17 August 2010
Chicago's Pulse: The Parks
I began my day in the Edgewater neighborhood on Chicago's North Side. From there, I caught a train into the downtown loop, and as I rode I watched the typical Chicagoan jockey for position as they continued along their way. I watched the buildings zip by from an elevated platform. I rode past Wrigley Field, surrounded by WrigleyTown. Signs on the platform say "close to the L shouldn't be measured in inches," but I can't help to think that the rumble of the train every ten minutes or so could only remind you that you are an important part of the machine that is Chicago; the machine that produces the rhythm of the city.
Buildings flash by in varying degrees of height, like bars on a digital EQ meter. Building, building, gap, big building, building, gap. The train cars click and clack, pitch and roll, squeal and silence. Doors open, door close and more people continue on their way.
I transferred off the red line at Roosevelt below the city, then boarded the green line elevated above the street. I continued on my way, past the "new" Comiskey Park. I wonder if Mr. Comiskey would be offended to know that his park is no longer his park, it is now US Cellular's park. I wondered what it would be like to experience a subway series between the Cubs and Chi-Sox, and I wondered how friendly the transfer route would be, or if Cubs fans would hang Sox fans from the transfer balcony as they arrived on the L.
I found myself at 51st street on Chicago's South Side. I was told that things weren't so great here, and they aren't, but it's home to someone. I got off the platform and walked west to Washington Park, right passed some fellas that I'm sure were sure that I was lost. I was not lost, in fact. I was there to understand why it was so important for an architect to design a city in a garden. I observed Washington Park, littered and abused after a hot weekend. I noted recycling containers filled with trash and trash containers flipped upside down, and then I saw it; the collaboration of two distinguished gentlemen, Daniel Burnham and Frederick Law Olmstead; groves of trees lining a peaceful path. Planters beckoning the paths to intersect and beautiful lagoons content of existing without mankind, yet quick to welcome visitors with a chair and a pleasant moment as the city sounds dull in the background.
I came across gorgeous sculptures; gifts to a city that drives past them without so much as a tap on the brake. They've seen so much, these statues. A city with something to prove, something to mourn, something to celebrate and something to move toward. They watch as people continue on their way. I walked along the midway plaisance, where Chicagoans created a stage for the world to occupy.
I arrived a Jackson Park, where science and industry take the stage, and where the Japanese Garden reminds the chi-towner that there is a whole other experience outside of their city limits, unequally peaceful, yet equally beautiful. I walked along the lakeshore and watched as Chicago took a break to admire their city from afar, bustling on without them.
I made my way back into the heart of the city to arrive at Grant Park, where a park within a park reflects old Chicago onto new Chicago, and where people gather to cool off, enjoy the sight of children splashing about in water and interact with priceless art. Over the hill, a folk band serenade the sun as it dims over the city. People picnic on their way home, gathering to experience art inside of a sculpture in the shape of an amphitheater. I can't help but think that Mr. Burnham would smile as he experienced what I am experiencing right now. The sounds of intelligent music* bouncing off century old buildings in the city built in a garden. This is true community in a city fueled by industry.
*Lost in the Trees.
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