The week that was

I've been back for a few days now. More than a few, but no matter.

One pays for these trips both coming and going. I knew —and made mention— I was coming home to errands and chores left undone, and I'm happy to say I've secured two cords of wood to be delivered Thursday and at a good price. I have been able to finish spreading the bark mulch I started before I left. (The wife did a good deal of spreading while I was gone.) And yesterday I climbed the ladder up to the very tippy-top of the greenhouse to scrape off the last of the old seam tape. Ah, stretched out over a ladder for several hours... and now my left calf is not cooperating; indeed, it is complaining loudly.

So, it is one of those days, forced into multiples of flexing exercises. And with accounting a symptom of inactivity, I thought it best to deal with some long overdue correspondence.

Yes, the exhibit in Chicago:

Last I wrote we were still waiting to install. All went well and it was joy to work in tandem with my friend and former professor. Once we were in the gallery, we had the show up in about six hours. His part took two; it was mine that required the extra time, partly because of the intricacies of spacing, but mostly because of considering the order of the work so as to make the "read" more available to the viewer.

So, without further ado, here's what it looked like:

The top photo is my part of the room. The second is my friend's work on opposing walls.

I am guessing all of the photos can be enlarged so as to see them/read them better.

In short, the people who own the gallery said it was one of the better shows they've had in some time. They also thought the opening was well-attended. Everyone involved seemed pleased and the response from gallery-goers, old friends and strangers alike, was very complimentary. I have been invited back to do another project at another one of their spaces in two years.

And now to make hay, strike while the iron is hot, etc. But first, this fucking leg...

Time warped

I should be asleep. Or rather, I wouldn't mind if I was asleep right now instead of awake after an hour nap.

I could blame it on the time difference between Chicago and home, for I never go to bed as early as I did tonight, not without similar results. Or, it might be the road noise. There is a major road right outside the window next to my bed and still a fair amount of traffic at the midnight hour.

Still, I must ad to this a certain amount of anticipation that has crept into my mind that takes an extra measure of sedation to allow me distance. Last night was easy. It was my first night in town, and as is the tradition these last few years, my friends made certain I was mighty toasty before I laid my head on a pillow. Tonight, none of us had the wherewithal for a repeat performance, especially on a "school night."

They have been asleep for a couple hours now. And if I sit here for another five hours, I will be able to greet both them and first light.

Oh, and there is a sports bar next door. I just heard two patrons laughing as they got into their vehicle. I suppose there were some big games today...

I am glad to see my friends. The ones I am staying with are very dear friends. I have known the husband for over thirty years, his wife for almost twenty. They put me up every time I come into town. Yet, I also believe in the three-day rule and will move into a small studio apartment nearby tomorrow. It is tucked away on a side street and in the back of a house. It is owned by friends of friends, and so with less at stake, it is there I will stay until I return home next week.

It is a long time to be away from home. And, in truth, had I known when I made my flight reservations I wouldn't be able to install my show until this coming Wednesday evening or Thursday, I would not have come out as early as I did. As busy as I was around the farm before I left, I left chores undone that will be more difficult to finish upon my return, for tonight the wife told me rain is in the extended forecast.

It is sometimes hard to believe that I lived in this city for nearly twenty years. Sure, it has changed quite a bit in the eleven years since we left. I am astonished at the gentrification that has taken hold in some neighborhoods. And frustrated by the lack of parking in what was once my particular hinterland. Wholly aware that back in the day I was very much a part of making it happen now, I still want to stand out on the street and yell at the entitled, self-absorbed hipsters who seem to gloat over living in this 'hood, "I remember when!"

The wife knew this wasn't going to be an easy trip for me, and fittingly bought me a t-shirt to wear for my opening that reads "Village Elder." And believe me, I take some comfort in the light self-mockery wearing it will bring. While I am as comfortable as I can be with the body of work I have brought to exhibit,  and I wouldn't have passed up this opportunity for the world, there is a part of me that would rather be stacking the two cords of firewood I have yet to order at about the same time the first people show up for the opening.

First things first

Here's the press release for my exhibit:

The Suburban will host exhibitions by longtime friends and colleagues Dennis Kowalski and Patrick Collier in September and October. The opening reception is 2-4 pm Sunday, September 21, at The Suburban, 125 N. Harvey Ave. in Oak Park, IL.

Kowalski is a central figure in the history of contemporary art in Chicago. His particular approach to conceptual art in the 1970s set the pace for many younger artists to follow. In recent years his inspiration has come from the impact humans have on their environment, stating, “It is more difficult to maintain a civilization as it is to create one. We appear to lose interest.”

A native Chicagoan, Kowalski grew up across the street from Midway Airport when the area was still very much undeveloped and therefore had a sense of the natural about it. He has watched the city fill in while at the same time disintegrate: “The maintained sections of city come and go, and change location, yet continually deteriorate. For me, there are two symbols that typify this phenomenon: architecture/built structures and nature. Architecture deteriorates as the civilization deteriorates. It is destroyed through war, changing functional ideologies and changing styles.” This ever-changing yet neglected city of Chicago, just like most large cities, does not necessarily allow for a return to nature unaffected by the blight. “Nature has never been abused as it has within the last two hundred years or so. This factor certainly impacts the sustainability of current and future civilizations.” Kowalski’s installation at The Suburban will reflect these ideas.

Collier came to Chicago in 1985 as a writer transitioning into the visual arts. He received his MFA from the University of Illinois at Chicago in 1992. In 1998 he and his wife, Gillian Hearst, opened a gallery, bona fide, on West Chicago Ave. Collier was also a regular contributor to The New Art Examiner. In 2003 the couple moved to a small farm in Oregon and for several years grew organic vegetables for market. Not long after his arrival in Oregon, Collier became involved in the Portland art community and currently writes art criticism for Oregon ArtsWatch. Working in a variety of media, he often incorporates writing and forms suggestive of text into his visual art. Collier states, “A sentence in its expressiveness is not all that much different than a horizon in its expansiveness.” Most recently, he has explored this theme in his photographic work, some of which will be on view at The Suburban.

About The Suburban: The Suburban is an independently run artist exhibition space in Oak Park, IL. We give complete control to the artists in regards to what they choose to produce and exhibit. Thus it's a pro artist and anti curator site. The Suburban is not driven by commercial interests. It is funded within the economy of our household. Its success is not grounded in sales, press or the conventional measures set forth by the international art apparatus, but by the individual criteria set forth by the artists and their exhibitions. In this, The Suburban is more closely aligned with the idea of studio practice than that of the site of distribution.