Chagall’s Four Seasons

Lunch break was long enough on Friday for me to wander over to what’s now known as Chase Tower Plaza, only a few blocks from Daley Plaza in downtown Chicago, and take another look at Marc Chagall’s Four Seasons.

That’s actually a picture I took a few years ago. But the light was about the same, and the mosaic isn’t any different. Some details.
It’s a fine work, though not one of his more famous ones. It’s also late Chagall, since he completed it in 1974. A canopy was added 20 years later, and renovations were done, because by the early 1990s, the Chicago elements had taken a toll.

The Daley Plaza Food Truck Array

On Friday, the court gave us a generous hour and a half for lunch, so I had time to look around the collection of food trucks in downtown Chicago’s Daley Plaza, some of them ‘neath the Chicago Picasso.

The array of trucks was broad. Maybe 15 in all, though I didn’t count.

The one I eventually picked. Had a grilled cheese sandwich a cut above most diners, say, but still a little expensive, I thought.

Jury duty was over late in the afternoon.

It was as if the trucks had never been there.

Jury Duty ’18

Some weeks ago, I got a postcard from the county informing me that I had jury duty. Time: Friday, June 15. Place: the 17th floor of Daley Center in downtown Chicago. So I got up early on Friday, caught a train and arrived ahead of the appointed time, 9:30 a.m.

Jury duty this time around was the same waiting slog it was some years ago. The large waiting room looked exactly the same, with its chairs and tables and a counter behind which the woman in charge of calling the panels spent the day as well. You might call the room design late 20th/early 21st-century nondescript public waiting space.

One small difference from last time: the wireless network name and password were posted on about a half-dozen small signs along the wall. Also, very visible green signs marked the location of electric outlets. There aren’t nearly enough of them.

Five or six panels of maybe 20 people each were called as the day went on, but not mine. I was able to do certain kinds of work: answering emails, deleting debris from my email account and my laptop, downloading picture and audio files, preparing documents to use later — all the sort of things that don’t involve writing. If I’d started a writing project that needed to be finished that day, sure as shooting my panel would have been called.

I also read some Patrick Leigh Fermor’s The Broken Road, the third book about his travels on foot across the now-vanished Europe of the 1930s. That’s a volume I pick up and put down with some regularity. The writing is so erudite and painterly that I read much slower than usual, as if savoring a particularly wonderful piece of chocolate.

Fairly late in the afternoon, the woman behind the counter said, “You’ve done your jury duty. Come collect your checks.” So we did. For our troubles, $17.20, exactly the same as nearly six years ago.

2001 at the Music Box

Just before the screening of 2001: A Space Odyssey at the Music Box Theatre in Chicago at noon on Saturday, one of the theater’s managers spent a few minutes telling us what to expect. Not in terms of content — it was a safe assumption that most (but not all) of the audience had seen the movie sometime in the last 50 years — but that there would be a few minutes of introductory music to a dark screen, and an intermission.

She also mentioned that the Music Box was one of a relatively small number of movie theaters nationwide equipped to screen the new 70 mm print of 2001. Interesting that a neighborhood jewel box of a theater from the 1920s has the latest movie screening tech.

I’d read about the new print. It was made recently from the original negatives, the goal of which wasn’t to clean up the images or digitally goose the movie, but to re-create as closely as possible what an audience would have seen in 1968. When I read about that, I knew I wanted to see it, even though I’ve seen the movie n times over the years.

For one thing, it had been a long time since I’d seen 2001 in a movie theater. I know I did at some point in the early ’70s, when I was old enough to be dropped off at a movie theater, the Broadway Theater in Alamo Heights, but not old enough to drive there myself. I saw it again at some mall theater during high school, after which I read Arthur C. Clarke’s book. In college, I saw it a few more times, at the Vanderbilt student cinema, and I think at an early multiplex in San Antonio during an early ’80s summertime revival.

Since then, I’ve seen it on VHS, DVD and on demand, but not in a theater. I was miffed that TCM didn’t pick it for its big screen series this year for the 50th anniversary, while choosing to show entertaining but lesser moves like Big and Grease. But maybe that’s because the 70 mm version was in the offing elsewhere (including Cannes, where it was first shown not long ago).

More than wanting to see 2001 in a theater, I was intrigued by the idea that it would look like it did 50 years ago. I wasn’t old enough to see it then. I’ll never have the experience of seeing it when it was just a strange new movie — no one ever will again — before it worked its way into the common culture, inspiring volumes of interpretation and giving us an unshakable image of a killer sentient computer with an unctuous voice. Still, this would be as close as I’d get to an original showing.

Ann went with me. Yuriko did not want to go and Lilly had a conflict. The Music Box wasn’t full for the showing, but there was a fair crowd, and not everyone was my age or older. The 70 mm “unrestored” print didn’t disappoint. It also showed, if there was ever any doubt, that 2001‘s special effects were special indeed, from the closest foreground to the furthest background.

Odd how those model spaceships, on actual celluloid, look more real than any GCI spaceships I’ve seen in a digital medium. That observation might be conditioning left over from my youth, or valid for most people, or meaningless all together. I don’t care. That’s what I see.

I noticed a few imperfections in the print: a scratch or two, minor pops of light, that kind of thing. That took me back. Do I remember right that probably as late as the 1980s, movies displayed those kinds of visual ticks?

Speaking of visuals, one new thing that occurred to me during this viewing, and there’s always something new each time, was the visual debt that some of the backgrounds owed to Chesley Bonestell and Luděk Pešek. For instance, a long shot showing the vertical landing of the ship that took Dr. Floyd to the Moon, with unrelated astronauts in spacesuits in the foreground, instantly brought Bonestell to mind — this time. You’d think I’d have noticed that before.

The soundtrack was loud. Except when it wasn’t. At first I thought that was a function of the more advanced sound systems of our time compared with 1968, and so not quite like an original audience would have experienced it. Now I’m not so sure.

“The team also went back to the original six-track soundtrack and faithfully transferred it to the new prints,” the Variety article notes. “ ‘The film is mixed in a very extreme way,’ [director Christopher] Nolan says with awe. ‘There are incredible sonic peaks that are beyond anything anyone would do today.’ ”

Sonic peaks from the get-go, I’d say, as the heavens align to the “Also sprach Zarathustra” fanfare. But for me the most startling sonic peak comes when HAL decides to murder the hibernating astronauts. The cut is from the quiet of the spaceship while Bowman is out retrieving Poole’s body to a sudden, full-screen, flashing COMPUTER MALFUNCTION accompanied by a loud beeping. Louder, I believe, than in other versions of the film. I heard at least one audience member gasp when the scene started.

As well she should have. In my earliest viewings of the movie, that scene disturbed me the most. Sure, you can say HAL went just a little funny in the head because of contradictory programming. Or maybe he was just an evil bastard willing to murder people in their sleep. You know, like some people are. I’m hardly alone in noting that HAL was pretty much the most human member of the crew, for better and definitely worse.

Then again, the sound wasn’t always loud, or even quite intelligible. The more-or-less idle chitchat on the space station at the very beginning of the spoken dialog was a little hard to hear. Everything is intentional in a Kubrick movie, so I suppose that fits with the movie’s well-known lack of exposition.

That was one of the few things I told Ann before the movie. I didn’t want to over-prepare her, but I did say that obtrusive exposition wasn’t one of the movie’s characteristics. Had there been voice-over narration — the original script apparently called for that — I believe that would count as obtrusive, and the movie wouldn’t be regarded as highly. I never did quite like the brief narration at the beginning of Dr. Strangelove, though I can see why it’s there.

Here’s something I never noticed in the soundtrack. Again, during the idle chitchat at the beginning, there’s a background PA voice announcing the following. Twice.

A blue lady’s cashmere sweater has been found in the restaurant. It can be claimed at the manager’s desk.

How did I never hear that before? It popped out at me this time. Maybe that’s a function of the new print. Or maybe it’s just one of those things tucked inside a densely layered work of art that isn’t noticeable early on.

Later, the PA says: Will Mr. Travers please contact the met office.

Whatever that is. Interesting detail, those PA announcements. As if to show that by the end of the 20th century, space travel will have some of the ordinariness of air travel in 1968. Many of the space station details — the customs screening, the restaurant, the phone call — point to that.

Guess that counts as 1968 optimism about the future of space travel. It’s easy to deride that in hindsight, but it wouldn’t have been completely unreasonable at the time. We were well on the way to the Moon, for one thing.

After that would come large space stations, Moon bases, voyages to Mars and rocket engines and spaceships large enough to mount an expedition to Jupiter in 18 months. The idea that extensive space travel would be part of the near future had jumped out of speculative fiction into the realm of serious expectation. Turned out no one wanted to pay for those things, but that was still in the future.

The movie is not, on the other hand, optimistic about future of politics, as you’d expect from Kubrick. That’s another thing that occurred to me for the first time. It’s only hinted at, but the hints are pretty clear. Mainly, the movie assumes that political bureaucracies will be the same prevaricating, susicious entities they’ve long been.

Dr. Floyd is either an important official of the U.S. government, or in a quasi-governmental body, but in any case the lid is slammed down on the discovery of the monolith on the Moon. He offers the official, and secret, reason.

Floyd: I accept the need for absolute secrecy in this and I hope you will too. Now, I’m sure you’re all aware of the extremely grave potential for cultural shock and social disorientation contained in this present situation if the facts were prematurely and suddenly made public without adequate preparation and conditioning. Anyway, this is the view of the council.

Eighteen months later, the monolith is still a secret, even from the astronauts going to investigate where the radio beam pointed. Talk about paranoid secrecy. It’s almost Soviet in its reach.

Floyd expresses the idea, which isn’t unusual in science fiction, that the discovery of extraterrestrials would somehow cause “cultural shock and social disorientation.” Not just science fiction. I seem to remember discussion along those lines — a “fundamental change” in our thinking or some such, if not shock or disorientation — as far back as when the Vikings were digging unsuccessfully for microbes on Mars.

I’m skeptical that any such thing would happen. Say we discovered an alien artifact tomorrow. Something indisputable, except that there would be a group of fools that disputes it anyway. But let’s say most people accepted it for good reasons.

Then what? Assuming the artifact isn’t attacking us or producing pathogens, nothing too dramatic. The reaction would be, how about that. Someone is out there. How interesting. Maybe over the course of decades or centuries, the discovery would change the way we think, but for most people in the here and now, it would be a curiosity. Our lives would go on. Besides, we’ve already been conditioning ourselves, in books and movies and TV and more, to the possibility of aliens for years.

Overall, I’d say 2001 is optimistic, assuming a certain common interpretation of the movie. After much travail — it is an odyssey, after all — mankind does reach for the next level of development, just as the ape-men did.

One more thing I thought about for the first time this time around: Why no redundancy for HAL? The astronauts talk about shutting down HAL and resuming the mission using Earth-based computers, which would certainly be a clunky way to go about it at that distance. And mission control mentions “twin” 9000 series computers at its disposal. So why weren’t at least two HAL-class computers built into the Discovery? In case, you know, one fails in some way, such as trying to go all HAL on the crew.

A nit to pick. After it was over, Ann seemed impressed, and had some questions and observations. She did sleep through some of the movie, though. Especially those long scenes outside the spacecraft.

She may or may not grow to like 2001 as much as I do. It’s an acquired taste, and not for everyone. But I’m glad she went.

More About Infrastructure

At last, a warm day, as days in May should be. The soggy ground is drying up, too. Enough that I could mow the front yard and cut down the standing dandelions. Then sit on the deck with a soft drink. Bzzz. What’s that? The first mosquito of the season. There will be more.

Another item I picked up at the water reclamation plant last weekend: a Metropolitan Water Reclamation District of Greater Chicago calendar.

Each month has a different picture from the 1890s to the 1920s, presumably from the archives of the district, since all of the images are of water-related structures or workers busy building such structures: the Chicago Sanitary and Ship Canal, bridges across the Chicago River, and Cal-Sag Channel and the North Shore Channel.

So I was inspired to made a list of the various kinds of infrastructure that I’ve seen over the years, besides the recent visit to a water reclamation (sewage treatment) plant. It isn’t very long; I need to see more infrastructure, clearly.

The list includes a UPS distribution hub, a control room for an electric substation, an intermodal container facility, a railroad switching yard, a recently completed warehouse, an unfinished airport, a space port, a deep-space relay dish, a drinking water treatment plant, a solvent recycling facility, and a geothermal energy plant. The basement of the greenest building in the country might count, too, as well as green roofs.

I suppose bridges, tunnels and dams count as infrastructure, though if you’re getting that general any road one has been on would be so too, and that’s not particularly distinctive. Still, it’s hard to deny Hoover Dam’s place in the world of infrastructure, even if it’s also a tourist attraction.

If you count factories — and in some sense, they count as the infrastructure of the modern world — that would include seeing places where beer, wine, cars, steel, coins, paper money, chocolate, cheese, refrigerators, bread, jelly beans, and Tabasco Sauce are made.

“Nuclear Energy”

If you visit the Smart Museum of Art at the University of Chicago, you can also easily visit “Nuclear Energy,” which is on a small plaza only about a half a block to the south, on Ellis Ave. (but not part of the museum’s collection). I’d seen it before — I couldn’t say exactly when — but Yuriko and Ann hadn’t. So we took a look.

“Nuclear Energy” is a Henry Moore bronze on the site of the first manmade self-sustaining nuclear chain reaction, the 75th anniversary of which just passed last December 2.

As for the sculpture, it was dedicated exactly 25 years after Chicago-Pile-1 was built and tested on the site, so its 50th anniversary was on December 2 too. Looks good for being out in the Chicago weather for so long, but I suppose it’s maintained.
Abstract, as Henry Moores tend to be, but of course you think of a mushroom cloud. Moore denied that, offering up (I’ve read) some art-speak about a cathedral, but I’m not persuaded. A mushroom cloud is perfectly fitting.

The Smart Museum of Art

I hear that the Northeast got blasted again by late-winter snow and wind. For our part, we did get some fast thick snow for a few minutes today. It was just beginning when I looked out my back door.
Not much all together, but it reached impressive near-whiteout for a short time. Reminded me of a moment in 1980 — I think it was March — when Nashville experienced about five minutes’ of snowy whiteout. I watched it unfold from my fifth-floor dorm window; it was like a giant feather pillow had been opened in the sky. Made an impression on a lad from South Texas.

On Sunday, I tried to time our visit to Hyde Park to see Patience so that we could see something else as well. Namely, the Smart Museum of Art, which is the fine arts museum of the University of Chicago. I couldn’t remember the last time I was there. Sometime in the 2000s, probably.
In full, it’s the David and Alfred Smart Museum of Art. The Smart brothers were big-time publishers once upon a time, whose publications included Esquire and Coronet. Their foundation ponied up funds to establish the museum long after they were dead, with the building going up in the early 1970s. It’s a smaller work by architect Edward Larrabee Barnes, who’s better known for the Dallas Museum of Art, Walker Art Center, and the IBM Building in Manhattan.

It’s a small museum. That’s one of its virtues. Also, no charge to get in. Most importantly, the museum has an interestingly varied collection, including 20th-century American works, European paintings from earlier centuries, even earlier works from China, and some very new items.

A number of works caught my eye. Such as “Still Life #39” by Tom Wesselmann, 1964.
A “Thinker.” Yuriko wondered just how many Thinkers there are. I couldn’t say.
“Untitled” by Norman Lewis, 1947.
“#9 New York 1940” by Charles (Karl Joseph) Biederman, 1940.
In a room by itself, we found “Infinite Cube” by Sir Antony Gormley, 2014.
Wow. The sign described it as “mirrored glass with internak copper wire matrix of 1,000 hand-soldered omnidirectional LED lights.” Sounds labor-intensive. We spent a while admiring the thing, which was a different experience each time you moved closer or further away.
I even got a self-portrait with it — accidentally. Ann’s on the other side, with only her feet visible.
Nice work, Sir Antony.

Folderol for March 1

In the wee first hours of March this year, I woke up to light rain. After I went back to sleep, weird and unsettling dreams came. I don’t know if that was connected with the rain, but I was surprised in the morning to see that a lot of rain fell as I slept, more than I would have thought. Rain that forms large puddles near the back fence.

In Andersonville last weekend, we saw a shop called Cowboys & Astronauts, just off Clark St. I liked the sign advertising the place.
Its web site says: “Cowboys and Astronauts, Chicago’s newest men’s lifestyle and supplies destination, is proud to announce that we have opened our storefront in the heart of Andersonville. We hope that you will swing by and check out our curated blend of apparel, accessories, grooming, travel supplies, home goods, and gifts.”

Curated men’s lifestyle and supplies, eh? I’m resisting the urge to mock that idea. We didn’t go in, so I can’t comment on the goods. But we could see that the store did have a faux space suit on display. I’ll give them that.

Next: eggs. Occasionally, I write on my eggs. Just for grins.

How often do you see a truckload of portable toilets? Of the plastic-molded outdoor cubicle type, loaded and ready go wherever they need to go?

Not often. I think the truck was delivering a few to the park behind the house. Maybe that’s an early sign of spring.

Andersonville Walkabout

Argyle Street is in Uptown on the North Side of Chicago. Just north of Uptown is Edgewater. Technically neither of these are neighborhoods, but “community areas,” a term invented by a committee if I’ve ever heard one.

So it is: the Social Science Research Committee at the University of Chicago defines these districts, and the City of Chicago uses the definitions for various bureaucratic purposes. There are 77 of them in the city, each with exact boundaries.

Neighborhoods are more numerous and tend to be more nebulous, evolving over the decades and sometimes being influenced by real estate salespeople. After it became hip to live there in the late 20th century, for instance, the Lakeview neighborhood of Wrigleyville enjoyed a remarkable growth spurt. Or at least, concoctions like “West Wrigleyville” were invented.

All that is a longish way to introduce the fact that we took a walk around Andersonville on Saturday after lunch near Argyle St. Andersonville is an Edgewater neighborhood, but the walk from Argyle in Uptown to the border with Edgewater, Foster Ave., isn’t a long one, and Andersonville is right to the north of Foster, roughly from Broadway in the east to Ashland in the west.

In fact we’d parked the car north of Foster, in Andersonville. Long experience has taught me that parking is easier to find in Andersonville than Uptown.

That’s because there are a lot of single-family houses in Andersonville. Large apartment buildings too, but still mostly single family along some of the neighborhood streets.Some are more colorful than others. I suspect this one is a two flat, or maybe four.Most of the large single family houses are in the eastern part of Andersonville. Toward the west are larger apartments, such as this one.
I have fond memories of the place, since I lived there from 1987 to 1990. Right behind those windows.
Near the western edge of Andersonville is Clark St., the main shopping street for the neighborhood.
It has what 21st-century urban planners pine for: walkability, independent shops and restaurants (never mind the Starbucks), and some local history. Plus some interesting old buildings.
And commercial murals. Remarkably, the shoe store, which sounds like it should be in San Antonio, is still in business. I remember it from the late ’80s.I’d say it’s hard to plan a neighborhood like this. It just has to happen.

Dim Sum & Banh Mi

After watching a very short early afternoon parade on Argyle St. in Chicago, the thing to do is cross Broadway and eat dim sum at Furama. The laughing buddhas encourage you to do so when you get there.

Been a while since we’d had any dim sum, not sure how long. I also couldn’t remember the first time I’d ever had it. Not that that matters to anyone, even me, but I did wonder. It might have been at Furama more than 30 years ago, during one of my periodic visits to Chicago before I moved there. I know I was familiar with it by the time I had dim sum with friends in Boston on January 1, 1990.

I read in the Tribune that dim sum out of carts is considered passe these days. “When you go out for dim sum now in Chicago, after your server sets down your first pot of tea, you’ll scan other tables to see fellow diners reach with chopsticks into steamer baskets and small plates, then you’ll notice something missing: the carts,” Louisa Chu wrote last year.

“The iconic steaming silver serving carts were once considered signs of traditional dim sum, the Chinese weekend brunch where families gathered to share food and stories. But the customs and meal itself are changing, locally and globally.”

That’s mildly disappointing. The carts are important to the experience. Luckily, Furama still does it that way, and so we enjoyed the various things you get from dim sum carts: ha gow, siu mai, cheong fun, lo mai gai, und so weiter. One thing I’ve never acquired a taste for: fried chicken feet, fung zau.

Afterward, we went a block to the north to Ba Le Sandwich Shop to buy takeout Vietnamese food for later consumption. A dragon, maybe to mark the Tet, greeted customers.

Whenever we’re in the neighborhood, we visit Ba Le for banh mi sandwiches or other good things, since everything there is good, and not very expensive. When we lived in the neighborhood, we used to go there too. One spring day in 1998, when we took a very small Lilly on her first picnic in Lincoln Park, we stopped at Ba Le for provisions.