The view out may be the best feature of the Art Institute’s new modern wing. The greatest artistic treasure seems to lie outside, where (come to think of it) admission is free.
I could not gain admission, but it looked to be crammed with lots of neat stuff.
Our path to the Garden Show the other day took us through the labyrinthine halls of Navy Pier. Had the weather been fair, we would have walked the length of the pier outside, but heavy rain forced us to bob along in the crowd jamming the corridors inside.
There, we shuffled through a low dim tunnel lined with eateries, souvenir shops, and gimcrackery, until suddenly we found ourselves passing through an amazing stained-glass museum installed in many niches along both sides of the hall.
There were over a hundred full-size stained-glass windows, dating from the 1870s to the present time. Many of the old ones were made here in the city, and subsequently salvaged from old houses, churches, and businesses that are long since gone. Now, in this wonderful free museum, they are safe.
Chicago was once a major center of glass-making. In the rebuilding that followed the Great Fire of 1871, skilled artisans flooded here from all over knowing that they could ply their trade. Many were immigrants bringing their crafts from Europe. As Chicagoans became more wealthy, they poured money into building finer buildings, commissioning many stained-glass works. The couple who collected these specimens purchased the works of local studios as well as those made by such greats as John La Farge and Louis Comfort Tiffany, whose work, Lilies of the Field, is shown above.
After the Garden Show, I enjoyed looking at these stained glass windows even more. I admired the way they immortalized the ephemeral, transmuting the works of nature into wonders of a more spiritual kind, rekindling the awe that its beauties often call out in us.
Click the images to enlarge.
About a year ago, I was in Boston and visited the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum for the first time. It’s an amazing house museum crammed with stuff that Mrs Gardner collected throughout her life. The house itself is an impressive replica of a Venetian palace built to Mrs Gardner‘s specifications. Since her death in the first part of the 20th century, the house has been kept pretty much the way it was when she lived. I believe she specified in her will, for instance, that much of the artwork on the walls is not to be moved.
I found it a revelation to see this house. On the one hand, it was something unique to the Gilded Age that could never be replicated. Mrs Gardner was very wealthy, and she traveled all over the world and had people to buy her the best of everything—all kinds of art, antiques, and furnishings; decorative objects, statuary, religious relics, you name it.
On the other hand, I was most struck by Gardner’s offhand, almost modern sensibility, which was most evident in the spontaneous way the rooms were decorated, as in the blue room above, where various silks are hung in various ways on the walls, and paintings and mirrors hung atop them—not at all willy-nilly, but nonetheless in a distinctive way not often seen now. In one of the upper rooms of the house were hung many different types of lace window curtains and other examples of fine lace (much prized in the late 19th and early 20th centuries).
The museum prohibits photography, so I bought this postcard, which I keep in my desk to look at when I need to be inspired.
Mrs Gardner went further with her re-purposing. The house itself incorporates many structural and decorative elements that she found and salvaged in various parts of the world. The elements of the house are global and include tiles, wrought iron, stone carving, and old wood from many historical epochs and countries. For a nineteenth-century woman, Isabella Gardner was unusually cosmopolitan and forward-looking, and much of what she was aiming for in her house is still cutting-edge now.
Have you ever been to her house? If so, I would very much like to hear what you thought. I would visit it very often if I lived nearby.
PS The museum was the scene of an infamous, unsolved 1990 art heist.