Seat Backs and Tray Tables/Absentee Landlord/Minneapolis

"Seat backs and tray tables up/Stow your newspapers and cups/we're about to touch down/Midwestern town through the haze" - Fountains of Wayne, Seatbacks and Tray Tables

"Andrew fox...paging Andrew Fox. Please proceed to your nearest airport...............assistance telephone" -- A public address announcement.


I'm sitting. At Gate E7. Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport, waiting to fly back to my Midwestern town. Last night I didn't get to my hotel -- the Minneapolis Hilton this time -- until about 7:45. Although right across the intersection from Orchestra Hall, with the Minnesota Orchestra show starting at 8, me having not yet purchased a ticket and feeling a bit more tired than motivated to hear classical I decided to sleep instead.

This morning I walked Nicolett Mall (home to Target's flagship store and headquarters, as well as the corner where Mary Tyler Moore threw off her hat for the opening credits of the eponymous '70s television show before strolling through Loring Park (much smaller but similar in feel to New York's Central Park) and walking across the bridge to the Walker Art Center.

Walker is one of my favorite contemporary museums, and not only because my membership level at the Cleveland Museum of Art allows recipricol membership access to Walker at no charge -- but beause it seems like the galleries are always eveolving and there's just enough whimsy to let you let your hair down.

On this visit, I found myself laughing out loud with Absentee Landlord whos exhibition introduction (by curator John Waters) by personification of the collection begs

"Ok, look out you current tenant artworks, there's a new absentee landlord in town, me. And I'm not going for rent control. Sure, the trustees left a security deposit of the permanent collection, but I want to clean house, reward troublemakers and invite crashers.

Aren't all curators landlords who allow fine art to live together in a sublet for a while and be uneasy roommates? Or is it closer to a dictatorship where I can order eviction by deaccession if they talk back, balk at my orders or fail to entice enough public comment?

Are prints, sculptures, painting and photographs relieved to be in a museum storage where they don't have to shine "art-off" and risk exposure to light? Or are they happy when they have to "work"? Get along with each other in public? Hear sometimes stupid comments from hostile museum going amateurs? Publicly humiliate themselves by being forced to live up to their auction prices?"

He continues rather amusingly -- and provocatively here. I also love his closing "Maybe the entire museum going experience in need of an intervention? Why is there no art in the parking lot? Wouldn't a symphony of car crash sound effects remind visitors not to drink too much and drive home after an opening? And why shouldn't the public know how much this show cost? Why not display all of the expense receipts (shipping, insurance, construction) in a vitrine like artistic ephemera and let the museum-goers snoop..."

And the show certainly elicits a certain amount of thought.

But that's certainly not all that's eye catching or provocative in the galleries -- a little bit of fun were a pair of miniature functioning elevators, by Maurizio Cattelan (Rachel will remember he as the artist we saw at the Guggenheim -- also with a miniature elevator, though in a far stranger setting and whole) as well as a giant folding card table and matching chairs (by giant I mean "I'm pretty sure they had to fold the table to fit it in the freight elevator and there's video of them using a scissor lift during the installation")

In "Life like" there's art imitating life, including an extremely life-like Janitor by Duane Hanson, on loan from the Milwaukee Art Museum but reminded me immediately of the Guard in Nelson-Atkin's collection (though so far I haven't been able to determine if they are both works by the same artist)

Unfortunately right around the same time I finished perusing Walker's galleries, the real world (i.e. my clients) surfaced and I found it necessary to return to the hotel business center post-haste where I remained until I drove to the airport.

There's always next time...

Lincoln

Saint Paul City Ballet: The Company at the McKnight

After finishing some meetings in Rochester this morning I moved to Minneapolis for tonight -- checking into The Marquette, a Hilton-managed hotel that's not aligned with any of the family's marques (I suspect this may be because there is both a Hilton and a DoubleTree within perhaps a few thousand feet of the hotel) -- the service level is at least equal to if not slightly higher than what I expect from Hilton but not being tied to brand standards it feels much less cookie cutter and is just a little bit more fun.

Anyway, by the time I got to the hotel I didn't feel like I had enough time to get to and really enjoy the Walker Art Center before it closed; perhaps I'll try a quick run in the morning or maybe it will have to wait for my next trip (tentatively the end of March). Instead I made my way over to Saint Paul to check out the Ordway Center and Saint Paul City Ballet's The Company at the McKnight.

Ballet is an art that I certainly don't get enough of -- the fluidity and grace of the human body can be stunning in the right contexts. In the ultimate incarnation ballet has the unique power to dance on the ears and tickle the eyes. And I have to admit I'm a little bit of a sucker for the look of the classical tutu.

Tonight's program ran just about 90 minutes inclusive of a 20-minute intermission and 5-minute pause and I think it hit the sweet spot as for length with the following selections:

Excerpts from Raymonda (Choreography after Marius Petipa, restaged by Ted Sothern; Music by Alexander Glazunov; Costumes by Ann Marie Ethen; Lighting by Chuck Norwood)

Not an Etude (Coreography by Ted Sothern; Music composed for SPCB by George Maurer; Costumes by Ted Sothern and Ann Marie Ethen; Lighting by Chuck Norwood)

One (Choreography by Joseph Morrissey; Music by Sugeru Umebayashi and Michael Galasso; Costumes by Ann Marie Ethen; Lighting by Chuck Norwood)

Bolero (Choregoraphy by Greg Drotar, Music by Maurice Ravel; Costumes by Greg Drotar; Lighting by Chuck Norwood)

Considering myself lucky if I see ballet (in any form) once a year I can't really comment on the technical aspects of dance -- the couple next to me was commenting on one of the male dancer's sloppy jumps after Raymonda, but generally I had no issues with the dance; it was fun to watch and none of the pieces were so long as to be boring.

The one complaint I did have throughout is the audio quality: While a live orchestra was probably too much to ask for (and probably not a possibility within the physical constraints of the McKnight theater -- a pretty intimate venue) the audio was horrid. At times it I wasn't sure if it was over compressed or just the victim of a truly frightful house EQ curve, at others compression artifacts (as if someone was playing a low-quality MP3) were clearly audible and I think every piece had some, culmintating with an unacceptable level of background hiss present: The overall result was something not much better than listening to music on an AM radio and generally distracted from the dance.

Excerpts from Raymonda with its overture, le grand pas hongris, le pas classique hongris, variations I-V, and coda was the longest piece of the program and also the piece with the most classical air about it in terms of technique and costuming.

Not an Etude was clearly a social commentary with a three-dancer clique playing against a solo male dancer (two men, two women all costumed virtually identically) the music was fun and while it took me a bit to figure out the commentary, I think it was the first time I've laughed during a dance show of any kind -- and I was not alone among the audience.

Conversely I didn't find One compelling nor did I connect to it musically or philosophically I honestly didn't find either the choreography or music memorable and may or may not have been counting smoke detectors on the catwalk near the end of the piece.

A dance based on Ravel's delightful Bolero closed out the program and although I think the audio was at its worst in this piece it tied with the first piece on the program for my favorites of the evening. With the almost militaristic constant drumbeat throughout I've always thought this was a no brainier for a dance and while Greg Drotar's choreography went a different direction than I've imagined while listening to this piece (most recently at a http://lincolnincleveland.blogspot.com/2011/10/cleveland-orchestra-fridays7-bolero.html) it was no less appealing.

Leaving the Ordway in the 25-ish degree outside weather I noticed quite display of ice carving across the street and lingered a bit to watch the crowds and carving but not really being prepared for extended time outdoors I shortly headed back to the hotel. Watching the local news in the hotel room, it seems that this is part of St. Paul's Winter Carnival) -- but on a blustery winter night it was nice to see so many people outside "downtown"

Lincoln

Back from Minnesota

My project in Rochester was officially and sucessfully finished yesterday... a good night's sleep and a slightly lazy morning found me heading North.

Instead of the straight-line route, I diverted myself through Red Wing, Minnesota -- apparently home of the shoes by the same name, and amusingly in Goodhue County (get it, Red Wing, Goodhue?) -- I'm not sure if it was a tongue-in-cheek decision from decades ago or just plain coincidence, but I'll admit to chuckling when I passed Goodhue County Road 3 and made the connection. Passing through downtown Red Wing, I crossed the river into Wisconsin for my second "visit", and followed Great River Road north, passing back in to Minnesota just outside of Saint Paul.

The Walker Art Center, Minneapolis, was my stated destination -- it's one of my favorite museums and with my level of membership at the Cleveland Museum of Art and a reciprocity agreement admission is free which makes it even that much more enticing. I parked in the garage adjacent to the museum. Before entering the museum I wanted to take a few moments to peruse the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden. Which I did. I noticed today there were more people in the garden today than I think I've seen from all of my previous visits combined. Contemplating that I realized that I think this was the nicest day I've spent in Minneapolis.

One corner of the garden hosts a pedestrian bridge (the same bridge where I had one of the strangest conversations I can recall, mixing classical music, relative rankings of orchestras, with an offer of weed and public consumption of alcohol). Enjoying the nice afternoon -- and being a bit hungry -- I figured I'd see what laid on the other side of the bridge. I wound up in a park.

I wandered some more. This is, as I've said before, one of my favorite ways to explore a city... just aimlessly walk about. This walking, however, wasn't completely aimless: I was seeking food. I was just about to admit defeat and return to a place I had glanced near the park when I stumbled across what I now know is Nicollet Mall. I had lunch in a pub with wonderfully attentive service -- there were three waitstaff for the 5 people at two tables in the corner I was seated in -- but completely unremarkable food.

Cleaning my plate, I resumed my walkabout. Instead of turning toward Walker, I pressed further away a bit more. I realize I'm just a block away from Orchestra Hall, home of the Minnesota Orchestra, and by extension just two blocks away from the hotel I stayed at on a previous trip... I had never realized the spatial relationship between these two locations and Walker.

I stumbled upon Target's Headquarters at 1000 Nicollet Mall and did a lap around the building -- the lower windows are covered by artists interpretations of the Target Logo. Deciding it was time to return to Walker, I started heading back. A stone's throw from Orchestra Hall I find in a hoodie playing a well worn violin on a street corner; steps away from her a disheveled gentleman in a top hat sits against the wall.

She stops playing for a moment, I ask her how long she's been playing "A long time" she answers. "Have you seen all the bad stuff on the news?" she asks, not waiting for an answer "We've all got to stick together. I'll play you a happy song." and she launches into an Irish jig, which after a few minutes turns Scottish and then grows some classical influences. Certainly fun to listen to. A small audience has formed and I drop a few bucks in her case -- it's not clear if that's her goal, but others followed. I ask if she minds if I take her picture, she doesn't, I do.

If I had been feeling more creative (and had the foresight to have camera with better control of depth of field with me) it would have been great to capture her free-form playing on a sidewalk -- not necessarily somewhere you expect to encounter a violinist -- a mere thousand feet, give or take, from the formal confines of music known as Orchestra Hall...and you can see the Target logo through the window across the street.

I make my way back to Walker, though via a completely different path. I find a couple automated where passers by can, it seems, rent bicycles. I'd love to see something like that in Cleveland.

My visit to Walker's galleries was largely uneventful -- the collection on display seemed to include a larger number of multimedia pieces than previously, and I have a difficult time connecting to those (not to mention that an impending flight notwithstanding, I don't have the attention span to completely take in a 74-minute film that consists of a blue screen). The more museums I visit, the more I realize how each's collections help me to understand the others and the artists in the collections.

Lincoln

In Minnesota Again, Day 2: The Minnesota Orchestra

So my day ends as it begins, on the secure Executive Floor of a hotel in Minnesota. Not the same hotel mind you, nor the same city, but a hotel in Minnesota. Such can be the life of the occassional road warrior.

The decision was made not only to get me closer to the airport for my flight out late tomorrow morning and because I wanted to see, do, or hear something this evening; so I wound up in Minneapolis's Orchestra Hall for the Minnesota Orchestra Concert:

Stravinsky: Concerto in D Major for String Orchestra
Sosa: Elequentia: Espacio para Flauta y Orquesta
Durufle: Requiem for Voices, Orchestra, and Organ, Op. 9
with the Saint Olaf Choir; Osmo Vanska conductor.

The Minneapolis Orchestra experience struck me as quite casual compared to my typical experiences, the music was good, but the hall's accoustics* -- not to mention the giant acoustical cubes decorating the back wall and ceilings of the hall were a bit distracting. Seated on first tier at the back of the hall (religiously avoiding the floor when possible at any classical venue) the orchestra felt so distant as to have no connection: I could barely make out that the choir members had faces much less read their expressions.

I guess I hadn't realized how important, to me, the kenisis between orchestra and audience is, and without the connection I felt like something was missing.

At the conclusion of Sosa's Eloquentia I told my seatmate that it would have to grow on me, the response, "I don't know if I have the patientce for it to grow on me". While I didn't get any of the themes alluded to in the program notes or pre concert lecture during the roughly 25 minute performance I found myself invisioning the depths of the ocean, an occassional burst from a whale or dolphin.

Durufle's Requiem, featuring the Saint Olaf Choir was impressive with beautiful music and great voices surging to nearly overwhelimg moments of passion.

Tomorrow I head home, and have to figure out what to do about my car: On the drive out I hit a bump and it started making a really bad noise. A friend checked it for me tonight and informed me that I have a serpantine belt issue. Fantastic. Of course, I don't get in until 4:30 on Saturday rather than, oh, 9:00 AM on Monday.

Lincoln

In Minnesota Again

So I find myself back in Minnesota this evening, I'm actually at the Rochester, MN Doubletree, getting ready to spend tomorrow with one of my company's clients, ahem, who has no relationship to the condiment that they share a name with. I like the city, and enjoy the client. Like the painting the Golden Gate Bridge, I have doubts that this project will ever be "finished" but it certainly has been one of my more challenging and rewarding pursuits thus far.

For those who don't know me, I long ago sold my hotel soul to the Hilton family of hotels in exchange for Hilton HHonors Diamond VIP status. Here I find myself on the executive level, greeted by the above sign in the elevator lobby. I can't help but to snicker at the prospect of being labeled an Executive... but it occurs to me that other labels have stuck recently that I find so much more laughable. Then it occurs to me that labels are easy, as Ryan Bingam says in Walter Kern's novel Up in the Air (which I was reading while, um, up in the air, this afternoon) "I'm like my mother. I stereotype. It's faster." -- perhaps labels are a form of society-approved express lane stereotyping.

Anyway, my thoughts are meandering. The first thing I did upon landing in Minneapolis (after having a long and frustrating conversation with various Continental representatives about fare construction, break points, and how they managed to screw up my itinerary when I gave explicit instructions) was make a beeline to the Walker Art Center and Minneapolis Sculpture Garden: A participant in the Cleveland Museum of Art's membership reciprocity program, it costs me nothing to get in and I was impressed by collection on my last visit.

Some considerable changes have taken place since my last visit and much more gallery space is open -- with much more art on display. I love their collection, perhaps even more so than MoMA in New York City and certainly a greater quantity of contemporary/modern art than is on display at my home museum.

Walking across the street to the Minneapolis Sculpture Gardens I enjoyed my time -- last time I was here, mid-October, it was a little too chilly to spend much time appreciating the art. I make some quick passes -- a giant spoon with a cherry is the centerpiece of the garden, and I recognized it in a Match.com profile photo but thought "how was Minneapolis?" might be a touch creepy from a stranger--and the profile wasn't otherwise that compelling.

I walk up stairs to the end of a pedestrian bridge to get a broader view of the garden. A man sits on a bench reading a newspaper. At first glance he could be homeless -- scruffy beard, ill fitting clothes, rugged skin -- I take a few pictures. He asks where I'm from, We start talking.

He asks if I'd like to smoke some weed. This is the third time in the past few months that queston has been asked. Why do random people keep asking me that question? Do I look like I smoke weed? I immediately declined, but for a brief moment thoughts of "what would it be like" drifted through the less rational part of my brain. While I'm processing the public drug offer, he notices the violin lapel pin on my jacket. "Do you play?" "I try", I respond. "We have the world's greatest orchestra" "You shouldn't tell that to a guy from Cleveland" "Well, I guess, the last time the Europeans picked yours... but ours is just as good" -- at this he reaches into his backpack, and pulls out a can of beer, pops it open, takes a drink.

He then tells me that he's not so excited about this weekend's concerts since they're chior concerts -- but he's sure next weekend's Mahler will be fantastic. While his beard is being blown by the light breeze he discusses how great the Minnesota Orchestra's music director is. Is he conducting this weekend? He rummages through the backpack looking for the concert schedule, but doesn't find one... a suspiciously small little baggie falls out and is quickly replaced. I don't ask questions. He mentions that he's recently seen the Cleveland Orchestra play on PBS and was impressed by how well the violins held together, while the Minnesota Orchestra's cellos and basses really hold themselves together. He's also excited about an upcomming Santanna concert with a noted jazz pianist.

I excuse myself to go see the rest of the gardens while it's still daylight, and as I walk away the sheer oddity of the conversation I just had is being processed by my brain: Someone who doesn't look like the "typical" orchestra goer (at least not the typical Cleveland/New York orchestra goer) is passionate about his local orchestra, has a very well honed sense of where the "best" seats in Orchestra Hall are, and a suprising grasp of classical repitore for a non-music major under the age of 50 (rough guess). He's huge fan of the music director, and if he's not conducting this weekend's concerts I "have to" come back to hear him.

One wonders how institutions in Cleveland can get this level of engagement from patrons outside the core audience that has sustained them over the past several decades...

Lincoln

Minneapolis... and Ballroom Dance

You know you haven't had any caffeine when... you try using a Hudson News receipt to board a flight. That's right, I am not a morning person, and me in public without caffiene at 7:00 in the morning is either not pretty or hysterically funny depending on your point of view.

In any event, I got to Minneapolis not long after 8:00 (local) this morning and don't actually meet the client until 9:00 tomorrow. I've changed planes in Minneapolis a few times, and actually left the airport once but didn't have any spare time. Today I saw the city.

Started at the Mall of America. 10:00ish on a Tuesday morning is not when it's in its element. My inital reaction was "Eh, it's a mall. It's not even really that big. Ok."

Then I made my way over to the Northwest Airlines History Centre, which is run by retiree volunteers -- it's pretty small, but for an aviation/technology geek they had some cool stuff; I just wish I could have gotten my hands on some of the documents in the cases to page through them and see how much different things are. Also saw my first two teletype machines in living life. I thought it was cool.

From there I found my way to the Minneapolis Institute of Arts which was almost overwhelming in scale and had no clear path that would take you to each gallery; at the Cleveland Museum of Art I get lost in my thoughts... here I just kind of got lost. I'm still not a huge fan of African or Asian art, but the MIA has a respective collection of Asian art, and their iAffrica experiemntal gallery is the first African art exhibit where I've actually felt some connection and understanding of the art and its background.

As I progressed through the galleries, I hit some "period rooms" which were interesting for their context; and, predictably, the pieces I most enjoyed were in the modern/contemporary/impressionist galleries. Here, like at SFMoMA, it was interesting to see companion works to works in the CMA collection -- and it was fun to play the "Oh, that looks like ______.... oh, it IS ______!" game -- especially with the Leger piece.

I could go on, but suffice it to say that it was an enjoyable experience. I was also interested to learn the Marcel Bruer, who I knew as a "Brutalist" architect (in fact, the architect for a few buildings in Cleveland, including an earlier expansion at CMA) had done some furniture design as well.

After leaving MIA I drifted to the Walker Art Center and Minneapolis Sculpture Garden, and it turns out that they offer reciprocity to CMA members. The collection -- or at least the portion of the collection on display in the galleries is far from huge, but it is impressive and pretty right on for my tastes.

I spent a brief time exploring the Sculpture Garden but the weather (there is actually snow on the ground here) and my clothing did not lend themselves to long periods of contemplation. It's definitely a worth-doing-in-the-Summer thing.

And finally I drove to Rochester, MN and checked into the hotel. End of day 1; I don't think that there will be anything blog-worthy for the rest of this trip so the next you will hear from me will be after Saturday evening's Orchestra performance.

But, before I go: I finally cashed in a gift certificate for ballroom dance lessons that I've been sitting on. I had the first lesson last night and it went remarkibly well. I only stepped on the instructor's foot once, and generally speaking (as long as I can keep my left and right foot straight) it was a successful endeavor, especially considering that I have never attempted anything resembling dance before.