Another embroidery exhibition that would have passed my attention a few years ago, that now I run to and eat up. The more I look into and do embroidery, the more I am aware of the connections of this craft with another one that I have studied much more–architecture. There are similar issues concerning material capabilities, choices about drawing attention to connections vs. surface treatments, and of course the long history of aesthetics that are common across regional crafts.

This one addressed a pretty vast landscape, from China to Türkiye, exemplified by theatre costumes, decorative arts, and recent fashion. It was really scrumptuous.

Like lots of people, I found some relief from the chronic mental anguish surrounding COVID through picking up a manual hobby–in this case, returning to needlework that I had futzed with much earlier in life. Nashville had a great little place called Craft South, where I took a class that introduced me to embroidery techniques that had seemed out of reach since the first wowie-zowie embroidery I remember seeing was the Whiplash by Hermann Obrist in an Art Nouveau segment of a modern European architecture class back in 1990 or so. Judging all embroidery by the Obrist standard–or, rather, the unknown embroiderer who likely stitched what Obrist drew–was maybe unfair, and what kept me from it for so long. But pushed to a need to claim something real and physical and beautiful by a global pandemic, I waded in.

And glad I did tho I have yet to whip up my own whiplash. But I do take opportunities to take in masterful needlework whenever I can. Seeing the RSN’s anniversary show was indeed gallery after gallery of wowie-zowie moments. I no longer feel intimidated by them, just a very healthy encouragement to keep stabbing away.

Although we never met, Helmut Jahn has been with me through my whole life in architecture to date. The State of Illinois Center (which will always be its name to me, just like Sears is Sears and Fields is Fields) was THE story when I was starting my undergrad program at the University of Illinois–not only a big deal as a building itself, but a stunning lesson in the way that architecture could be wild and dramatic and uncompromising and by doing so, inserted itself into public discourse (not always in a good way, as the much-maligned building would prove). But I always had a soft spot for it, which has only grown to a more lively affection since moving away from Chicago and seeing the building come under attack (later by barbarians who will rob it of its glitz). It’s a wonky thing but sweetly so, and we need more buildings that invite us to think about them and, whatever you think about the form and function of the thing, there’s no denying the thrill of walking into that vast soaring atrium with the shiny elevators whizzing up and down, unless you are missing your pulse.

I took every opportunity to get with Helmut, so to speak, through building visits as I travel and also making a point to visit his offices whenever they were available through Open House Chicago. What a thrill to stand in front of his desk and look at those pens and markers. I think there may be a rule that the best architects draw with color. It was a real moment when I finally got to. hear him speak on architecture in November of 2017 and it made me like, understand, and enjoy his work all the more. And then it was very cool to learn that he had actually gotten close to me, when he bought a horse farm a mere four miles from my home in St. Charles, Illinois. I drove by it pretty regularly and always scanned the yard to see if I’d spot Jahn, but it never happened.

Then the awful news came in May, 2021 of his death in a bike accident on one of those farmy roads out west of the city. Viewing the Chicago Architecture Center’s tribute exhibition felt something like a wake (nothing against the exhibition itself–it was small but super, but just could not avoid imposing a sense of loss), but scoring a visit to any of his many many many many great buildings on this continent or another remains a real celebration.

VIbrant, bracing, daring, convicting work on display at MOMA, with 11 newly-commissioned projects by architects, artists and other designers addressing the question: How does race structure America’s cities? through a proposed intervention in an American city.

From the posted Manifesto of the Black Reconstruction Collective:

We take up the question of what architecture can be–not a tool for imperialism and subjugation, not a means for aggrandizing the self, but a vehicle for liberation and joy. The discipline of architecture has consistently and deliberately avoided participation in this endeavor, operating in complicity with repressive aspects of the current system. this ends now.

Read more from the curators.