Chicago Blossoming in the Spring

Spring tulips reach for the skies, as city skyscrapers do.

Purple stars, well below eye level, follow a gentle path we hardly notice.

Purple stars, not 'awesomized' (app).

No, it does not remind me of the Los Angeles Lakers. We're in Chicago, baby.

Chicago Loud on Billboards

To those who may have a need and be so inclined, be loud

To those who may have a need and be so inclined, try SKYN

To those who may have a need and be so inclined, open it

After traveling, consulting and living in the Middle East from 2002 to 2011, I found my return to the US to be a curious experience.  For instance, I walked from the Chicago Union Station to a luncheon meeting near LaSalle and Grand, and ran into sizable billboard ads that I would never see in the Middle East.

Except maybe that first ad.  Women in the Middle East are truly a fashionable lot, and this photo of a young lady is demure enough to pass censors there.  Condoms and alcohol can be had, as they're available in plenty enough of stores, but such bold advertisements are a no-no.  

Chicago Sports as Defining Place

I love sports in general, but because I grew up in the US, I have an especially affinity to American sports. Narrow that circle further, and it's simply Chicago sports.  Chicago is my hometown.

I have had the privilege and pleasure of traveling to cities across the world, and sports have a different game on the field - soccer, rugby and cricket.  I enjoy these a lot better in the company of others who know how they're played.  For example, I was consulting for a client in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, during the FIFA World Cup in 2006, and my colleagues helped me understand the strategy in soccer.  Together we watched several of the matches, and it was great fun.

Now that I'm home again in Chicago, however, it's the following sports teams that define, in large measure, my sense of place:

Chicago Blackhawks (hockey), Stanley Cup champions (2013)

Chicago Bears (football), Super Bowl champions (1986)

Chicago Bulls (basketball), NBA champions (1998)

Chicago Cubs (baseball), World Series champions (1908)

Chicago White Sox (baseball), World Series champions (2005)

My Journey, My Discovery

I.

I stumble onto this video on YouTube.  You know, one of those ads that come before the video you want to watch. YouTube gives you an option to "Skip ad." Most of the time, I click that option. But for this one, I don't. I keep watching this video, and I'm taken by the dreamy closeups and fades in the film and the longing, faraway feel in the music ...

II.

I click the YouTuber who uploaded this. I have no idea who or what "7ForAllMakindJeans" is, but I'm intrigued. Below is the home page of the channel, and I'm intrigued even more by: "A film envisioned by James Franco. Inspired by the poetry of William Blake" ...

(screen shot, image credit)

III.

Last year, I discover this cool project from the New York Times: "Actors Acting." Actors have just 60 - 90 seconds to act a scene, and James Franco is one of them. He did a serviceable job in "Spiderman," but was much more captivating in "Tristan and Isolde." Still, when I see that dreamy music video, it is this acting bit with the New York Times that I remember most ...

IV.

Going back to my university years, I know William Blake was an English poet. But somehow I associate him with "Paradise Lost," which of course was by John Milton. In researching this, I find out that Blake was also a visual artist, having illustrated Dante's "Divine Comedy" and Milton's "Paradise Lost." Ah, there's the connection! But how is Franco's film project - "A Beautiful Odyssey" - inspired by Blake's poetry?

"Christ Offers to Redeem Man," by William Blake (image credit)

V.

You see, the title "A Beautiful Odyssey" also makes me think of Homer's "The Odyssey." My mind is swirling. Blake, Milton, now Homer. Franco, Tristan and Isolde, New York Times.

Yet another film comes to mind, something radically different from any of this - "The Matrix." It's this scene in particular that comes to mind - Follow the white rabbit ...

VI.

By now I've forgotten where I stumbled onto that dreamy music video. For a while, I thought it was from a friend on Google+, and I tried to remember his or her name. Although I have no idea where all of this is taking me, I follow the white rabbit, which is back to that "7 For All Mankind" channel. That dreamy music video was the "Audience Cut," and this is the "Director's Cut" by Franco ...  

VII.

 
I'm a simple, regular guy when it comes to clothing, but I love fashion. Not so much for its brand or style per se, but more for its artistic potential. Specifically, as another platform for artistic expression.

Two years ago I was in conversation with a friend from Hong Kong, who was a fashion designer. Through film, photography and poetry, I told her, I could conceive of campaigns to better showcase her fashion. In brief, it was to dramatize it, not for the sake of drama, but for the sake of making it real for the people she wanted to see wearing her fashion. Make it resonate with whatever is the 'workable, allowable ideal' of themselves. Their personal and private reality, in other words.

7 For All Mankind is a high-fashion house for denim, that has apparently served celebrities for over a decade. Because I'm a simple, regular guy, as I said, there is no reason whatsoever for me to know about their fashion. Until now, when a fortuitous odyssey of sorts has taken me ...

7 For All Mankind (image credit)

VIII.

Dr. Ron Art is just one set of projects I'm working on. As an entrepreneur, I'm also working on other business projects - especially management consulting. I'm intrigued by how companies create and evolve their ad campaigns, especially in the advent of social media.

Google is among the best at it, and what they've found out and advised advertisers is that an ad campaign that people specifically choose to watch becomes desirable content. Which is exactly what I do, when I choose not to click that "Skip ad" option. In fact, then, this film project by Franco is an ad campaign for 7 For All Mankind. It's so well-done and I'm so intrigued that I literally followed their white rabbit!  

But you see, to me, this isn't just an ad campaign.  It's music and film. It's poetry and mythology. It's fashion and art.

Is it a Cloud or is it a Bean?

I love the arts, and I marvel at pieces that truly engage us.

Guess who?

An artist friend, whom we call Japat, had his first solo exhibition at Tashkeel in Dubai in 2009.  It was a breathtaking collection.  Larger-than-life paintings of human figures, portrayed in a gruesome dystopia of machinery and flesh-and-bone.  He also showcased his fine-art photography.  Superb resolution, colors and composition of people, including himself and his family. 

An hour into the exhibition, we were wondering, Where's Japat?  Someone said he was coming.

Another hour later, he finally ambled in.  Wearing the very outfit and clown makeup he wore in one of his self-portraits, along with the small red wagon of stuff which he was tugging in that same photo.  We immediately saw that he was in character, and moving about the gallery picking off pieces that he had masking-taped at various places on the floor.

In the meantime, we all followed him along, as though he were the Pied Piper.  Except we were not following in a line, but more like a amoeba that opened around him fluidly, then closed after him and oozed along.  Once we had circled back to where he entered, he stopped, opened containers of paint from his wagon, and offered a brush for any of us to paint on his shirt.

In general Japat is shy and quiet, but as a performance artist he was naturally social and thoroughly engaging.  We were so enthralled by his entrance, that many indeed took turns with that brush and painted freely on him.  It was a tour de force effort, and one memorable evening, for sure. 

Cloud Gate, by artist Anish Kapoor

So it was with The Bean, our nickname for Anish Kapoor's enormous installation at Millennium Park in Chicago.

You see, there are masterpieces hanging so sacredly at museums around the world, that we viewers dare not come close.  Lest our breath or touch mar their sanctity.

For example, I literally rushed to the Louvre, during a layover in Paris, en route from Bahrain to Chicago, just to see the Mona Lisa.  After all that excitement, however, I was very disappointed to see that it was a small piece of work and also to find roping that kept us a few feet away from it.

But Kapoor's artwork is a social masterpiece.  It definitely draws a crowd to it, beneath it, and around it.  We touch it freely, and play at taking all kinds of photographs.  Walk underneath in the middle, for example, look up, and we are transported into science fiction, with an odd array of shapes, shadows and reflections.

Better known as The Bean

In a way, Kapoor fashioned an artwork that re-created itself every moment that people were there.  What it reflected of the day and of the night also shifted from one moment to the next.  The changing light, the passing clouds, the ebb and flow of traffic.

Japat disturbed our notion of what it meant to be human by merging metal with flesh.  In a radically different vein, Kapoor challenged our notion of metal by making his installation breathe with the life of the city.   

My Sense of Place in Istanbul

In the film 'The Lake House,' the wizened, often grouchy architect (Christopher Plummer) mentors his talented, love-starved son (Keanu Reeves) about their lifelong passion.  He says that the architect must take into account the environment and must see how light in particular pours into a room, if he or she deigned to build something that would stand the test of time.

But what I loved most about this conversation is Plummer saying something along the lines of, The light in Barcelona feels different on our skin, as it does in Prague, as it does in Tokyo.    

Architecture has, and must have, a sense of place.  It speaks to its surroundings, and engages in a dialogue with nature.  Moreover, it is unlike many other arts in that it must merge beauty with utility.  The first without the second is merely display, and the second without the first is simply carpentry. 

I see art as sensuous.  Not necessarily sexual or erotic.  But art as a medium for experiencing things with all of our senses, and we come away all the richer for it.  Besides the feel of sunlight, I keep myself open as best as I can with how my surroundings truly are in their completeness.

In the past decade, I dispensed with my camera while traveling:  one, because it was excess baggage, and, two, because I risked theft or damage.  Most importantly, I sacrificed having photos, in order to gain an more authentic, unencumbered experience.  

Train ride, Istanbul (image credit)

So it was in Istanbul

I took the train from the airport into a city center, and noticed the largely drab colors of coats that both men and women wore.  Some women, though, dared to wear muted but notable colors in their head scarves.  Muslim women in general are careful about colors, but feel varying degrees of comfort versus risk, depending on where they are.  Maybe it was my travel fatigue and weary eyes, but their demeanor struck me as emotionless and their manner interactionless.  Maybe they led downtrodden lives, and did all they could to keep it quiet in such a public setting.

Once at the city center, I walked around.  There was a nip in the air, and thankfully my sweater was enough to keep me warm.  Still, waiting to cross a street at a red light, I closed my eyes for a moment and angled my face toward the sunlight, so as to feel its warmth and find out how different it was than anywhere else.

It's easy enough to take a taxi anywhere, but to get to really know a place I want to feel the pavement under my feet.  One stretch of sidewalk angled, for instance, and I felt it before I noticed it.  Then, I saw that some slabs of concrete were off kilter, and could easily trip the otherwise preoccupied tourist.

I wanted to rub elbows and shoulders with people there, too.

How it was in Riyadh

I had a security detail in Riyadh one time, and he cautioned me not to even come close to the women.  Even an accidental minor contact would've landed me in jail.  We were in the souk, shopping for a local sim card for my mobile, when evening prayers were called.  Everyone rushed out of the shops, poured into the streets, and scattered in all directions.  Owners quickly shuttered their shop windows and doors.  Karim and I waited several seconds for the flurry to subside, before heading back to the car, with me walking nervously and attentively every step of the way.   

Karim, me, Rolf and Herdie, King Abdulaziz Historic Centre, Riyadh (2005)

I used to be positively frightened even about having eye contact with Arab women, so I'd keep my glance downward in an elevator with them and my hands duly clasped with one another.

It's less strict in Istanbul, but still I don't think I actually rubbed anything with anybody.  Better safe than sorry, as we say in the US.

Back to Istanbul airport

I was headed back to the train station, and noticed that I was famished.  Besides garment and electronics shops, there were many small restaurants along the way.  I looked in one, and passed.  I looked in another, and passed as well.  I must've done this a few times.  There was a gentleman standing outside one of them, down the sidewalk.  He must've seen me doing this, and probably looking hungry and dissatisfied at the same time, because once I reached his restaurant he led me inside with his arm around my shoulders.

Another tourist could've been easily frightened by this gesture, but I wasn't.  It's virtually a consistent thing in my travels that people are warm and friendly and they take care of me. In fact, this gentleman treated me as if I were a prince in his humble restaurant.  To be sure, I hardly look princely, but I smiled and felt more deeply grateful inside than I could ever convey in a thank you.

Of course, I was wary for my safety and belongings, but just for a few moments.  His waiters treated me in exactly the same way.  I had a very pleasant meal, he thanked me when I paid for it, and I went off into that increasingly crisp Istanbul autumn and the sun declining ever so slightly in the afternoon. 

Walking into a Protest

How do we stop those cuts? How do we fix the deficit?
Tax, tax, tax the rich! 

Pay your fair share.
Stop corporate greed. Jobs with Justice.
Tax the 1%.

I believe I was on Madison St., heading eastward, when I literally ran into this protest.  It was a peaceful one, clearly, but there was a row of police officers who walked and biked alongside them on the street, near the curb.

I pulled out my iPhone, and turned on the videocamera.  I kept it at chest level, that is, without looking through the viewfinder.  I didn't want to show anyone that I was videotaping, and possibly have my iPhone confiscated or otherwise get into some trouble.

It was months later that I found the perfect soundtrack on YouTube to accompany it:  "Clockwork Tangerine," by Paul Mottram.