Artsy Fartsy City Life

My dad is a straight-forward, black-and-white, “What the hell is a baguette?! That is a roll,” type of guy. And while he is thrilled I moved to Chicago (mainly because I moved out of my old room in geeb), he doesn’t really have much appreciation for what he calls the artsy fartsy city life. He doesn’t see the relevance of wandering through rooms filled with century old still lives, public art is a waste of his hard-earned tax dollars and the only time he has been in a theater in the past decade was to listen to his beloved UW Marching Band. This is not to say he is totally devoid of culture- I mean he watched Larry the Cable guy with passion and vigor- he just likes his culture in small whitewashed and apparently odorless non artsy fartsy ways.

But the more I explore this city, the more I am finding while I may come from a non paris Hilton simple-life, small town background, I am quite fond of the big city arting, which I have found very rarely goes with the big city farting. And this city makes it exceedingly easy as well.

First there is the Evard Munch exhib for a breezy 10 bucks at the Art Institute. For 10 bucks I got to stand in line for an hour with other art loving people (or actually cut in front of hour waiting art loving people) and then wander the life of Norway’s most famous artists. I learned he was not entirely the mad man he molded himself to be but actually a man reflecting much of the madness of urban life.





From his misogynistic view of women as sex sucking vampires to his more Van Gogh-like serene beach images, Munch’s talent while not always 100% original explains the wide range of urban emotions from light to dark. Man I could totally write one of those little wall plaquey things.


Second there was First Thursdays, a night for poor people (read just graduated and spend too much of alcohol people). It used to be First Fridays and include appetizers and drinks but this was obviously a bit too tempting to aforementioned poor people. So the appetizers were stripped but the galleries left stocked with local talent. Although it was a bit awkward to wander through some small galleries with price tags the size of my first car (or two of my baby geo prisms), some of the larger exhibits made the awkward silences worth it. I would endure no less than 5 silent galleries to just experience the “American Teenager” exibit complete with a drag queen story, a Hasidic jew’s view on life and a young lesbian couple’s struggle with being 17.

And finally there are free Tuesdays at MCA. In addition to events like Stitch and Bitch and Bingo Tango, you can also wander the smaller museum for free. Although I think my favorite was the wall of vagina clouds, there are also great temporary video installations and artists from across the globe. MCA also hosts a variety of lectures and talks throughout the month, that help me feel like I’m still capable of learning even though I graduated.

Chicago’s art scene may not be made for the sittin’ on the porch with a beer and a shotgun type (not exaggerating- love you pops) or for anybody that refers to art as “fartsy” but it is made for the too poor to pay to yuppy to stay home types aka ME.