The Davis Street Drawing Room is sited in the front room on the second floor of a house on Davis Street in Evanston, Illinois. This is the home of artist and professor Anne Wilson.

I visit on a sunny day and the room is full of light. Wilson begins the visit by introducing the house and its history, pointing out architectural details like original fixtures, sinks, and a handmade leaded glass window. The house was built as a Victorian frame house in 1887, and the exterior renovated in the present prairie school style in 1909. From 1891- 1896 it was an upper-class boarding house. The room that is home to the Davis Street Drawing Room, Wilson surmises, could have been a drawing room: a space for its turn of the century inhabitants to retire for conversation after dinner. Back then, a drawing room might have been a space of gendered separation. More contemporaneously, the room has been the site of Wilson's practice, a space for unraveling the power dynamics of gender, labor, affect, and materials.

For me, this heart-wrenching debut by Natalee Cruz is among the best in poetry debuts this year. I could give no better analysis of the poetics and structure than Diego Báez does in his review over at Harriet Books, with its keen observation of the mood-shift in the poem‘s description of colors. Also as noted in his review, is how the book splits the narrative: it starts with the language of her father’s employer in the first section, who has written a letter in support of the return of the poet’s mother in law, who is facing deportation. Cruz riffs on the language of the letter in refrain throughout, invoking turns of phrase in numbered sections all under the header of that letter’s opening: “To Whom It May Concern.”

Inspired by Melissa Potter’s garden project for the 2021 Terrain Biennial at boundary, the art space founded by Susannah Papish, Invisible Labors explores the history of women and in the Beverly and Morgan Park neighborhoods of Chicago and adjacent Blue Island, Illinois. Produced by Potter and Papish, the artist’s book explores how “land-stewarding and progressive movements influenced” the work of the area’s residents. As well, the artists investigate the overlap of indigenous practices within the evolution of these social service histories, including the early work of Hull House, for example, through Potter’s interview with “basket-maker Kelly Church, Anishinaabe, who carries on the Potawatomi black–ash basket weaving tradition.”

Stepping into the empty gallery at the Renaissance Society a woman wearing a flesh colored unitard with sheer plastic-like pants, tan running shoes and a headband with a small tracking system attached was walking, with purpose, around the edge of the space repeatedly singing “on the street”, “on the street”, “on the street,” “on the street”. The four sides of the space were lit in red mixing with the late afternoon autumn light coming through the windows. In addition to her voice the space was filled with an electronic soundscape. You were immediately engulfed in the sonic sensory atmosphere Nour Mobarak had constructed.

Every writer who has written a book knows the terror of post-book creative anxiety, the question of, “What’s next? What do I do now?”. For Kevin Sampsell, this creative anxiety set in after touring his novel “This is Between Us.” Though he was “working” on another novel (in the sense that he had a Doc on his computer he increasingly dreaded opening), he struggled with the idea of sitting down and performing the conscious labor of writing. In the course of “taking a break” from his novel to experiment and “have fun” with language, Sampsell turned to collage, purchasing stacks of vintage “National Geographic,” “Life,” and “Saturday Evening Post” magazines from a local thrift store. As Sampsell delved deeper and deeper into collaging, however — studying the works of John Stezaker, Jesse Treece, and Sarah Eisenlohr — he felt further and further away from the act of novel writing. He began to embrace collage as a new and exciting expression of his creative drives: to play, to cut, to collect, to re-assemble, to juxtapose, to defamiliarize, to blend, to archive.

David Hockney. “22nd May 2020, No. 2.” © David Hockney. Image courtesy the artist and the Art Institute of Chicago.

David Hockney’s latest exhibition, “The Arrival of Spring, Normandy, 2020”, on view at the Art Institute of Chicago roughly coincides with his seventh decade of art making. Hockney is one of the most famous and celebrated artists in the second half of the 20th century. He is an English painter, draughtsman, printmaker, photographer and stage designer. He is also known for experimenting with new technologies, in this case the iPad, and it represents his third major showing of these images with previous shows in 2011 and 2013.

From the sidewalk I grab the flaking wrought iron railing with my right hand, plant my good leg, my right leg, squarely on the first cement step in front of me, and pull myself up. Then I swing my bad leg up, and pain flares from a constant dull ache to a sharp crescendo as I place my bad leg beside my good one, but the pain isn’t too bad, and that’s part of The New Normal. Last, I slip one of my crutches into my left armpit and stabilize my weight distribution with it.

Step one — done. 

Eleven more to the front door of my apartment building.  

I hate this process.

Peter Schjeldahl, who I was saddened to read had passed away this week at the age of 80, was a mentor and guiding light for me as a young writer and critic, and literally the reason I decided to have children. Let me explain: starting out in Chicago, I first met Schjeldahl early in my career, then as now indistinguishable from his role (as he liked to repeatedly point out, as the “big time”) New Yorker art critic. He had just been announced as the juror who would select the sculpture for a now-defunct program called Navy Pier Walk (back when organizations actually hired people knowledgeable in art for their public art programs). Founded by artists Michael Dunbar and Terrence Karpowicz, I’d met him through the Pier Walk program’s then-director Joseph Tabet, who’d hired me to write the catalog essay for the sculpture show’s 2004 edition.

Two weeks ago, the internet exploded with videos from the Coperni catwalk of Bella Hadid being sprayed with a white, unidentified flying material, rapidly drying in runway time to the conforms of her idealized figure. This new modality of dress, applied as easily as a spray on tan, formed a peelable, prefigurative layer with a substance called Fabrican. The internet audience went wild, affirming what the company referred to as “a new era in twenty-first century mass customization.” Within minutes this material, based in silly putty technology, formed a beautiful new bodily surface: a white, wispy, crisp edged, seamless slip dress. Fast fashion shows no signs of slowing down.

Krista Franklin’s first job was at a library shelving books in her hometown, a suburb outside of Dayton, OH. In the present day, like a librarian – or better yet, archivist, she collects materials from Ebony, Vibe and National Geographic magazines, vintage pornography, sci-fi literature and film, soul and funk music album covers and more. Anathema to an archivist, she cuts, dissects, and deconstructs the printed matter and reforms it into imagery that traverses a spectrum of time, place and identity.

“It had been a couple weeks since April from the front desk disappeared, and we had no leads on where she went. Mike was the first one to notice she was gone. Mike S – a lot of us are Mikes. He’d gone up to the front office to use their bathroom. We’re not really supposed to do that. Our boots are dirty, and we have oily grime on our hands. We try not to make a mess, but we always end up leaving little streaks around the sink and on the doorknob. Trying to wipe it off just smears it around worse. So the front desk girls always complain when we use their bathroom, but ours is out of order a lot … ”

Chicago was founded on indigenous land, full stop. However, as imperialism expanded disguised as manifest destiny expanded, so too did the violence and erasure toward the many Native tribes that resided in the area. In spite of this, Chicago still has a vibrant Indigenous community, boasting the third largest urban Native American population in the country. While the Field Museum acknowledges they played a role in this erasure and can’t change the errors of the past, Native Truths is an attempt to create dialogue for a new beginning. The platform is given to contemporary Indigenous artists and community members to share their art, history, and culture in a way that’s never been done before.

After a 10 year hiatus, the MdW fair organized by the Public Media Institute (PMI) team returned in a revamped and ambitious format for a new decade. DIY artist-run spaces, collaborations and collectives in Chicago and the Midwest are the energizing basis for creative work that transcends the region. The MdW fair succeeded in amplifying this democratic and utopian vision of what many consider the Midwest “regional” art world.

In 2014, I was driving a delivery route for Newcity, which I’ve done now for some years, and I was stopping by the city-managed, south side recycling center to toss the old copies. It’s a routine I’ve been doing every month now for probably fifteen years or so and, on a few occasions, like that day, I encountered a heartbreaking sight. When I opened the lid to the gigantic blue recycling bin, it was filled to brimming with someone’s discarded personal library.

The Art Institute of Chicago is presenting Sophie Calle: Because — The Blind, which cemented Calle’s reputation as an artist who is part sleuth, part philosopher, and at least as much writer and storyteller as maker of images.

Bridge Journal Editor-in-Chief Michael Workman was joined by Deborah Maris Lader, Founder and Director of the Chicago Printmakers Collaborative, at the Richard H. Driehaus Museum to discuss the print techniques of a more than a century-long history of artist’s publications. Following the lecture, on Saturday, Nov. 13 from 2-4pm, Maris Lader gave this presentation of printing processes discussed in the lecture off-site at the Chicago Printmakers Collaborative as a third event in this series.