Chicago: In and Around Town

by anneMoore on May 16, 2012

Living in a city beside an inland sea, my morning walk sometimes yields trash, or an odd hello: a washed up, desiccated raccoon, its teeth bared. Dried vomit. Charging geese. Our harmless resident crazy, who mistakes me for Hillary Clinton, and asks after Bill.

Why keep walking?

Because there’s treasure to be found: a mother mallard with her ducklings squiggling behind her, sunlight sparkling off the lake’s cresting blue or green water, the city’s skyline spread like a giant cardboard cutout before me.

And the other day: a fenced off Lincoln Park allée, with nesting herons overhead. Endangered black crowned night herons (they feed when it’s dark) are protected by the state and federal government. My friend Deborah and I stopped and watched some of them — there’s 400! — build their nests.   www.lpzoo.org/blog/…/black-crowned-night-herons-arrive-early?..

Also in town, my gifted photographer friend Lydia Panas is one of four artists in a group show at Schneider Gallery, 230 W. Superior St. /schneidergallerychicago.com/ “After Classical Portraiture,” through July 7, gives us a look at photographers whose contemporary portraits evoke Flemish Masters of the 17th century. Worth seeing. Lydia’s portraits are hauntingly beautiful. /www.lydiapanas.com/book.html

Finally, a call out for two fine-dining restaurants in my neighborhood.

Rustic House, 1967 N. Halsted St., is a treat: loud, lively, warmly lit and furnished. Impeccable service, prompt seating. Roast prime rib was a hit with the guys. Other tasty fare: pan-roasted cod over spring vegetables. Also, sides of brussel sprouts (I know, but trust me, theirs are crisp and smoky) and a three-cheese gratin. The bar looked like a good place for two to share a meal. The back room, warmed by a fireplace, seemed more quiet, but friends tell me it gets just as loud as the front room. Still, the noise doesn’t overwhelm: we four had no trouble conversing. /rustichousechicago.com/

Six of us shared a fabulous farm-to-table meal last Saturday night at Perennial Virant, 1800 N. Lincoln Ave. I loved our cozy banquette table — for six! — that allowed all of us to talk easily. My husband thought the menu light on meat offerings, but otherwise, no complaints. From fried cheese curds to pan-roasted rainbow trout, for me, nothing on this menu disappoints. And the service rocks. /perennialchicago.com/

{ 0 comments }

Books: American Lives

by anneMoore on April 16, 2012

For the first time since 1977, the Pulitzer Prize committee today awarded no prize for fiction. I love reading fiction but I’m not finding a lot, lately, to cheer about. It feels fitting, then, to post on a memoir and two biographies. Each concerns the life of an American woman.

For a work assignment, I had to read Tina Fey’s “Bossypants.” I wouldn’t have read it on my own: It’s about t.v.! It’s a bestseller!

I’m glad I did. It’s a fun, funny, smart read.

Fey is the comic brain behind the NBC hit show, “30 Rock.” The same twisted humor in that show can be found in the pages of this memoir, which covers Fey’s life and career from kindergarten onward, through her days learning improv at Chicago’s Second City, to writing for and performing on Saturday Night Live, to the genesis of  her t.v. show, and finally, to the creation of her most famous impersonation, Sarah Palin. Marriage and motherhood intertwine.

Fey’s writing is clear and economical. Don’t understand improv? You will, in a single page, after Fey describes its rules. Wonder how a television show is born, staffed, and written? You will, after a few chapters. Fey and her colleagues work long hours to make laugh-out-loud television; this book shows how they do it. Fascinating!

Another American life I gobbled up: Pauline Kael (1919-2001) best known for her dense, thoughtful, provocative New Yorker movie reviews, which changed film criticism forever. Brian Kellow’s vast but intimate biography, “Pauline Kael: A Life in the Dark,” came out late last year.

A bohemian of the mid-20th century, Kael spurned her parents’ Judaism, took up with poets and painters, had a child out of wedlock, never married, quit college and broadcast her disdain for academia. She smothered daughter Gina, spoiled grandson Will, and picked nasty fights with colleagues and acolytes. Always broke, she seemed to live large: in Manhattan, in the Berkshires, in Hollywood. When she needed to flee, she went to Paris.

Kellow’s story goes beyond Kael’s life: it tells the story of American cinema.

I picked up Gioia Diliberto’s “Paris without End: The True Story of Hemingway’s First Wife” after hearing Diliberto speak at the Arts Club. First published in 1992, Diliberto explained that her book then didn’t take off when it first came out.

Fast forward to 2011 and the runaway success of Paula McLain’s “The Paris Wife,” a work of fiction that covers the same years Diliberto researched and wrote about in her biography of Hadley Richardson (1891-1979). It’s also the same period Hemingway wrote about in his last and most beloved book, “A Moveable Feast.” Read that and you’ll know why Diliberto tackled the story of their marriage.

I didn’t especially like or admire Hadley, but I enjoyed this read — like a richly told novel.

{ 3 comments }

Books: Start and Stop Reading

by anneMoore on April 2, 2012

Wow. How many doorstoppers in a row?

First, Peter Orner’s “Love and Shame and Love.” A great title! His story is multigenerational but so choppily told I lost interest in every character.

Next, Anna Solomon’s “The Little Bride.” Another great title, well reviewed. I put it down two-thirds of the way through. If you put a young mail-order bride in a home with an old husband and young adults sons, something — O’Neill anyone? — should happen.

I couldn’t get through even the first (confusing) chapter of Lauren Grodstein’s “A Friend of the Family.”

I thought I was much farther into Edie Meidav’s “Lola, California: A Novel” before I quit. Again, a wonderful premise that stalls: a charismatic father on Death Row, dying from cancer. Nearby, at a nudist retreat, his estranged daughter, one of his followers and her best friend from high school. This set up goes on and on and on.

One book I liked a lot: Philip Larkin’s “Jill.” Set during World War II, a working-class scholar rooms with an aristocratic hellion at Oxford University. To make his roomate jealous, the scholar imagines a girl named Jill. Then Jill appears! It’s an odd story, a delicious read.

I did all this stop and start reading during recent travels to Philadelphia, New York and Washington, D.C.

At the Philadelphia Museum of Art, “Van Gogh Close Up” runs through May 6. See it. Some of these works are in the U.S. for the first time. Also in Philadelphia, Parc Restaurant & Bistro is as good as any in Paris and opens out to beautiful Rittenhouse Square.

Because I grew up on Rodgers & Hammerstein musicals, I’m a tough critic. What a delight, then, to be completely charmed by the Broadway musical “Once.”  An at-the-bar dinner followed, at Bond 45, an Italian steakhouse in Times Square. Another New York highlight: an evening stroll on the High Line and a bistro meal at Pastis, on Ninth Avenue.

In Washington we lucked into a guided tour of the U.S. Capitol, thanks to Senator Dick Durbin. The American plants and flowers woven into the interior architecture, and its dome — George Washington lounging with thirteen maidens — were highlights for me. Also Doug Aitken’s SONG 1, cinema and music that envelopes the Hirshhorn Museum, from sunset to midnight, through May 16.

{ 10 comments }

Chicago Life: Friends in Town

by anneMoore on March 7, 2012

Good friends made it easy to show off Chicago’s rich offerings of art, architecture, parks, museums and food this weekend. Affable and curious, they had ideas of what they wanted to see and experience while in town, but didn’t overdo it. With just a few hours left on Sunday, could they get to Ernest Hemingway’s childhood home in Oak Park? www.ehfop.org  Not quickly.

I tagged along to enjoy the architecture and gallery show at the Chicago Cultural Center, 78 E. Washington St. Once the city’s main public library, the block long structure holds, among other wonders, the world’s largest Tiffany dome. Mosaics of Favrile glass, mother of pearl and colored stone cover interior walls and arches. The room glows.

Another treat: formerly the library’s main reading room, the Sidney R. Yates Gallery is a red-walled salon with huge windows framed by carved silver-leaf surrounds. There through July 8, “Morbid Curiosity,” the collection of Richard Harris, is a display of art that depicts death, from Goya’s “the Disasters of War” to ceramic “Dance of Death” playing pieces, to a Dutch still life with a skull. My favorites: Victorian family portraits superimposed with skulls. Also a shiny red Venus, her veiled face revealing a skull. www.chicagoculturalcenter.org

For lunch, we headed to a new spot across the street. Toni Patisserie, 65 E. Washington St., feels like a piece of Paris broke loose and landed in the Loop. Tarts, cakes, sandwiches, tartines, salad, quiche are displayed in glass cases. Small marble tables make for an intimate meal. We had the day’s soup, tomato, and split a prosciutto and chevre tartine. www.tonipatisserie.com We’ll be back.

A walk through Millennium Park still surprises. Then again, maybe I haven’t been paying attention. When I looked into “The Bean’s” underbelly I felt pulled into a giant vortex.

True, it’s winter, so the park’s gardens are brown, the symphony isn’t practicing, the Crown Fountain’s “gargoyles” don’t spurt water.

On to the Art Institute of Chicago, 111 S. Michigan Ave. How fun is it to show off the museum’s vast collection? Very. It’s like walking through Janson’s “History of Art.” Too, my friend wanted to see the Thorne Miniature Rooms. There’s 68, each of them a time capsule of design and furnishings. I hadn’t visited in years. This time I stopped to learn about the craftsmen who created these marvelous rooms. www.artinstitutechicago.org.

The next morning we strolled over to Lincoln Park Zoo’s Nature Boardwalk, a half mile walk that loops a recently refurbished pond and its marshy prairie.  www.lpzoo.org/nature-boardwalk

Leaving the park we noticed Hotel Lincoln on the verge of opening, 1816 N. Clark Street. Shuttered for several years, its rebirth is cause for neighborhood joy. www.jdvhotels.com.

Good guests leave great gifts: red and blue shot glasses and a tray from the 1967 Expo in Montreal. (Yes, Georgia: for Pythonga!) Also Lawrence Desautel’s new book of poetry, “Dancing with that Woman at Whiskey Woes,” which I’m savoring. (Beautiful cover, Ryan Arthurs.) Here’s a sample from it: thepotomacjournal.com/issue9/lawrence_desautels.htm.

{ 8 comments }

Life: My head outside a book

by anneMoore on February 14, 2012

Gail Levin’s magnificent Lee Kranser biography was hard to give up and now I know why. Three disappointing reads in a row? John Steinbeck’s “The Winter of Our Discontent” was engaging but cartoon-y, a precursor to all things Updike. Adam Gopnik’s “Winter” essays are — I can’t believe I’m going to use this word for one of my all-time favorite writers — pedantic. Then I picked up Julian Barnes’ “The Sense of an Ending,” which I liked while I was reading, but left me feeling short changed. Its main character Tony is married, a father, divorced…in a single page. I knew too little about the characters, so its ending shock failed to move me.

Speaking of shock, and awe, two New Yorker magazine pieces kept me in words:

http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2012/02/06/120206fa_fact_parker

http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2012/02/13/120213fa_fact_khatchadourian

If I can’t recommend books, my next love is food. New in Chicago is Yusho, a yakitori-style restaurant in Logan Square (2853 N. Kedzie Ave.) Owner Matthias Merges stopped by our table to lend advice. We needed it: gobo root? quail eggs? beef tongue? Hold on. Cocktails first at this place. Tonic is house made, so their g&t is like nothing I’ve ever tasted. I was still thinking about it the next day, and I don’t even like gin, or tonic. Beyond cocktails, this was Merges’ advice: stick to foods you know. We ordered twice fried chicken, grilled leeks and steam buns filled with short ribs. The steam buns were so tasty my friend ordered another. Hip, exotic, delicious, spot-on service. We’ll be back.

Another new place I’d like to revisit is Bar Toma, chef Tony Mantuano’s casual Italian just off Michigan Avenue (110 E. Pearson St.). Mantuano is justly celebrated for his Spiaggia and Spiaggia Cafe restaurants (980 N. Michigan Ave.) Both are excellent choices for fine dining in Chicago. Bar Toma is Mantuano’s riff on a streetside pizzeria. (We tried the “power” pizza: thin crust, piled with spinach. Mmmm.) There’s also a gelato bar, a coffee bar and a bar bar. It’s loud and lively even at lunch time. Go before it’s overrun by tourists.

Finally: has television ever been more fun? A one-hour Valentine’s Day “30 Rock,” which I’ll have to watch again and again and again. A two-hour “Downton Abbey.” (The clothes! The house! The twists and turns and very bad behavior!) And my new favorite: “Fashion Police,” on E! Stars, clothes, and Joan Rivers’ funny, foul mouth.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

 

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

Books: Gail Levin’s “Lee Krasner”

by anneMoore on January 11, 2012

I like to write, and read, a life story. Childhood, education, influences, love affairs, disappointments, a troubled marriage, triumphs and recognition: Gail Levin’s biography of painter Lee Krasner is a masterfully told story of a great American life.

Krasner (1908-1984) was born to Russian immigrants in then-rural Brooklyn. Her scholarly father sold fish from a cart to support the family. Brother Irving introduced her to literature. The young Lee (born Lena) embraced Jewish ritual but bristled at the separation of men and women at temple. A favorite childhood teacher was one who let boys and girls play together at recess. All her life, Krasner upended the status quo for women.

Krasner was educated in New York City public schools, eventually attending Washington Irving, a vocational high school for girls, and Cooper Union. A child of poverty, she always worked: as an illustrator, a fashion model, a WPA muralist.

Influenced by Mondrian, Matisse and husband Jackson Pollock, Krasner is one of the Abstract Expressionists who lived and worked in New York during the mid-20th century. Her canvases are dramatic — sometimes frightening — and often colorful. A photograph of Krasner in her studio looks as though she’s attacking the canvas. She also cut up old work and repurposed pieces as collage.

An early love affair with a fellow student was ended by his parents because of her modest birth. His departure left Krasner terribly alone in New York during World War II, when most men were called upon to serve. Her independence as a young woman was remarkable for that time.

Painter Jackson Pollock was in New York, barred from military service because of alcoholism and mental issues. He and Krasner met at a group show and married three years later. Krasner championed his work; she recognized his greatness early on.Theirs was a love between equals, but his alcoholism strained the marriage and their friendships.

After his death, Krasner’s work grew in scale and complexity.

Krasner, on the inevitability of her career: “‘I had to’ is the only way I can put it…Painting is not separate from life. It is one. It is like asking — do I want to live? My answer is yes — and I paint.”

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

Books: “The Cat’s Table” by Michael Ondaatje

by anneMoore on January 5, 2012

In the Ottawa airport bookstore, after a few weeks in the woods, I picked up the paperback of Michael Ondaatje’s “The English Patient.” At the time I knew nothing of the writer. Too, I was traveling with my two small boys. An hour into the flight I looked up, so taken by the story and writing I’d forgotten where I was, and who I needed to care for. What a story! Set in North Africa as World War Two began, and in Italy as the war came to a close…a man burned beyond recognition, a kind nurse, a thief with no thumbs, two bomb diffusers…the backstory of a marriage undone by a torrid affair. I was dangerously hooked.

Since then I’ve read other Ondaatje novels (“Anil’s Ghost,” “Divisadero”) but none gripped me like “The English Patient.” (I loved the movie, too.)

“The Cat’s Table” is Ondaatje’s latest book. It’s worth a read. The author has said it’s not a memoir, but it reads like one. Michael, an 11 year old boy, boards the ocean liner “Oronsay” for the three week journey from Ceylon to London, where he’ll join his mother. The year is 1954. The ship has seven levels, 600 passengers, a jail for its sole prisoner, pools, a kennel and endless ways for a boy and his two-same age mates to get into trouble, daily.

The book’s title comes from the insignificant table Michael and his friends are assigned for dinner, the “cat’s table.”

Michael and his friends take early morning swims in the forbidden First Class pool, spy on the manacled prisoner, smuggle a dog aboard. During a storm the boys lash themselves to lifeboats, enraging the ship’s captain.

The boy is a wide-eyed guide: “All of us were longing for the sight of land, and as morning broke we lined up along the bow to watch the ancient city approach, mirage-like out of the arc of dusty hills. Aden…was mentioned in the Old Testament. It was where Cain and Abel were buried…it had cisterns built out of volcanic rock, a falcon market, an oasis quarter, an aquarium, a section of town given over to sail makers…It would be our last footstep in the East.”

Mostly, though, Michael and his friends find themselves enchanted by their fellow passengers: Michael’s beautiful teenage cousin Emily, the very proper family friend Flavia Prin, the delightful spinster Miss Lasqueti, who lounges on deck chairs reading detective novels, throwing a book overboard if it fails to please. Scholars, entertainers, the keeper of the kennels. Also, a mute girl whose father is the imprisoned passenger; their deadly escape punctuates the journey.

Woven into the story is the adult Michael finding again his boyhood shipmates in London, his romance and marriage to one of their sisters, reuniting with Emily again at the far side of Canada.

This is not a straightforward story, but it pleases. I was especially moved — to tears! — by the boy Michael’s reunion with his long-lost mother.

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

Life: The Year’s Best

by anneMoore on December 13, 2011

With the year coming to a close it’s a good time to reflect on the offerings that enriched my days and nights.

I read newspapers, magazines, works of nonfiction, but my true love is fiction. In these three novels, the characters and situations were so alive to me I didn’t want their stories to end: Jonathan Franzen’s “Freedom,” Chad Harbaugh’s “The Art of Fielding,” and Jeffrey Eugenides’ “The Marriage Plot.”

Paul Auster’s “Sunset Park” was another favorite. Enchanted, I am reading slowly Michael Ondaatje’s “The Cat’s Table.”

A play, a retrospective and a biography brought me the lives of three artists and their creative process. Each left me astonished. There was Mark Rothko in John Logan’s “Red” at the Goodman Theatre, the Willem de Kooning retrospective at New York’s Museum of Modern Art (through January 9), Patricia Alber’s biography “Joan Mitchell: Lady Painter.”

Art and books combine in the work of two friends, both photographers.

Haunting me are the lush, eery photographs of American children, teens, couples and families in Lydia Panas’ first monograph, “The Mark of Abel.” www.lydiapanas.com/book. Chester Alamo’s “The Globe” captures the beauty, color and passion of fans at a Chicago bar that offers live telecasts of European soccer. www.amazon.com/Globe-Chester-Alamo-Costello/dp/0615339417/ref=cm_cr_pr_pb_t

I continue to be awed by my sons’ achievements in photography http://www.masondent.com/ and sports journalism http://supercursed.blogspot.com/, by my niece’s comic art and humor. http://comics.lucyknisley.com/2011/10/scaredcited-page-2/

Memorable movies this year include the smart, sexy remake of “Jane Eyre,” the plotless but mesmerizing “Tree of Life,” the hilariously foul “Bridesmaids. The one film I many never get out of my head: Pedro Almodovar’s “The Skin I Live In.” Beautiful, bizarre, shocking.

One stage play held me in its grip: “The God of Carnage,” 70 minutes of ensemble acting at its best, at the Goodman Theatre. I admired “An Iliad” at Court Theatre (through December 14) even though we had terrible seats.

I am always thinking about my next meal, so it’s worth remembering some of the places that nourished me.

In Montreal (L’Entrecote St. Jean) and New York (Le Relais de Venise) I savored prix-fixe steak-only dinners that transported me to Paris.

In Chicago this year I’ve been dazzled by the farm-to-table offerings at Nightwood, Perennial Virant, and Blackbird. The fish tacos at GT Fish & Oyster. Anything at The Purple Pig. The limited but daring menu at Morso; also, its fabulous Wolfsbane cocktail. The seasonal tartines at Floriole, the frisee salad at Gemini Bistro, the exquisite service at Pelago. The ultra-thin pizza at Three Aces and a cocktail so beautiful I had to photograph it.

Finally, a welcome addition to my Lincoln Park neighborhood: City Grounds coffee bar, a clean well lighted place.

Thanks for reading. Best wishes for the New Year.

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

Books: Migration and Russell Banks’ “Lost Memory of Skin”

by anneMoore on November 8, 2011

A shared prize set novelist Jonathan Franzen (“Freedom”) and biographer Isabel Wilkerson (“The Warmth of Other Suns”) on the same stage last Sunday. http://www.chicagohumanities.org/ through Nov. 13th. (Thanks for the treat, Deborah.)

Migration figures in both works. In “Freedom,” Patty leaves the East Coast for a kinder, gentler life in the Midwest. In “Warmth…” six million African Americans abandon the Jim Crow South. These wrenching departures — leaving one’s home and family, forever, for the unknown — is the only solution for desperate situations. Patty leaves a household indifferent to her athletic achievements and hostile to her reported date rape. Wilkerson’s subjects leave home to be freed from a caste system that kept them segregated and disenfranchised.

I finished reading Russell Banks’ “Lost Memory of Skin,” the same evening I heard Franzen and Wilkerson discuss migration and freedom.

Which left me thinking: what about those who can’t leave, who are stuck in an intolerable situation, even if it’s of their own creation?

That’s the starting point for Banks’ novel about a convicted sex offender in contemporary Miami. The Kid, as he’s known, wears a monitoring device on his ankle. He can’t live or visit any place within 2,500 feet of an area frequented by children. He’s an adult, but not much older than the teenage girl he arranged to meet, via the Internet, for sex. The Kid lives under a causeway within a tent city peopled by fellow sex offenders. None of them can leave the county — they’re monitored, too — but they can’t live easily within it, either.

After a publicized police raid of the encampment, a Professor from a nearby university persuades the Kid to be part of his study of sex offenders and homelessness.

The Kid is a fully realized character: we learn of his unfortunate past, his hopes and fears for the future, his everyday disappointments. We understand his few relationships. Hooked on porn as a preteen, the Kid is backwards and withdrawn. Even in the camaraderie of an Army platoon, the Kid is alone. Poorly educated, a social misfit: who’s to blame?

The Professor is the first person to point the Kid to a better life. Theirs is an unlikely but endearing relationship.

As the Kid’s confidence grows, the Professor’s life spins out of control, quite spectacularly.

There is comfort in this book’s end: the Kid is in the same place physically but in a better place mentally and emotionally. He accepts that he’ll never understand the Professor’s life, or motives. (Neither will I.) He’s still stuck wearing that ankle monitor for the next nine years.

This was not my favorite Banks’ book — those would be “Continental Drift” and “The Darling’ — but it’s certainly worth the read. A porn-addled sex offender worth rooting for: that’s no small feat.

Banks is one of our greatest living writers.

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

Books and Life: Reading Chicago and its Lake

by anneMoore on November 1, 2011

In the months after summer’s heat, Chicago’s crisp sunny days pull me, and my dog, to the beach. There’s no one there!

My North Avenue beach is banked by man-made dunes. Get yourself beyond those and the beach offers a wide swath of sand pebbled with crushed shells. Also washed-up wood slabs from wave-smashed piers, a dead fish or two, emptied booze bottles.

Our boat-shaped boat house is closed. Nets strung for beach volleyball leagues have been taken down, rentable beach chairs and umbrellas packed away.

What a place to walk! Before me is the city’s cutout skyline, fronted by the seemingly infinite lake. There’s so few people on the paths and the beach on a weekday morning it feels eerily post-apocalyptic. There is the city; where are its people?

The lakefront’s beautiful desolation this morning reminded me of a section of Faulkner’s “The Wild Palms: If I Forget Thee Jerusalem.” Faulkner describes the Midwest’s off-season gift of warmth as “the long sigh toward autumn and the cold.” His doomed lovers overstay the season in their Lake Michigan beachfront shack, and nearly freeze, almost starve.

Dan Chaon’s masterful “Await Your Reply,” gives us a Northwestern University college student presumed dead in Lake Michigan’s frigid waters. We stand over his shoulder as he reads the news story of his probable suicide. Gulp.

In Frederick Exley’s “A Fan’s Notes,” the eponymous narrator spends his Chicago off-hours drinking excessively, bedding beautiful young women whose names he checks scraps of paper to remember. “In the first flush of the morning sun, the city lay spread out to my left, more like a dream than I had ever imagined it….the city gave everything…and I bawled like a goddam madman to be so lucky…”

In the enchanting “The Art of Fielding,” Chad Harbach compares a scholar’s love for literature with Lake Michigan. “Walking along its shore called forth some of the same deep feelings that his reading of Melville did, and that reading explained and deepened his love of the water, which deepened his love of the books.” Unexpectedly, and memorably, the lake becomes this man’s final resting place.

In Patricia Albers’ rich portrait of the abstract expressionist Joan Mitchell, the biographer says Mitchell painted the lake her whole career. “She watched rain clobber the lake, ice lock it up, thunderheads billow above…it shimmered, turquoise and sapphire like a tropical lagoon, or pulsed with dark ochre along its edges…”

“‘The Lake is with me today,’” Joan would say, years after leaving Chicago. “‘The memory of a feeling. And when I feel that thing, I want to paint it.’”

For more Chicago in literature: http://www.encyclopedia.chicagohistory.org/pages/448.html

 

 

 

 

 

 

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

← Previous Entries