artist date: the met at the movies

For a long time now, I have fancied myself an "opera-lover," without ever actually having been to the opera. Opera is one of the many passions I imagine myself pursuing one day, the kind of thing that I adore aesthetically, from a complete outsider's perspective, with no actual personal experience to back this up. The only opera I had experienced up until now was a performance of "The Marriage of Figaro" at my small Midwestern liberal arts university many, many years ago, and I hardly remember that performance. But each time I walk past Chicago's Civic Opera House on my commutes into the city, I remind myself of my goal to someday experience an opera there. 

My curiosity is often restricted by my lack of knowledge. The deep-seated desire to know ALL about a certain topic or experience holds me back from actually realizing the dreams themselves. And so my curiosity becomes enslaved to the particular order of discovery which I connect to a given dream. I have long imagined that someday, I would finally read a book about the history of opera, and acquire at least a novice-level of knowledge before daring to experience the opera itself. Someday, I would look up the schedule for a season of Lyric Opera of Chicago performances. Someday, I would research the entire season of operas and pick the one that seemed my favorite. I would listen to the opera highlights and read the libretto thoroughly in preparation for the experience. And finally, one majestic day, I would dress up in my finest and walk through the doors of the Civic Opera House for my very first night at the Opera. It was always going to be glorious. 

This dream has existed for at least twelve years now, since I moved back to Chicago and noticed the grandeur of the historic Opera House, since I heard tourists and society folks discussing this or that performance when I worked downtown. Sometime in the past couple of years, I heard about The Met Opera Live in HD, a program which broadcasts performances from New York's Metropolitan Opera onto movie theater screens across the world. A couple of local theaters are part of this screening experience, and I have noticed little schedule cards at the ticket windows advertising which operas will be playing each season. While this program piqued my interest, I pushed it down as secondary to my Grand Opera Plan, and filed it away as part of the would-be follow-up plan, when I would discover that I loved the Opera as much as I had hoped and develop an insatiable desire for as much opera as possible. 

But this year, I want to work on starting small. My grand-scale dreams are a regular issue for me, as I tend to build ideals up to be so big, so specific, so ordered that I am exhausted before I can even begin to realize them. (If there are any other ENFJ's out there, I know you know exactly what I'm talking about!! And perhaps there are other personality types who struggle with this too?) This is a pitfall that carries over into my writing, too, and one of the most paralyzing behaviors that often blocks me creatively. As I am getting back into my daily routines, and starting this brand-new year, I am trying to keep those words, "start small," at top of mind. Maybe, just maybe, I will actually follow through on some of these dreams this year. 

So I picked up the latest schedule for The Met Opera Live in HD, and thought this would be a really great way for me to start small! I decided to make an artist date of it, which I knew would help me keep my priorities and goals in mind for the experience: inspiration and openness to see where curiosity might lead my inner artist. The next opera scheduled was "Les Troyens" by Hector Berlioz. I was happy to see it was a French opera, since I am a little bit familiar with French language, but I did not allow myself any more "research" than to check my calendar and buy the ticket. The morning of the performance, I double-checked the time and noticed that the opera I had chosen happened to be over FIVE hours long. "Oh well," I thought, "Go big or go home!" 

When I arrived at the theater, the gentleman taking tickets handed me a synopsis page and I joined the small group that had gathered in the theater to await the performance. I settled in my seat, where I enjoyed a perfect view, since the theater wasn't very crowded. And I felt a stirring excitement at the fact that I was finally going to experience something I had anticipated for so long, even as I gave myself permission to be honest if it was something I did not end up loving. As the orchestra began tuning, and the broadcast's host explained the history of the opera we were about to experience, I became giddy and more eager than I had imagined! The broadcast was incredibly well-executed, with added perks of close-up camera angles and behind-the-scenes interviews with the opera's primary performers during each intermission (there were two, as was obviously necessitated by a five-hour performance, hehe). The synopsis, narration during intermissions, and subtitles made it simple to follow. The theater environment combined with excellent broadcast direction and high-quality HD filming truly felt like the next-best-thing to being there in person. My heart soared with the lovely score and breathtaking vocal performances, and I giggled as my fellow audience clapped for the performers who would never hear them. But I understood, because I felt like clapping, too. So much joy, so much pain, such an interesting intersection of music, theater, language, and design: I am truly an opera-lover, at least this particular opera.

I believe that curiosity sparks more curiosity, and that this is a principle gift of creative practice. And while I am still well-below even novice-level in my knowledge of opera, I learned a lot from "Les Troyens." The opera was based on Virgil's Aeneid, and is considered Berlioz's most ambitious work. The composer himself never witnessed a full performance of his work, since the first occasion of its entire performance in one evening, as he had intended, did not occur until 50 years after his death. Due to its length and scale, "Les Troyens" is rarely performed, and can only be performed as intended by certain opera houses. And we were privileged to witness performer Bryan Hymel making his Met debut in the role of Aeneas, which he executed beautifully despite his last-minute substitution into the role in the place of the performer originally cast. 

I am eager to learn more about Berlioz, to hear more of his work, to read the libretto of this opera, to listen to recordings of this amazing work, and to revisit Virgil's Aeneid, which I only read in school in excerpts. More than anything, I am excited to continue my Adventures in Opera, one small step at a time. 

(Learn more about The Met's HD Live performances here!)

artist date: hometown discoveries

This week's artist date was the perfect example of how my creative journey leads me places I never really intended to go. I set out this past weekend to visit the "Riverwalk Fine Art Fair" hosted annually in downtown Naperville by the Naperville Art League. When I worked in downtown Naperville a couple of years ago, I was aware of this art fair taking place each Fall, but never took the time to attend myself. In my decorating adventures, I have come to appreciate fine art more and more. And what better way to stimulate my creative senses than to take in the art of others who are dedicated to their craft? 

The art fair was pretty big, two blocks long and doubled up in some places, but most of the art was not my personal style. It was inspiring to see so many different fine art forms represented, and to see so many people gathered in one place for this reason! But I felt a little deflated as I walked past booth after booth and nothing really caught my fancy. It was a cool day, but nice and sunny, and so I decided to keep exploring a bit and make the most of the trip. The Naperville Riverwalk flanks both sides of the West Branch of the DuPage River, covering an almost two-mile stretch of the river banks. Even though I had worked here for almost two years, I had never walked the whole Riverwalk. So this became the second half of my artist date.

It turned out that the art that inspired me on my artist date was the art of the Riverwalk's landscape itself: so many monuments, sculptures and sights that I had never seen before or failed to appreciate. I had heard of Centennial Beach, but had never grasped what anyone referred to. The Beach is closed this time of year, but it was almost more amazing to see it abandoned, to grasp the enormity of the space. I never saw the paddleboat dock before, and only once before had stopped to observe the Millenium Carillon (a musical bell tower featuring 72 bells, Naperville's carillon ranks among the four largest in the world). I hadn't seen any of the Riverwalk sculptures, or even understood the geography of how the DuPage River winds along. It became an adventure of hometown discoveries. I won't narrate every picture, but you can learn more about the Riverwalk sculptures and history here!

As I observed the anniversary of the September 11th tragedy just a week ago with a heavy, contemplative heart, I did not know how to put my thought into any form. It felt like a gift to discover this monument to those whose lives were lost or changed forever on that day. 

And I was left to contemplate a few mysteries left behind by unknown individuals: a battered, worn Bible left all alone on a bench (who left it there??), and this small monument along the shaded South Bank Riverwalk path, with a lovely message about "what we need." 

artist date: reading garden

A recommendation from our friend, Tanya, in the comments section of my blog, was the first I ever heard of the "Reading Garden" at the Morton Arboretum. This past weekend, the thermometer hovered around seventy degrees. The sun shone brightly overhead as gentle breezes made the tree branches dance wildly and the surface of the pond outside sparkle brilliantly. It was a day to be outdoors! So many hours spent lately with my "bottom in the chair" - it was time to get out and about to enjoy the day. I remembered Tanya's mention of the Reading Garden, and got out the door as quickly as I could.

It was a crowded day at the Arboretum, with a couple of special events taking place and families everywhere walking, climbing, biking, picnicking, and laughing. A whole community sharing one mind: to enjoy the gifts of a waning Summer before it moves along to make way for Fall. It felt a little odd to be alone on such a day, but this is the whole intention of an artist date. I looked at the map of the grounds and set out in pursuit of the May T. Watts Reading Garden, adjacent to the Sterling Morton Library, which I had never noticed before either. I am usually a pretty good map-reader; my mind collects mapping as if creating my own internal GPS of everywhere I've been, laying tracks as I travel new ground, connecting it the best I can with wherever I have been before. But apparently, I was all turned around, and made it partway around Meadow Lake before I even realized I was headed the wrong way. It was such a lovely walk, though, and the chance to see more shining waters, more jumping grasshoppers and so many smiling faces was well worth the delay. 

I finally oriented myself properly with the map, and quickly reached the Library. Once inside, the volunteer at the reception desk pointed me back out the way I had come, towards the parking lot. She said the entrance to the reading garden was on the other side, and that I would come upon it all of a sudden, unexpected, but there it would be. I followed the paths around to the other side of the Library's walls, and she was right - a tiny green sign with gold letters pointed me down a narrow path to an entrance gate in a tall stone wall.

Growing up, some of my favorite books were The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett, everything Anne of Green Gables (and anything else by Lucy Maud Montgomery), and of course the Little House series and  Chronicles of Narnia, too. I lived in the city, surrounded by asphalt, brick, concrete and steel. We did not have a real backyard to play in until I was nine years old. So Nature has always seemed a wondrous and magical place to me, and the moments I get to spend outside of buildings and the "civilized" world tend to be really poignant and memorable for me. What I love about the Morton Arboretum is how fully the space succeeds in removing you from an awareness of the cities and suburbs surrounding, providing a green, lush, natural haven so much larger than I ever realized from driving by.

Something else I loved about all those books was the magic gift of small, secret spaces. Spaces all one's own, spaces where anything could take place in the story and you would absolutely believe it. Spaces so small and secret that only a child could enter them, and certainly only a child could bring their magical powers to life. As I entered the May T. Watts Reading Garden, a veritable gasp escaped my lips in the form of a high-pitched squeak: it was just like one of the spaces in my childhood books. I quickly noted no one else was in the garden, and felt relief and joy that this moment could remain my own. The high stone walls wrap all the way around the garden, with just a few breaks where a tall, iron fence takes over. There is a tiny, round fountain-pond in the center, ringed with stones to echo the surrounding walls.  

I absolutely adore the inscription on the fountain stone, recognizing "John and Sally Bloom" for their dedicated cultivation of this little reading garden. Was their name really  "Bloom?" I hope it was! Two different climbing vines, sturdy as full trees, adorn either side of the Library wall that forms one edge of the garden space.

And two seating areas grace either side of the tiny fountain-pond, so that even if there were others in the garden, the layout of the space provides solitude and silence. I picked this space under this lovely arbor, to sit in the shade and read my book.

I spent the most wonderful couple of hours sitting and reading in the lovely garden - what an absolute indulgence and treat! I know I will return here many more times for reading dates or just to sit and muse and let my creative inspiration wander. On my walk back to my car, I passed a bed planted with these "Issai Purple Beautyberry" bushes. Don't they seem as if they belong in one of my dreamy favorite childhood books? They were the most magical sight at the end of my beautiful hours in the Reading Garden.

For info on the Morton Arboretum, click here! And thank you again SO much to Tanya, for the wonderful recommendation!!! I hope you will get to visit the Reading Garden yourself sometime very soon... 

artist date: milk and honey cafe

Last week's artist date led me on a lovely, simple exploration of some city blocks I haven't visited for many years. I commute into Chicago once or twice a week, on average,  to spend time with friends, for shopping errands, or for weekend adventures with Ryan. Lately, I have been in the city more often, for this reason and that, and despite the drive (or train ride, depending on the day), I have loved the chance to spend more days in the midst of all the buzz and swarm of city life. But I've also been feeling a bit of wanderlust. My time in the city has been so focused, busy doing this or that, and it had been weeks since I just spent a day exploring. So I set aside my next artist date to wander the city. 

I boarded my train with no specific destination in mind, but my brain got working on that right away as we raced eastward on the tracks. I had recently driven by a little cafe called "Milk and Honey" on Division, and thought it might be a lovely place to eat my artist date lunch! From the Loop, I took the Blue Line to Damen, so I could enjoy a scenic walk past Wicker Park itself, the neighborhood's namesake. The day could not have been more gorgeous - sunny, breezy, mild - and the neighborhood streets were quiet and serene on the weekday afternoon. After a mile or so, I reached my destination: Milk and Honey Cafe is definitely added to my list of city favorites! 

I enjoyed a delicious Avocado and Smoked Gouda sandwich and side salad for lunch, and then set out to explore the neighborhood. When I was young, growing up in Chicago, this part of Wicker Park was not "hipster" at all, or even very developed- I had a friend who lived around here, and it was a really rough area. As I walked East on Division, I came to Wolcott Avenue, and remembered that this intersection marks the area where my grandmother was raised in the 1920s and 30s, and where my grandparents lived when they were first married in the 40s. It was so surreal to walk these streets now, so many years later, aware of how this neighborhood has changed over time, from my grandmother's youth, to my own childhood, and now to the present, when I was led here for other reasons, oblivious to these coincidences until that very minute. With every step, I felt the significance of so many layers of my personal history laid on this ground. 

Here are some glimpses into my visual journey on this artist date:

 A lovely mosaic mural on the outer wall of Lasalle II Magnet Elementary School.

Michael Grucza's "A House for Sandy" sculpture, part of the Lakefront Sculpture Exhibit.

Gorgeous oversized knitting display in the window at nina: a well-knit shop, where my lovely friend Therese once worked! (Another neat layer to my history here...) Hard to capture the whole display because of the light, so I focused on the reflections instead.

As I headed back to the El station to begin my journey home, I stopped at Cipollina on Damen for a Rosemary-Grapefruit Italian Soda by Jo Snow - so refreshing!! You must try Jo Snow soda flavors if you get the chance! 

I am grateful for the time I was able to spend wandering, both literally and figuratively, through these streets and layers of my history. Have you ever had an experience like this, when so many worlds collided for you all at once??

(Learn more about other "artist dates" here!)

artist date: farewell my queen

When I first began to incorporate the practice of "artist dates" into my life, one of the first "dates" to really define my practice was going to the movies. Ryan and I love the movie theater experience, and we see a lot of films together. We mostly line up in what we like to see, but there is a point where we head separate directions. I began to go by myself to see those films that did not interest him. The first few times I went alone, I was so self-conscious about it. I felt like I stood out or looked lonely or odd. As I sat in the darkened theater and waited for the films to begin, though, it felt like such a treat. I was going to see the film I wanted to see, and all that mattered was that I was making the effort. If I didn't like it, fine. If I loved it, great! Sometimes the film I saw engaged me completely, and sometimes I would find my mind wandering to unexpected places. But always, I felt a little happier, a little stronger after these artist dates. 

It has been awhile now since I have taken an artist date to the movies. But I had read about the film "Les adieux à la reine (Farewell My Queen)" in recent weeks and then saw that it was playing at the Glen Art Theatre nearby. This French film is a close-up of Marie Antoinette's life during the days surrounding the storming of the Bastille, as viewed by her servants, her reader in particular. I am a sucker for pretty much any period film, and I am also a bit of a francophile: I spent several years studying the French language and though I have not yet been to France myself, it is at the top of my wish-list of "adventures I would like to take." Several years ago, I absolutely loved Sofia Coppola's film "Marie Antoinette," and around that same time I read Antonia Fraser's biography by the same name. I am by no means a scholar of these things, but I find them totally fascinating. The opulence of the era, the grandeur and texture and whimsy of this queen, and the fashions of the time are all enchanting to me.

I am not a film critic, so I will not feign any expertise in my thoughts on the film; I only know what I liked or did not like about it, and that is all I claim to know. I loved the cinematography and art direction of the film - such incredible sets and lighting and a really unique perspective on this time that truly did allow me to imagine other aspects of life at Versailles in this time. I loved the shots where Sidonie was filmed running through the long blue series of doorways in the service of her queen: I think this image will stay with me forever. I appreciated the focus on the "reader" character, Sidonie, and her unique vantage point on the events of these critical days in French history. But the pace of the film did not feel as counterbalanced as I would have wished. I felt like it could have been a bit sharper without losing the lovely fuzziness of life at Versailles that they were constructing. It almost felt like it did not have to be just a bit smarter, because it was so lovely. And I do not completely disagree. But it did feel a little bit emptier than I would have liked for this reason.

More than anything, seeing "Farewell My Queen" made me want to revisit the book and film I loved (and the soundtrack to the film as well, which is one of my very favorites!!). It boosted my daydreams of Versailles even more: of one day setting foot in the Hall of Mirrors and walking through those lovely gardens myself. The film whetted my appetite for learning and planted more seeds of curiosity. An artist date need not resolve, I think. I believe it is as much about planting those seeds as about knowing when or how they will bloom. It is just important to value yourself and your artist enough to keep on planting.

(Learn more about my "artist date" practice here!)

artist date: cantigny

Today has not been a day for answers.

The sun is shining brightly, disappearing occasionally behind big, dramatic clouds, which move South through the sky at a faster rate than usual. The same breezes that work to move the clouds have set the temperature nice and low, and I cannot get enough of them.

I decided to spend my artist date today at Cantigny, a public park and historical site in our area, and the perfect place to spend such a lovely day. For several years now, it has been one of my favorite places to sit and write or read or think, and for some reason I have not gone often lately. 

It was so nice to be back in this familiar, gorgeous place. I have never seen the rosebushes grown so tall or the trees bloomed so full, and the breeze blew scents of flowers and herbs and grasses across my path every which way I traveled. I indulged in as many deep breaths as I could remember to take.

But as I walked the winding paths and let my mind wander along with my feet, all that came were questions. Not "important" questions, like "Where is my life going?" or "Am I who I want to be?" (Although these are things I do consider often, and possibly more often than is healthy.) Today's questions floated gently along on the breeze and landed lightly atop my head: random, trivial questions, with unnecessary answers. Question after question - they just kept coming.

Who carved a cat's face into the arm of this bench? Why did they stop before adding his ears?

Why have the wooden slats that form the seat of the bench weathered so differently over time?

Who decided this rose should be named for one of my favorite musicals?

Who is getting married here today?? 

Does this little bee know how closely I am watching him as he zips around from flower to flower?

And what about this pretty moth? 

No answers came today, to these or any other questions. I am certain that if I really searched, I could answer these questions, but that is not the point. 

There are so, so many other questions I would love to have answered, though. So is the answer in the questions? Or am I just meant to wait a little longer for answers to come...? 

Maybe some days are simply meant for questions.