth that also includes the Amon Carter Museum of American Art (designed by Philip Johnson) and the Kimbell Art Museum (Louis Kahn and Renzo Piano). The last time I spent a day in Fort Worth, early in 1990, I visited both of those. The Modern didn’t exist then, opening only in 2002.

How best to approach a museum whose collection is as eclectic as the Modern? Wander around and look at things. Some works will be interesting, some less so. I try to wander around upper-end grocery stores with the same attitude in mind, if I have time.

The usual modern suspects were all in evidence at the Modern: Picasso, Lichtenstein, Rothko, Andy Warhol, Jackson Pollack, Josef Albers, Henry Moore and more. Worth seeing, but it’s also good to see interesting works by artists that aren’t quite as well known.

Such as “Ladder for Booker T. Washington” by Martin Puryear (1996), a wooden ladder-like structure fixed to the floor that winds its way upward. It doesn’t merely appear to shrink in size as it rises, it actually does. The surrounding Ando-style concrete walls add to the effect.

Or the curious “Camouflage Botticelli (Birth of Venus)” by Alain Jacquet (1963-64), an image of Venus on a cockle shell merged with a Shell gas pump.

For something newer, and more kinetic, there’s “Kind of Blue” by Jenny Holzer (2012), an array of nine LED signs with blue diodes fixed to the floor, emitting blue words that appear to flow along. As far as I could tell, there was no direct reference to the Miles Davis album of that name, but I could easily be wrong.

The video also offers a good look at the tall glass windows that overlook the museum’s shallow water feature — essentially a field of rocks covered by a little water.

Photography is part of the Modern’s collection as well. One wall sported a number of gelatin silver prints of water towers in France, Germany and the U.S. by Bernd and Hilla Becher. How is this tower in Dortmund-Grevel, Germany, anything but a delight?

Near the museum’s front entrance is “Vortex” by Richard Serra (2002), who is best known to us rubes for the notorious “Tilted Arc” in DC.
Vortex Richard SerraOn the other side of the museum, beyond the water feature, we took a look at a familiar figure.

"Conjoined" by Roxy Paine

“Conjoined” by Roxy Paine (2007), done in stainless steel. I remember seeing his work at the National Sculpture Garden and, I believe, at the Denver Art Museum, the Frederik Meijer Gardens and Sculpture Park, the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art, MOMA and the Hirshhorn. Cool. But does lightning strike the Modern piece?

Cable House & “Victory”

Catercorner from the Dreihaus Museum on the Near North Side of Chicago is the headquarters of Dreihaus Capital Management, which is in the Cable House, an 1886-vintage Richardsonian Romanesque mansion.
In the late 19th century, it was probably the biggest thing on the block. Now tall structures look down on it.

“Its distinct peach-pink façade is Kasota stone, a sedimentary rock from the upper Midwest,” the Dreihaus Museum web site says. “That soft, radiant hue, along with steep gables and abundant ornamentation, are distinct contrasts to the sterner gray of the Samuel M. Nickerson Mansion on the opposite corner.”

“Ransom Reed Cable (1834-1909) commissioned the mansion from the firm Cobb & Frost in 1885. Cable… served as president of the Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific Railway for 15 years.”

Cable went the way of all flesh and then, for much of the 20th century, undertakers John Carroll Sons occupied the house. Now modern office space, the interior isn’t in a 19th-century style any more, according to the museum.

Dreihaus Private Equity is in the Cable House’s former carriage house and (I assume) the small office building next to that.

Standing on a column in front of the office building is a sculpture I don’t think I’ve ever noticed before: “Victory” by Daniel Chester French.
Some closeups are here. According to a nearby plaque, it was cast by the D.C. French Roman Bronze Works, NY, in the 1920s from a working model for the First Division Memorial in President’s Park in Washington, DC.

I don’t remember seeing the DC memorial. Maybe I did. But I’ve definitely run across Daniel Chester French before, besides the Lincoln of the Lincoln Memorial: a statue that evokes the 1893 Columbian Exposition here in Chicago and some allegories in Lower Manhattan, among others.

The John B. Murphy Memorial Auditorium

Between the holidays one day, when it was cold but not too cold, I found myself on Chicago’s Near North Side, just west of Michigan Ave. At the corner of N. Wabash Ave. and E. Erie St. is the Driehaus Museum, otherwise known as the Nickerson House at 40 E. Erie St., the Gilded Age palace we visited a year and a half ago.

I didn’t stop for that this time, but headed east from there and immediately saw this structure, which is the Driehaus Museum’s next door neighbor.

I stood thinking for a while. Who was John B. Murphy and why did he rate such an imposing memorial? Why can’t I ever remember seeing this building before? I must have. I must have seen it, but maybe I didn’t see it. A strange lapse.

This is the age of computers in our pockets, so I stood on the sidewalk across the street and looked up John B. Murphy.

Dr. Murphy he was, a prominent Chicago surgeon of the late 19th/early 20th centuries (1857-1916). Among other things, he “was a pioneer in recognizing the symptoms for appendicitis, and he strongly urged immediate removal of the appendix when this symptomatic pattern appeared,” Britannica.com tells me.

Someone had to think of that. Dr. Murphy also clearly had friends with means. The web site of the Murphy Chicago — as the space is now known — says that “ground was broken on the John B. Murphy Memorial Auditorium in 1923, and construction was completed in 1926.

“The Auditorium was built to serve as a tangible memorial to the great Dr. John B. Murphy. Shortly following Dr. Murphy’s death, his friends sought to honor him by forming the John B. Murphy Memorial Association.

“The architects for this gorgeous building were Marshall and Fox. The architectural design of the Auditorium is in the French Renaissance style and is reminiscent of the Chapelle de Notre-Dame de Consolation – the Commemorative Monument to the Bazar de la Charite Fire, located in Paris.”

The American College of Surgeons owned the property from day one and still does. The organization formerly hosted ACS meetings there and used it for surgery education, but in the 21st century, it’s a rentable event space. Weddings are a specialty, apparently.

The Boarded-Up St. Boniface and the Resplendent Holy Trinity

At the intersection of Chicago Ave. and Noble St. in Chicago, you’ll find a word you don’t see that much: natatorium. It’s attached to the Ida Crown Natatorium, a unit of the Chicago Park District.
The facility has an entry in the Atlas Obscura, which notes that “its most arresting feature is the swooping, gently curved ‘barrel shell’ roof that arches over the pool, resembling in the words of one critic ‘a wave of concrete about to crash onto the shore of Chicago Avenue.’

“Mayor Richard J. Daley himself presided over the pool’s dedication in 1961, which was named for one of Chicago’s most prominent philanthropic families.” (Actually, Ida was a member of that family, the grandmother of this wealthy fellow.)

The natatorium is at the south end of the mid-sized Eckhart Park, which is otherwise an open area of playing fields. Rising over the north end of Eckhart Park, along W. Chestnut St., is the shuttered St. Boniface Church, originally built in the early 1900s for a primarily German Catholic congregation. Presumably they didn’t want to share a church with the surrounding Poles, and vice versa. St. Boniface, of course, led the effort to Christianize the Germans and is highly regarded in that country.
Given the Chicago Archdiocese’s history of knocking down splendid Chicago churches because money is tight (and these days, there are other bills to pay), I’m surprised that the shell of St. Boniface, which closed in 1990, is still standing.

This summer, the city approved plans to redevelop the structure into condominiums, including a new building as well as units in what used to be the sanctuary. That’s better than razing the grand old church. To the side of the boarded-up structure, I noticed a construction site in its early stages.

The redevelopment is slated for completion in 2020, but for now St. Boniface still has that abandoned look. Inside, even more.

While standing on Noble St. near the hulking St. Boniface, I noticed another church not far to the north. A large-looking structure. When I was looking around Google Maps a few days ahead of my walk, I hadn’t noticed it. But there it was. The church looked to be about five minutes away, so I went.

Soon I was in front of Holy Trinity Church.
Definitely built for a Polish congregation and still very much a Polish congregation. The church is run by the Society of Christ Fathers for Poles Living Abroad.
Polish Independence Day is the same as Armistice Day, incidentally. Same day, same year. The war was over and everything was up for grabs, including self-determination for formerly partitioned places.

Completed in 1906, Holy Trinity’s design is attributed to a Chicago architect named William Krieg, who (according to one source) mostly did more modest buildings in Chicago — a lot of them. Another source calls Krieg “little known” and a manufacturer of terra cotta as well.

I wasn’t expecting the interior to be quite so ornate. I gawked at the column-free space for a while, looking at the murals covering the walls and ceiling, the stained glass, the statues and other ornaments.
A baptism was in progress, but no mass, so I moved around the sanctuary. Here’s the baptism party in front of the altar.
Later, as I read about the church, I can across this bit of information at Wiki about the space underneath. The article calls it “catacombs,” but that seems like a misnomer. Rather, the space is “beneath the area formerly occupied by the lower church, and consist[s] of a winding path lined with niches containing saintly relics…”

A little like the space for relics found at St. Josaphat in Milwaukee, perhaps. Intriguing.

Holy Innocents Church, Chicago

A block south of Chicago Ave. on N. Armour St. is Holy Innocents Church. Since I was already taking a walk on that part of Chicago Ave. in the city on Gaudete Sunday on a clear and practically warm day for December, I figured I’d take a look.

Holy Innocents is yet another of the city’s grand churches built in the early 20th century for Chicago’s enormous Polish population, and yet another design by Worthmann & Steinbach. Like St. Mary of the Angels, Covenant Presbyterian, First Lutheran of the Trinity and St. Barbara — all in Chicago.
Romanesque Revival with Byzantine elements, the building was completed in 1912 and renovated in 2005.

I arrived not long after the beginning of a mass in Polish. I sat in for part of it. The crowd wasn’t massive, but a number of congregants were scattered around the sizable interior of the church.
Unlike the Latin mass at St. John Cantius last year, I couldn’t pick out any words at all, so unfamiliar am I with the Polish language. No matter.

Besides Polish, the church offers masses in English and Spanish as well, which seems only fitting considering the modern population. Since the service was in progress, I wasn’t able to poke around the church, but I did notice — they’re hard to miss — a shrine devoted to Our Lady of Częstochowa on the left side of the church (as you face the altar) and another devoted to Our Lady of Guadalupe on the right. Also fitting.

Le Corbusier & Ando

The first-ever exhibit at Wrightwood 659 is called Tadao Ando and Le Corbusier: Masters of Architecture. You’d think the more alliterative Masters of Modernism would be the thing, but probably the organizers thought that would be too narrow. And Masters of Human Creativity would be too broad.
The Le Corbusier exhibit was on the second floor. Pictures and paintings and models and a lot to read.
Before I’d only had a casual acquaintance with his output. I didn’t know about his paintings, for instance. Such as Taureau VIII (Bull VIII), 1954.

Looks suspiciously Picassoesque to my unlearned eye, but I don’t doubt Le Corbusier’s creativity. The models for some of his buildings, built and unbuilt, show that well enough.

A house he designed in Argentina, 1949.
An unbuilt governor’s palace for Punjab State in India, 1950-65.
Still, when I looked at some of the models, I couldn’t help being reminded of every ugly modernist box I’ve ever seen, even if his own work — in this case Le Corbusier’s Cité Radieuse in Marseille — had a bit more style.
Remarkably, the building now includes the Hôtel Le Corbusier on two floors, and some color seems to have been added to the exterior. Even more remarkably, according to the Telegraph: “Double rooms from €79 (£67) year-round, an incredibly reasonable rate for the opportunity to sleep within an architectural icon.”

Reasonable all right. If the hotel were in this country, its owner would brag about curating Le Corbusier’s legacy, tout its upscale amenities, and charge three or four times as much.

On floors three and four of Wrightwood 659 were the Ando exhibits. I believe Ando has some advantages over Le Corbusier. He’s alive, for example, and could visit the exhibit when it opened and draw on the walls. This doodle evokes the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth, which he designed.
Also, Ando is a niche practitioner who does marvels in concrete, not someone inspiring a rash of urban renewal destruction and ugliness. Here’s a model of Ando’s Church of the Light near Osaka. I need to visit someday.

A lot of the third floor was taken up with a model of Naoshima, a small island in the Inland Sea that’s large enough to be home to a number of Ando-designed museums, developed over the last few decades.

Know where else I need to visit? Naoshima. There are just too many interesting places in the world.

Wrightwood 659

Saint Clement and a stroll in Chicago’s Lincoln Park neighborhood were nice, but we’d come to the city last Saturday morning to see Wrightwood 659, a new exhibition space designed by architect Tadao Ando. Yuriko has a fondness for him, and not just because he’s Japanese, or even that he’s from Osaka, though those help. A few years ago, she was impressed by the Church of the Light in Ibaraki in Osaka Prefecture, one of his works.

I have a sneaking admiration for him too. The man has a way with concrete.

You wouldn’t know that looking at the front elevation of Wrightwood 659, which happens to be at 659 W. Wrightwood Ave.
The space, opened only in October, is the redevelopment of an ordinary Lincoln Park apartment building dating from the late 1920s.

“The building greets the visitor with a refurbished facade adorned with arches, festoons and other Beaux-Arts details,” Blair Kamin wrote in the Tribune. “But the decorous facade turns out to be a mask. Like a ship in a bottle, the project inserts a new steel and concrete frame inside the brick walls; the frame braces the old walls and turns the original four floors into three. A concrete slab that floats building’s new identity.

“Ando gives us that kind of space in Wrightwood 659’s lobby, an unexpected, four-story burst of space that’s energized by the rhythmic treads and risers of an exposed concrete stair that corkscrews upward. Common brick recycled from the original building’s corridor lines the walls, its mottled texture in counterpoint with finely honed stairs.”

The staircase is signature Ando.
This image is untinted, reflecting the true color of the walls.
I understand that the dog’s name was “Corbusier.”
Gallery space on the second floor, at least until this Saturday, features an exhibit about Le Corbusier, and the third- and fourth-floor galleries are devoted to Ando. The fourth floor west-facing wall, which is floor-to-ceiling glass and steel, has a terrific view of the neighborhood.
The view also looks down on the Ando-designed, 665 W. Wrightwood Ave., a 1998-vintage private house owned by Fred Eychaner, a Chicago media mogul. Eychaner must like Ando’s work, since he was the moving force — and probably most of the money — behind the establishment of Wrightwood 659.

Eychaner is inevitably described as “reclusive.” As we were leaving, I took a look at the front of 665 W. Wrightwood, nestled as it is among ’20s-vintage apartments.
Yep, that wall pretty much says, Go away, leave me alone.

Saint Clement Church, Chicago

At noon on Saturday, we’d just emerged onto the street in the Lincoln Park neighborhood of Chicago when we heard church bells nearby. A robust peeling that commanded our attention.

We soon figured out that they were the bells of Saint Clement. What do the bells of Saint Clement say? Oranges and lemons. A different church, but never mind. I might not know that if I’d never read 1984, but what kind of person would I be if I’d never read 1984?

Naturally, I wanted to see if the church was open. The bells gave us extra incentive to take a look. Saint Clement is at N. Orchard St. and W. Deming Pl.
Not long before, we’d seen the striking dome of the church from a fourth-floor view, more about which later.
Saint Clement in Chicago is 100 years old, originally built by German Catholics. St. Louis architect Thomas Barnett designed the church. He also did the Byzantine-style Cathedral Basilica of St. Louis, and Saint Clement reminded me of that place of worship, though without the mosaics.

The interior was dark when we visited. It must be expensive to light such a large place. Besides, I imagine that most large churches in most places during all the pre-electric centuries were dark most of the time. Here are some pics with all the electric light blazing and it must be quite a sight. But even dark, the place was impressive (and it would be fine to see it lighted by candle).

On an overcast day, the stained glass was well illuminated.

Of course I had to look up St. Clement. I might have learned about him in passing in New Testament class, but that was a good many years ago. Anyway, he was the fourth bishop of Rome and, according to legend, found martyrdom ca. AD 101 in a distinctive way: tossed into the Black Sea tied to an anchor.

That would account for the anchor motif I saw on the exterior of Saint Clement School, which is across the street from the church. If I’d had a bit more light, I might have found that in the church as well.

A Pair of Chicago Cathedrals: Holy Name and St. James

Spent a little while in the city this weekend and had time to visit two major churches. Cathedrals, in fact. Holy Name Cathedral, which is the seat of the Catholic Archdiocese of Chicago, and St. James Cathedral, which is the seat of the Episcopal Diocese of Chicago. They are a block apart and both only a few blocks west of Michigan Ave. on the near North Side.

The Gothic Revival style Holy Name rises over State St.
“After the Great Chicago Fire destroyed both the Cathedral of St. Mary (Madison and Wabash streets) and the Church of the Holy Name (site of the present Cathedral), a new cathedral was needed,” the Chicago Architecture Center says…. “the new Holy Name Cathedral was dedicated in 1875.”

More recently, the roof was restored after a 2009 fire did serious damage to the cathedral.
St. James Cathedral is another Gothic Revival structure, rising above Wabash St. It too is the result of rebuilding.
“A few weeks after the splendidly redesigned church was formally rededicated in 1871, the Great Chicago Fire erupted, leaving nothing but the stone walls, the Civil War Memorial, and the bell tower, whose bells gave warning to the neighborhood of the fire,” the church’s web site says.

Wiki says that the upper reaches of the bell tower are still stained with soot from the Fire, but I didn’t really see it.
Maybe the soot was obscured by trees from my vantage. Anyway, here are some interior shots of St. James.