Modern colonnade

Modern colonnade

I must say I’ve warmed to the modern colonnades that Mies van der Rohe designed into Chicago’s federal buildings.  Yes, they lack the charming details and coziness that go along with classical stone porticos, but I enjoy being under these cavernous overhangs, and I like the way their plain black columns frame the views.


Goethe statue framed by Mies van der Rohe building, © 2013 Celia Her City

The coming of spring has made me strangely nostalgic for the passing season.  Nostalgic, yes; nostalgic for a season that wasn’t—for we didn’t really have a winter to speak of.  The season was dry, with precious few days when one could go out and snap a picture like this.

Regardless of the possible merits of this picture, what can be said for the specifics of the scene?  Is the place that it depicts, on the northern edge of Lincoln Park, in any respects a beautiful locale?  Is it appealing?  And what about the vaunted ethnic strains that are supposed to make living in Chicago so enriching and rewarding?

These are the questions that come to mind, as I gaze at this fairly absurd statue of Goethe, flanked on the left by a Mies van der Rohe building.  Both speak to the once powerful German element in Chicago that’s vestigial now.

Both attest to different waves of city-building, waves that are constantly ebbing and flowing, creating the visual bric-a-brac that make up our surroundings.  The wealthy Germans who had this statue erected in the public park in 1913 were asserting their cultural authority, memorializing a great writer from their native land, whose works remained a touchstone of their identity.  Symbolically, this German statue “wars” with the more nationalistic statue of Alexander Hamilton located nearby.  (A statue of the German-born Governor John Peter Altgeld, commissioned in 1913, is also hidden nearby in a grove.)

The commemoration of Germans, no matter how Americanized, came to a halt with the outbreak of World War I, as acceptance and admiration for Germans’ cultural heritage turned to suspicion and hostility.

Yet, with the advent of World War II, a German arrived who would once again change the face of the city: Mies van der Rohe, who swept away the beautiful old Chicago building traditions that Celia loves in favor of the modernist monoliths you see here. (And here.)

To make a long story short: In every community every building has a story.  Let us praise waves of building that leave us with enduringly beautiful and admirable things.  Even if you have never read a word of Goethe, you may still appreciate this statue from the bus, and let your imagination soar like the eagle you see.

Holding together

Holding together

On this, the first day of spring, bitter cold grips Chicago.  The sun shines through a fierce wind, giving a false impression of a jaunty scene.  In truth, we are barely holding together, much like the Hancock, which, to Celia’s wind-raked eyes, looks surprisingly flimsy, its sloping faces held together with a web, too carelessly strung.

The cozy side of modern

Nightscape (Credit: Celia Her City)

Beyond the Calder lies a peaceful way, threading between Mies’s modern creations, past stony old skyscrapers rendered cheerful by illumination and the cloak of night.  Walk far enough, and you will travel back a century to the old el station at Quincy.  Dull enough by day, the buildings glow and turn festive, their bright dots and dashes telegraphing life in ways reminiscent of that old Georgia O’Keeffe painting.

Click image to enlarge.