Bracket by Teak Bracket

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SMALL FISH IN URBAN WARRI THE NOW, LOU FOOD, LONG NI WHEN YOU SHO AECN KTELTY G A CBCR ID WALK ON THE TO YOUR OWN LOSER, WELL T NEVER APOLOG YOUR-HIGH-HO [ B ra c ke t]

N A BIG POND, OR, LIVING IN UD MUSIC, GREA IGHTS, FORGOT OWERED LAST, GOT ARRESTED, WILD SIDE, BE DRUM, SORE A TRAVELLED, GO GETIC, GET-OF ORSE, REAL DE 3

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CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATION

08 16 108 112 118 132

FUTURE PERFECT Joshua Hauth DAY + NIGHT Ryan Magalhaes PAPERMAKING Emad Khan CONSTRUCTION Jesse Lankford NEIGHBORHOODS Ryan Magalhaes EFFAMORPHOSIS Emad Khan

D Sa E S m OL iS A TO ke TE lto D O a n LS n i el O SE H F El A i ck TH m RC ey E e rL H M TR I a d NG D EE AD an T la F IN d E i O e lH G CL R ick O ST Sa O ey F S m SE IK iS R TY M M ke AN L Jo I N lto ES n IG n H A ub L b e LE rt R Y

30 O T WORDS OG 40 RA 44 PH 60 Y 80 12 0

20 26 70 98 106 128 CITYBOUND Erin Agnoli

STAY CREATIVE Julia Sรถderberg

STONED Erin Agnoli

HOMETOWN Jesse Lankford

TYPE JOURNEY Julia Sรถderberg

COMICS + HOLLYWOOD Elmer Ladlad

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CHICAGO WAS INCORPORATED AS A CITY IN 1837

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Throughout history, utopian idealism has permeated culture to affect radical, yet often unrealized, change. In no other industry is this more apparent than architecture. Using drawings and diagrams from underdeveloped or unfinished architectural proposals of avant-garde leaders, we seek to merge what exists now with what could have been. Concept by J osh u a H a u th

FUTURE PERFECT

I nstant C ity

geodesic do m es

TATLINâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S TOWER

is a mobile technological event that drifts into underdeveloped, drab towns via air balloons with provisional structures in tow. The whole endeavor is intended to eventually move on leaving behind advanced technolog y hook-ups. The proposal for this structure was announced by Archigram, a collective formed during the 1960â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s, which found inspiration from technolog y in order to create a new reality that was solely expressed through hypothetical projects.

are spherical or partial-spherical shell structures based on a network of great circles (geodesics) on the surface of a sphere. The geodesics intersect to form triangular elements that have local triangular rigidity and also distribute the stress across the structure. When completed to form a complete sphere, it is a geodesic sphere. This form was popularized by Buckminster Fuller after 1950 and used in a number of commercial and residential projects.

is a grand monumental building envisioned by the Russian artist and architect Vladimir Tatlin, but never built. It was planned to be erected in Petrograd (now St. Petersburg ) after the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917, as the headquarters and monument of the Comintern (the third international). Tatlinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Constructivist tower was to be built from industrial materials: iron, glass and steel. In materials, shape, and function, it was envisaged as a towering symbol of modernity.

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JAM

BACK TO SCHOOL

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CHICAGO PRODuCED THE FIRST WINDOW ENVElOPE IN 1902

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A recollection of a train ride from the suburbs to the city. Words and photographs by E R I N A G N O L I

CITYBOUND

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6:45 am Downers Grove Main St

6:50 am Westmont

The train rushes into the station of the suburban town blowing gusts of leaves and dirt into the air. My hair whips me in the face and I squint my eyes. The waiting commuters’ eyelids are still heavy with sleep, fingers clutching cups of coffee and massive energ y drinks. The train stops and the passengers charge into the train cars. I watch as others fight for seats closest to the windows, away from other commuters. I slide into an open seat. The red faux leather ripping at the seams. The seat still warm from its former tenant. I stare out at the brick buildings of the downtown area. Moments pass and the train begins to lurch forward leaving the town behind. The pristine houses and white picket fences become a blur as the train gains momentum and moves towards the rising sun.

Some passengers, still searching for seats, are flung forward as the train screeches into the next station. The fountain in the middle of the town is already gushing with water; it’s the one redeeming view of this shabby town. The buildings are clearly beginning to crumble, chunks of brick and mortar missing from their facades. Many storefronts have half-lit signs. A ramshackle bar still has its open sign lit up and intoxicated customers are loitering outside its doors, though it’s hard to tell if they are coming or going. One of the drunks stumbles into the train car and slides into a seat a few rows behind me. The train car is suddenly filled with the smell of cheap vodka and the sounds of his incoherent mumbling. I bury my face in my scarf and watch as this run-down town is left behind.

C hicago Halsted St. Western Ave. Cicero LaVergne Berwyn Harlem Ave. Riverside Hollywood (Zoo) Brookfield Congress Park LaGrange Rd. Stone Ave. Western Springs Highlands

6:56 am Hinsdale

Hinsdale West Hinsdale

The train pulls into the next station and is greeted by impatient commuters with sour looks on their faces. The grand town hall sits upon a hill, overlooking the ritzy neighborhood. Expensive boutiques, fine restaurants and hip coffee shops line the streets. BMWs and Acuras wait patiently behind the red and white striped bars and bright flashing lights. Doctors in their pristine white lab coats sit in driverâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s seats, anxiously looking at their watches. Women with fur coats and designer purses and men in tailored suits fill the train car with the scent of expensive perfume and cigarettes, thankfully covering the stale smell of vodka. The train jerks forward causing the women, in their thin stiletto heels, to tumble towards their seats. I smirk as the train speeds closer to the city.

Clarendon Hills Westmont Fairview Ave. Main St, Belmont Lisle Naperville Route 59

A u rora

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7:05 am Brookfield

7:15 am Berwyn

The breaks quietly squeak and the train stops in a ding y suburb. The town seems desolate and empty beyond the platform where the commuters gather and wait for the train doors to open. Instead of streets lined with storefronts and diners there is just a few buildings that look unused and uncared for. More passengers climb into the train car with long faces, dragging their feet as they search for the few remaining uninhabited seats. The rest are left to choose who the least fearsome seatmate is. I get chosen first. An older woman squeezes in the small space next to me. I try to scoot over as she proceeds, without any introduction, to tell me about her woes and how I look like her granddaughter who never visits her, then slyly asks if she can have my ticket. I turn my head back to the window and watch this lonely town disappear.

The train stops and the conductor enters our train car demanding our tickets. As I wait I notice the quaint town outside is already bustling with life. Stores are filling with employees. Residents of the nearby apartment complexes are rushing out of their buildings to catch the train but Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m torn from my view when I hear yelling from a few rows behind me. I turn around and see the drunk getting forcibly taken off the train. I smile and watch as the train lurches forward once more as the bustling town is replaced by a more desolate view.

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7:22 am Cicero

7:44 am Chicago

The train speeds past empty lots, train yards and questionable neighborhoods before it settles at its destination. There are no stores. No restaurants. Just factories and abandoned buildings. Police cars sit in the train station parking lot overlooking the seedy town. Graffiti covers the train station and nearby dilapidated buildings. Women with armfuls of shopping bags and messy hair scoot onto the train. A middle aged man sits behind me and starts singing in a language I can’t quite identif y. As his voice grows louder I try to focus on the view outside but there’s nothing to see except the skyscrapers in the distance as the train moves forward.

Before the train even pulls in commuters begin walking towards the exits. When the train finally jerks to a halt passengers brace themselves so they don’t fall over. The doors open, but the riders are not greeted with the beautiful skyline of the city but instead with a dark tunnel that they must walk through to get into the station. Many commuters try to push through the herds of people, realizing they may be late for work. I get elbowed by business men and hit with purses in the process. I take my time through this tunnel knowing that after my day is done I’ll be here once more pushing through the crowds just to make it back home.

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A typographic exploration by J u l I A S Ö D E R B E R G

50 WAYS TO STAY CREATIVE

EVERYWHERE

GET AWAY FROM THE COMPUTER

1LISTS

2 CARRY A MAKE NOTEBOOK

Quit beating

yourself up

4 BE OTHERWORLDLY

6 BE OPEN

12 Practice, Practice, Practice

GIVE

9 11

10 LISTEN TO NEW MUSIC

14 DON’T

8 DRINK COFFEE

7 SING IN THE SHOWER

16 OF REST 17 GET LOTS

18 STOP TRYING TO BE SOMEONE ELSES PERFECT 21 KEEP LEARNING

22 CREATE A FRAMEWORK

20 GET STAY OVER Y O U R UP ALL S E L F NIGHT

15 CLEAN YOUR WORKSPACE

23 FINISH SOMETHING

25 HAVE FUN YOURSELF

26 BELIEVE IN

28 TAKE

BREAKS

29 HAVE A CONCEPT

30 QUESTION EVERYTHING

27 Write everything down

31 ASK FOR

HELP 32 NETWORK

33 FIND INSPIRATION EVERYWHERE

OF WHAT

MAKES YOU

36 TAKE RISKS

HABITS

YOUR CLIENT

39 WORK OUTSIDE OF YOUR

40 EDUCATE

HAPPY 37 GET FEEDBACK

41 DO RESEARCH

34 DO MORE 35 COLLABORATE

42 BREAK THE RULES 46 Use spellcheck 49 GO

47 MAKE IT SUSTAINABLE

SOME

48 BLESSINGS N E W COUNT YOUR

WHERE

PROCRASTINATE

THINK ABOUT ALL THE POSSIBILITIES

50 DON’T

44 MORE IDEAS 45 TRUST YOUR GUT SKETCH

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A bandoned b u i l dings exist in any city. But what do they really say? Words by S a m i ske l ton Photographs by M A X S K E L T O N

DESOLATE

A s peop l e , so m eti m es we l ike being scared or uncomfortable. It may sound untrue or false: why would we knowingly put ourselves into these situations? Yet flocks of people rush to the movie theaters every year to witness depictions of murder, demonic possession, death, lost love and other horrors of the world. We read books about creatures of the night and sometimes we even look at pictures that may frighten us or make us sad. For some odd reason we have a fascination with these things that make our skin crawl or at least make us uneasy. People also put themselves into these positions by looking at photographs. One increasingly popular

subject for these photographs is abandoned buildings or urban decay. The photographs are desolate, lonely, and at times hopeless, but their popularity is growing. One reason for this may be the seemingly offlimits nature of the places being photographed. The pictures let us see inside some very mysterious and long forgotten places, and in order to have these images the photographer must enter into these intriguing structures. Some of the allure of these spaces are the questions we ask when we experience them and the fact that there arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t necessarily any answers to these questions. Other questions that we find ourselves asking include who or what lives there now ? Why were relics left 33

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behind? In some cases and through research we can find the answers to these questions. Answers are attainable in famous cases such as Chrynobl or even St. Anges Catholic Church in Detroit, Michigan. But the majority of abandoned buildings pass into oblivion without much recognition or documentation. In these cases there are no conclusive answers and so our imaginations are allowed to run wild. What is most inspiring, albeit a little unsettling, is seeing nature reclaiming her territory. We forget that buildings and structures are artificial, that trees, plants and foliage are the natural way of the world. Once people stop caring for their creations, nature swoops in and takes care of it. The photographers shooting these images do so for various reasons. Some capture these derelict sites for purely aesthetic purposes and others have a social purpose to their photography. The photographs displayed in tandem with this article were shot for purely aesthetic reasons. They show an abandoned factory and the surrounding area on the south side of Chicago. This site is being overtaken by plants and some animals and has become a canvas for graffiti artists. Matthew Christopher is a photographer who captures abandoned buildings with social motives. According to Christopher, “we live in a time where every spare plot of land is being developed and redeveloped, a time when cookie-cutter, prefabricated homes and businesses are the general rule.” Christopher took this social critique and turned it into a theme for his work. He says that “there is an undeniably artistic element to decayed sites, and an immense number of social, theological, and philosophical questions they pose.”

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CROWN FOUNTAIN IS A REFERENCE TO THE HISTORIC USE OF GARGOYLES

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No matter what interest, hobby, or profession one pursues having the RIGHT TOOLS for the job is necessary. This is especially true in any CREATIVE field and the following showcases some ESSENTIALS for two very different ARTISTIC pursuits. Photographs by Daniel Hickey

TOOLS OF THE TRADE

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S MICHIGAN AVE

E ADAMS ST

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Among the few who have spotted the AlIEN/ROBOT/STIK hybrids that litter the streets of Chicago, even fewer know of their ORIGIN, their PuRPOSE, or even their NAmE. Photographs and article by ElmER lADlAD

STIKmAN SIGHTINGS

IN 2009, WHIlE PENSIVElY STARING like stick figures made of the same stuff at the pavement, as one usually does when used for road markings” wasn’t the clearest wandering the city, I encountered my first description; and also, most people hadn’t stikman. It happened at the east crosswalk even seen them because they were hidden of Washington and Wabash and held my in plain sight like crosswalks, on lamp post attention long enough for me to think boxes, and within support beams. Three years later people still look at me “that’s cool” before returning to my reverie. Subsequent wanderings led to finding more strangely when asked about the stikmen stikmen and realizing that each must have “Haven’t seen them. Why? What happened?” been hand-made if the size, shape, and said a frightened doorman I spoke to in medium varied. Soon, seeking them out preparation for this article. I suppose replaced ruminating as my favorite hobby. anything that exists under a person’s nose However, explaining this new discovery was without them knowing is unsettling. But the difficult for a couple reasons. Firstly, “robot- truth is stikmen have existed for 20 years.

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E ST AT N ST

U N R

ST SH

N STATE ST

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ST E C EDA R

The anonymous artist fittingly dubbed Stikman installed his first stikman figure during the spring of 1992 in his hometown of Philadelphia and has since put up over 150 in cities such as New York, Toronto, Washington DC, and Hollywood. He chooses to remain anonymous because he believes that an artist’s persona too often overshadows their work. He was inspired by a stick figure created by another artist who pressed sticks into wet plaster then removed them so that only the impression remained. This conveys Stikman’s appreciation of art that lacks persona lity because it was a stick figure without sticks. He adopted the the figure as his own and called it a stikman, deliberately without a c because he thinks the word looks better that way. The earliest works of Stikman were tagged with, “The Object was there on the street but the me in it was totally absent.” Today he choses to leave his stikmen without text because it allows the viewer to see it in its environment and name it whatever he/she choses.

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Things Stikman has affixed his figures include vinyl records, books, and fire alarms, but his favorites are ping pong balls, tiny slide viewers and playing cards. In my search through Chicago I have only found the two most recognizable kinds: the stikmen at cross walks and wooden stikmen glued to lamp posts. Traces of stolen/defaced stikmen were found along the way such as a wooden star glued inside a CTA support beam at Wabash and Monroe. Today it is painted black, but pictures online show that this was once a stikman painting. As sad as it is to have lost the opportunity to see it in its orginial form, Stikman embraces any human interaction with his art. He doesn’t expect his stikmen to last forever and describes it as “A TRANSIENT FORm OF ART TO CONNECT WITH A VIEWER WHOm I WIll NEVER mEET, IN HOPES THAT THE JOY OF FINDING THE uNEXPECTED HAS AlTERED THEIR CONSCIOuSNESS.”

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E RANDOLPH ST N STATE ST

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E WASHINGTON ST

N WABASH AVE

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5544

N LE OR S

N FRANKLIN

ST 5555

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S COLUMBUS DR E MONROE ST

Ja cks o n & Mi chi g a n

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R an dol ph & W abas h

Clark & Wacker

Wells & Wacker

Madison & M i ch i g a n

Lake & W a bas h

V a n B ur e n & Mic h ig a n

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THE FERRIS WHEEL DEBUTED IN CHICAGO IN 1893

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A collection of photos taken of the graffiti art left behind after the 2011 Chicago Meeting of Styles event. All photos taken from the area known as the Wall of Style at 30th & KEDZIE. The Chicago stop of this worldwide event happened in September of 2011 and documented in November. Photographs by DANIEL HICKEY

MEETING OF STYLES

The International Meeting of Styles (MOS) is an international network of graffiti artists and aficionados that began in Wiesbaden, Germany in 2002. Brought together and inspired by their passion for graffiti, MOS aims to create a forum for the international art community to communicate, assemble and exchange ideas, works and skills, but also to support intercultural exchange. In the spirit of cooperation and promotion, since 2002 MOS has launched over 75 events in sixteen countries across Europe, Russia and America. These events have sponsored hundreds of graffiti artists from all over the world and throughout the years have attracted more than 150.000 spectators,

providing a focal point for urban street culture and graffiti art to reach the larger community. The â&#x20AC;&#x153;Meeting Of Stylesâ&#x20AC;? as its name says, is a meeting of styles, created in order to support the netting of the international art community. It is not meant to be a forum only for classical and traditonal Graffiti-Artists and -Writers, but a podium to present all different types of urban art! This is way we are open for all types and stlyes. Eventhough the event is rooted in classical Graffiti-Writing , we are open-minded non-traditionalists as we recognize the importance of gaining a new consciousness towards Graffiti, Street and Urban-Art.

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The Creepy Wizard and Businessman Jesus: A Stoned Odyssey through Chicago. Story by C A I T L I N B R O D I E Photographs by E R I N A G N O L I

STONED

THERE ARE GOOD AND BAD PLACES TO SMOKE WEED, and there are more bad than good, at least in my experience. These “bad” places range from “mildly inappropriate” to “maybe you should reevaluate your life choices.” The downtown area of Chicago, or the “loop,” as all the young , hip kids call it, is, for me at least, a member of the latter category. First of all, you should know that pot and I are maybe not the best of friends. I have a very paranoid, overactive imagination, and smoking pot is like giving my imagination steroids. I once spent an hour lying on the floor, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyelids because I had myself convinced that my eyeballs were attempting to roll out of my skull. But that is a different story. In this story, my eyeballs stayed firmly in place, although my sanity certainly did not. My friend Alyssa had offered to “smoke me down” (which is stoner lingo for letting me smoke some of her weed for free, according to my ex-boyfriend) after class one Monday, and, since I was desperately trying to be cool, I accepted. We sat and smoked in Grant Park, watching trains pass back and forth below the big , stone bridge that spans the train tracks. We had typical stoned conversations for an hour or so, covering such important topics as how eyebrows are weird and how “that screechy sound from the trains is just…so many things.” Eventually our conversations ran out, as did the weed, and the sun had set long ago, plunging us into a very chilly February night, and I figured that I should probably get going , as I had to walk over a mile and a half back to Union Station so I could catch a train back home to the suburbs. As high as I was (and, believe me, I was pretty damn high), I didn’t think I’d have a problem finding my way back to Union, as the downtown area of Chicago

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FROM BENEATH THIS CURTAIN OF HAIR, ONE HUGE EYE GLARED OUT AT ME, THE IRIS SO BLUE IT LOOKED LIKE IT WAS GLOWING

couldn’t tell if that was by choice or the result of some kind of accident. At first I thought he was just a normal, slightly crazy homeless man, the kind you find on practically any street corner in the downtown area. But that idea only lasted until I saw what he was carrying in his right hand. It looked like a Tupperware container, sort of like a toolbox, something with a handle. The body of it was made of clear plastic so I could see every detail of what was inside. And what was inside, you ask? Skulls. It was filled to the brim with at least 20 tiny skulls, all bleach white and staring at me out of tiny, eyeless sockets. Okay. Maybe it wasn’t skulls. Maybe it was Christmas ornaments or old Styrofoam cups he’d found in a dumpster. I’m sure there are a thousand logical explanations for what was in that container, explanations that have nothing to do with skulls, but when you’re stumbling through the streets, stoned and paranoid, seeing a homeless man carrying around a case of skulls seems about as logical as anything else. I froze in the middle of the crosswalk as he passed by me, my mouth hanging open, my eyes bright red and open wide (or at least as wide as they could be in my condition

is essentially a giant grid, and all I had to do was walk 3 blocks North and then walk straight down Jackson Boulevard until I got to Union. It seemed simple enough. Spoiler alert: it turned out not to be simple at all. My problems began as soon as I attempted to cross Congress Parkway. Now, Congress is always a giant clusterfuck of traffic and pedestrians and what-haveyou, but traffic wasn’t my problem that day. My problem was the crazy homeless man who was ambling toward me from the other side of the street. He was limping with a weird kind of swagger, taking one large step with his good leg and then executing a bizarre hip g yration, almost as if he were trying to keep an invisible hula-hoop aloft, which worked to swing his bad leg around in front of him. In his left hand he was carrying a large, wooden staff, the kind you’d see in Lord of the Rings, not on the streets of Chicago, a staff that looked as though he had torn a small tree directly from the ground on his way through the city. His hair was a dirty grey, long and scraggly, like an old birds’ nest that had been torn apart. From beneath this curtain of hair, one huge eye glared out at me, the iris so blue it looked like it was glowing. His other eye was twisted shut, though I

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condition). The glowing blue eye continued to stare at me, the manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s head swiveling smoothly to accommodate the eyeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s unblinking gaze. Had I been in my right mind, this encounter would have been only mildly creepy, but as it was, I was terrified. My heart thudded heavily in my chest, and I could hear each separate beat as if my heart was somehow where my brain should be, pounding a thick, muddy rhythm against my eardrums. Once he was behind me, I caught my breath again, took a few stumbling steps forward, and then bolted the rest of the way across the street, eager to get as far away from the creepy creepy man as I could. I thought that was the end of my troubles. I was wrong. In my eagerness to get away from the evil, homeless Gandalf, I decided to turn and walk down Congress, as if this would throw the man off my trail if he decided

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to turn around and chase me. Had I been sober, this would have been no problem, in fact I do this all the time on my walks to and from school, but I was not sober, and this turn ended up being the cause of my second alarming encounter. I ended up walking down State Street somehow, probably because it was all lit up and I was still worried about the creepy wizard man, and we all know creepy wizard men are afraid of light. I was walking past the Harold Washington Library, doing my best to act as sober as possible, which is really embarrassingly hard to do when your legs feel like applesauce and you keep forgetting how to bend and straighten your knees at the proper times, when I spotted a man walking towards me who initially seemed like every other person on the street. He was young , probably in his 30s, his hair fashionably styled and combed away from his face, his black pea coat completely free of lint and animal fur, the barest hint of stubble on his cheeks. In short, he looked like any other business man on his way home from work. It was only when he made eye contact with me that I realized who he actually was. This unassuming business man was, without a doubt, Jesus Christ. I know this because when he looked into my eyes, I felt a jolt run through me, a bolt of electricity that ran from my optic ner ve all the way down to the tips of my toes, and I knew in that moment that he could see into the very soul of my being and he knew exactly how high I was and was extremely disappointed with me. One corner of his upper lip pulled into a sneer for the briefest of moments, his eyes narrowing so he could properly convey his disapproval without ever speaking a word to the heathen girl in front of him.

AND WE ALL KNOW CREEPY WIZARD MEN ARE AFRAID OF LIGHT

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silly comparatively. What did it matter if I caught my train? I had just punched my one-way ticket to eternal damnation, how was I supposed to worry about trains? I blundered forward, weaving back and forth along the sidewalk, trying to remember where I was. You know that feeling you get when you leave for vacation, that feeling that you’ve forgotten something , that something is missing , that something is wrong ? That’s how I felt while trying to find my way back to Union. The entire time I felt like I was going the wrong way, like I needed to turn around, even though I knew I was headed in the right direction. When I finally made it to the station and found the right train (which was an impressive feat, all things considered), I nearly collapsed into my seat, exhausted, bewildered, and confused. By the time I got home that night, I was almost entirely sober, or at least sober enough to finally convince myself that I hadn’t seen Jesus dressed as a business man, and that the Tupperware container hadn’t been full of skulls, but to this day I still wonder. One thing I know for sure: I will never smoke weed in Chicago again, at least not without competent super vision.

Okay, so he probably wasn’t Jesus. He probably had no idea how high I was, or if he did, he only knew because I am absolutely awful at pretending to be sober. I have no idea why I was so sure it was Jesus Christ himself, or why I thought the son of God would be waltzing around Chicago in the middle of February, but in that moment I had never been so sure of anything in my entire life. I stopped dead in my tracks, my whole body so cold I was practically vibrating there in the middle of the sidewalk. My heart now felt like it was in my stomach, and each time I tried to swallow my tongue felt huge and useless and my throat muscles forgot how to work. I was so disturbed by the amount of judgment present in Jesus’ eyes that I completely forgot where I was going , where I was, who I was, and what directions were. North, South, East and West all meant nothing to me. I forgot that I was in Chicago, I forgot what the Harold Washington Library was, I forgot how to get to Union Station, I even forgot why I needed to get to Union Station in the first place. I felt like I had just been told that I was without a doubt going to hell, and suddenly everything seemed very petty and

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THE WIllIS TOWER IS THE TAllEST BuIlDING IN THE WESTERN HEmISPHERE

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Getting up-close with historic landmarks in Chicago reveals abstractions from architect u ra l detai l s . Photographs by S a m i ske l ton

CLOSER

C hicago is ho m e to m any historica l and architecturally significant sites. Four famous Chicago buildings are featured in the following pages. The first building featured is the historic Chicago Water Tower. It is on Michigan Avenue and in the heart of the Magnificent Mile shopping destination. Water Tower was built in 1869 and was designed by architect William W. Boyington. Water Tower was one of a few buildings to survive the Great Chicago Fire in 1871. The second building featured is Fourth Presbyterian Church, also located on Michigan Avenue. The Fourth Presbyterian congregation formed in Chicago in [ B ra c ke t]

October of 1871, the same year as the Great Chicago Fire. The church was rebuilt in 1874 and later moved to its current location in 1912. The Harold Washington Library is the next building featured. Built in 1987 by architectural firm Hamond, Beeby, and Babka, this is the Chicago Public Library systemâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s central building. The exterior ornamentation was later added in 1993. The fourth and final building is the iconic Wrigley Field. Wrigley has been home to the Chicago Cubs since 1916. Originally this site was called Cubs Park until William Wrigley Jr., owner of Wrigley Gum bought the team. 82

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WATER TOWER

FOURTH PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH

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HAROLD WASHINGTON LIBRARY

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WRIGLEY FIELD

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I keep writing these letters in my head but forgetting to actually put them down on paperâ&#x20AC;Ś Words by J oseph C rawford Photographs by E D H A R R I S and M I K E S U T T O N

HOMETOWN

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100

i hope when yo u read a l l of this yo u don ’ t think l ess of m e

I know I can be a terrible person, but for the most part, can’t everyone? Constantly, people see harm in what they’re doing and continue on their way. It’s not just me. I know, I know. Quit comparing myself to everyone else and I’ll be happier. Anyway, our loft downtown didn’t only mean parties throughout the school year, for when summer arrived, our loft became a nightly ritual for all our friends who stuck around the city for the warmer months, the construction months.... The city gives and gives then takes and takes, both having positive and negative outcomes. Living in a city gives reason for friends to come visit, especially when home is a small town. Every weekend calls come in, and with the holidays, they come even more frequently. After two roommates moved home, it left only my buddy, Dean, and I, along with our friend, Allen, who’d come to spend summer with us before heading off to the Navy. A month in the city now and slowly he was leaning toward staying instead of departing.

On Thursday my former roommate, Rob, returned to the city for a concert with hometown friends Cherry, Scooter, Eddy, and Dooly. I love seeing my friends but an apartment full of kids with only one month remaining to find a new place had my stress levels skyrocketing. I already had so much on my plate. You see, I was trying to fix things with my ex-girlfriend who’d just left the city without any resolution to our relationship problems, but at the same time, I’d started seeing this girl, Marin, and I’m still not sure why... maybe because I was bored and wanted something to pass the time… I guess it was her curiosity that intrigued me, that fresh feeling of a new city, wanting to see everything and really take it all in. She was still new to Chicago. Used-up nights and regretful mornings lead to more mistakes and broken hearts, the city robs you of everything you love but fills the holes to keep you busy, to make sure you don’t notice until it’s all really gone, and you’re in a cloud of smoke on a dirty couch as lonely as the man begging for change in the street. Anyway, I took her to Wicker Park Fest which she didn’t enjoy as much as my visiting friends. After a nap in my room, she kissed me goodbye and was off to her hometown for the weekend. Free again, nothing around to tie me down. So how do we celebrate? Well after their concert the group returned with beer to share. City pals rolling in the door and I got way too drunk, past remembering , waking up to a kitchen full of broken bottles. Stories circulate the room like fifths and half of the participants ended up throwing up while I smashed every bottle in the apartment on the island counter, trying to convince Allen to go to school instead of joining the Navy. Hey, it worked. The next day there was a free show at the Taste of Chicago so we hung out to pass some time, waiting to meet up with Marty and Remy Scott. Marty is a wild guy from the suburbs who I’d known for nearly two years now, while Remy was an old friend from home, a familiar face to our visiting friends. Rumors spread of the fireworks being that night, so we decide to pregame before the show. A fifth of whisky circles around the island, followed by a 2-liter of soda until the empty glass meets the counter.

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“Alright, let’s go watch some fireworks!” Eddy shouts, his eyes growing smaller behind his glasses. Dooly nods his head in agreement and finishes his beer. I hadn’t seen a crowd like this since the Obama Rally ; it blew my mind that it could even compare. People flowed like a river through the streets: families, tourists, groups of friends, gangs of hoodlums, and the solo wanderers. The fireworks ended as soon as they started, being cutoff early due to the multitude of people and the anticipated gang violence. Apparently some fights had already broken out and as the crowd got bigger, the weather got warmer, the streets grew more dangerous. Cops flashed their lights, attempting to clear paths through the mob of pedestrians and my phone kept ringing. “Meet at my apartment,” I tell friends as we drift [ B ra c ke t]

through openings to escape the flood of people. The party gets wild as the usual suspects of our summer soirees stroll through the open door: Addison, Ally, Kay, Mary and Gwen. Girls to keep up with the overload of boys in the room. Ally and Kay were both from Marty’s hometown, bringing Mary along for the ride. Marty kept the parties in our apartment going almost as often as we did. Everyone takes turns playing records, dancing with the lights out, up on the couch and on the counter, beer cans in the sink on top of dirty dishes and clean ones too, until around two when the party finally dies down. Gwen whispers to me dirty promises with her tongue in my ear, vulgar words that raise my eyebrows. But that doesn’t mean I said no. She follows me back to my room where we hid from the crowd for a while,

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coming out to find an abandoned party, scattered empty bottles and records asking to be flipped. She went downstairs to get a soda and I drifted to sleep, waking up with her beside me. Saturday brings the worst weather of the weekend. We hide inside playing video games most of the day, smoking the last of our weed. Dunkin Donuts for breakfast, hash rounds and chocolate milk, in the misty park on an abandoned stage as soft rain drizzled down. Calls from my ex have me hiding in my room with the phone to my ear, listening to her tell me stories from home, even the ones that worry my mind. Night rolled around and the rain went away, so a few of us drove Cherry’s car to Logan Square to pick up more pot. Even with Addison’s directions, we still get lost, yet eventually we’re

exchanging our crumbled bills for a bag of green to the Mexican man in a room with no lights on. And the drive home was beautiful; a neighborhood of families shooting off fireworks, from the street, the yard, and some from the rooftops. Bursts or red, green, and blue in all directions, setting off car alarms when they’re too close to the street. Admiring the sky as we drove random roads trying to find our way back to the highway, grins spread across our faces. The explosions grew bigger as we neared the city. It was July 4th, and though Navy Pier had done their share, the citizens now took their turn. We met up with the rest of our group at the grocery store on Roosevelt, just a few blocks from home now, picking up even more alcohol than the previous night. By the time the weekend was over, we’d consumed four 30-

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packs, a 24-pack, two 12’s, four fifths, and a handle of rum. Once we were back at Dwight, ripping into a 30, the phone rings and more familiar faces stroll through the door. The group gets bigger as we keep doing shots, smoking , dancing , and shouting… Mary comes by with her eye on Dean, bringing along a friend I’d never met before. Her name was Miranda, cute and scene-looking , with wild black hair, tattoos and piercings. Cigarette smoke blurs the air, people on the counter with their shirts swinging above their heads. Scooter and Eddy build a “beer-amid” out of two 30’s worth of cans, snapping photos, being weary of swaying dancers. Allen drifts off to his room with Cherry while the rest of the group gets high in the spare bedroom. I stand by Miranda at the counter, alone now. We do a shot together, soft giggles from the taste that bring our faces close, noses bump, and we go to my room, lights off with the door locked. These are how the nights go, I guess. Just trying to entertain, make sure everyone has a good time, and then the night takes over, the mind goes dark, and the morning brings circumstances we’re not quite ready for. New girls to replace old ones, dirty dishes where clean ones once were, beer bottles now shards of glass, and our rented loft becomes a wreckage of puke stains and burn holes. We’ll always pay for things we didn’t buy, the good times, but don’t let it get you down. The lessons are all in the suffering , the good times come from paying attention to them. Mary and Miranda headed back to the suburbs early and I woke up feeling fine but had a headache within the first hour. Our group of guests made their way to a small diner in the misty day for breakfast, sharing their favorite stories of the weekend, their joy and sorrow, laughter and sickness. Dooly’s puke was still in the corner of the room, some in the trash, most on the carpet. Back at the apartment, we smoked and “cleaned” before the group took off, leaving Dean, Allen, and I on the living room couch, breathing a sigh of relief. “ What just happened?” Allen asks with a smirk. Pinch hits for breakfast and Dean’s off to work, Allen down for a nap, and I put a record on, sitting back and admiring the aftermath in the living room. What did just happen? The city is a bipolar mess, showing you more love than you can handle, and in an instant, turning her back on you for days. People come and people go, just like the seasons, more like the weekends, up in a daze for a couple days, and gone like girls in the morning , while you’re sitting up in bed, rubbing your head, and trying to remember what happened. First it was the weekends that drifted by without notice, then suddenly it was the weeks, and before I knew it, we’d moved out of the apartment. I adapted and adjusted with the flow of the stream. I love this city, even when she doesn’t love me.

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It is human nature to make the most out of our resources. Yet society today has grown lazy and distant from this primal instinct. We assume that now we have a never-ending supply of resources and donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t think twice when tossing things away. Pretty soon we will realize that this is not true and our previous instincts will kick in again. Butby then it may be too late. We need to wake- up now and pay attention to how we obtain and use the resources we have and what can be done to make the most of them.

The production of paper can be adjusted so that it is used to its highest potential. This illustrates the process and resources used to produce paper and paper based products. A quick look will make it clear that we actually have two sources of materials instead of just one. The forests are not the only resource in the paper making process but in fact our cities also have the potential to be harvested for resources. If more resources are derived from the cities and less from the forests, we can succeed in making the most of our resources and have a lighter impact on nature.

PAPERMAKING

Words and illustrations by E M A D K H A N [ B ra c ke t]

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De-Inking Cleaning

Recycled Pulp Mixing

POST-Collection

Papermaking

Collection

Fine Screening

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IN 1900 THE FlOW OF THE CHICAGO RIVER WAS REVERSED

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Photographs and illustrations by J E S S E L A N K F O R D

CONSTRUCTION

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Quick and insightful descriptions of a few of Chicago’s u ni q u e and notable neighborhoods. Illustrations by R Y A N M A G A L H A E S

NEIGHBORHOODS

C O L N PA

The area where many Chicagoans take pride in the history and legacy behind the Chicago Cubs and Wrigley Field. The area is a popular hot spot for weekend nights in the bars of Wrigleyville.

Boystown is one of the largest LGBT communities in the United States. For a fun experience with a more colorful tone, enjoy a night out in a neighborhood that never sleeps.

On the northwest side is Humboldt Park, the largest Puerto Rican community in Chicago. Experience part of Chicago’s well known diversity at the Institute of Puerto Rican Arts and Culture.

Take a short ride north to the Lincoln Park Zoo to see around 1,250 different animals and welcome the new baby Western Lowland Gorilla to Chicago.

Take a ride out to Wicker Park, rising with popularity and hipster culture, the area has transformed into a place for great experiences, interesting bars, coffee shops and thriftstores.

Experience the heart of Chicago and head downtown to interact with the historical commercial district, an area known as The Loop. From this area it is easy to access any part of Chicago.

Ride out west to the United Center to take pride in the house of two of Chicago’s renowned athletic teams, The Chicago Bulls and The Chicago Blackhawks, a must for any sports fan.

Many cities across the United States have a Chinatown district. To experience Chicago’s Chinatown head south of the Loop to a place that both Chicago natives and tourists can enjoy.

Wicker Park

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M I N I G A LL E R Y Photographs by J O N H U B B E R T

Inspiration can be seen all around us and can sometimes bombard the senses. What inspired you an hour ago may be forgotten by the time you get to the canvas, fortunatly technolog y is there to assist. With all of us carrying camera phones we can hold tons inspiration in our pockets. Next time you see something that inspires you take a picture and save it for when you need the extra boost to get you through the day. Or use others finds to boost your morale. With apps like Instagram, you can be anywhere and have access to millions of peoplesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; daily finds, or even photos of what they ate for lunch.

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ClOuDGATE CONSISTS OF 168 STAINlESS STEEl PlATES AND WEIGHS 100 TONS

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In a year where the influence of comic books on culture was UNDENIABLE, Chicago’s Graham Crackers Comics shop manager MATT STREETS shares his thoughts on pop culture’s latest trends. Interview and photographs by ELMER LADLAD

C O M I C S + H O LL Y W O O D

How have comics endured? Comics have always more or less been an American staple, kind of like baseball and jazz music. Finally it’s gotten out from under the notion that comics are just for kids, I think more and more people today realize this. Of course there are still plenty comics for kids to enjoy, but there are also many comics for adults that deal with more mature and advanced themes than just good vs. evil. What is its role in pop culture and how has it changed recently? Obviously all of this stems from the success of the movies from the last ten years or so, starting with the first Spider-Man movie in 2002 that made hundreds of millions of dollars. It went from there; the Batman movies, the Spider-Man sequel, Iron Man was a huge enormous hit -and not only comic fans but regular movie fans went to see that. Elderly people and people who might not normally see a comic book movie went to see Iron Man. And you know when you have that crossover potential something’s working. So, because of that Hollywood is like, “ Well, Comics are hot!” They’ll snatch the rights to [any popular property] and try to turn it into a movie or T V show.

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Do you think this is upsetting to hardcore fans who might think Hollywood is co-opting their culture? Not really, because for the most part they’re being done well. I think almost everyone was happy with the Avengers movie. It felt like a comic book, it wasn’t pandering , it wasn’t insulting to the fans of the comic, it was entertaining on all levels. They’ve gotten it right. It took awhile but they finally learned how to do these things right. Every time they do one of these movies or T V shows that become a big hit, it just brings in new fans. That’s the best part of it. People who saw Avengers are like, “ Wow, Avengers was awesome! What else you got ? What are some cool Captain America comics? Or Iron Man comics?” That’s great. We love that. We want people to come in and discover the joy of comics. Do you see the trend waning soon? Not really, Avengers is the third highest grossing film of all time. So, it’s not gonna stop anytime soon. They’ve already green lit a bunch of projects: Iron Man 3, the new Thor movie, new Avengers, they’re trying to get the new Wonder Woman and Superman movie off the ground. Until it stops making money they’re not going to stop doing this. Walking Dead, based off a comic book, just broke viewing records for their season 3 premiere. You’re talking about comic book properties that are breaking records in these genres they’re in. If anything they’re peaking now. Certainly they’re not going to slow down or show signs of stopping. Have comic books in turn been influenced? Yeah. Frankly, I think the quality of comic books in general has gotten a lot better. Comics across the board from mainstream to independents are better now than they have been maybe ever, or certainly in a long time. The writing’s better, the artwork is much more professional. They feed off each other. They’ve gotten it right. What about other facets of the industry like Comic-Con and C2E2 (Comic Convention and Entertainment Expo)? Yeah, you see it everywhere. Just walk down the street and you’ll see people wearing Batman t-shirts. They might not have ever read a Batman comic in their life, but they know Batman’s cool. It’s like a cool, hip thing to be into. C2E2 has done three years now, about to have their fourth in April. Each year attendance has gone up and I’m sure this year will have an even higher attendance than last year. Shows like Big Bang Theory have done a lot for the industry. They go to a comic book story every week and it’s like a normal thing for them. I’ll see customers come in and they’re like, “Oh, look there’s those t-shirts like on Big Bang Theory ! That’s cool.” It’s become more of a normal, natural thing after being an underground thing for a while.

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77 E. Madison St. Chicago, IL

Do you watch any of these movies or shows? And what are your favorites? I like Big Bang Theory, it’s a fun show. And I like that it doesn’t make fun of these guys or pander down to them. It shows smart people and geeks in a good light. It shows comic book culture in a normal light. Walking Dead is good. I just finished season two, I thought it was great. The movies for the most part are good. There’s of course a few I haven’t been too keen on… Elektra? George Clooney’s Batman? Yeah, sure but those are all old. That was before these movies were becoming mega blockbusters. What about Watchmen? I’m actually one of the few people that didn’t completely hate the Watchmen movie. I thought it could have been a lot worse. At least Zach Snyder, the guy who directed it, was a big fan of the comic and understood the comic to a certain degree. It was a flawed movie, but I think for what it is it isn’t a terrible movie. They did about as good a job as they could do with that. Is it one of those examples where something gets lost in translation? Yeah. It’s a difficult graphic novel to adapt. It’s a long graphic novel, it’s complicated, it’s got multiple characters with flashbacks with different time periods. It should have probably been an HBO miniseries. But for a three-hour movie they crammed a lot in there, it’s pretty close to the graphic novel. So yeah, not bad.

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What is it about comics that would lead people to them as opposed to a novel or film? What is it about comics that separates them from everything else? I’ve always said that reading a comic is unique in itself. You’re not watching a movie, you’re not reading a book, you’re doing something in between. You’re engaging different parts of your brain by interacting visually with the art and mentally with the words. It’s a unique experience. Sequential art has always been its own thing that takes a little from different genres of art. That’s what has always made it special. How would you describe the comic book culture decade-by-decade beginning with the ‘70s when the first Superman movie was released? It hasn’t changed much. The high watermark was the ‘90s with Tim Burton’s Batman movie and the explosion of popularity with gimmicks like Death of Superman. That was the high point. Around ’94, ’95, ’96 the bubble burst in the speculator market and it all collapsed. Comic book stores closed in waves across the country. By the late ‘90s the comic numbers were at the lowest they’d been ever. The industry was teetering a little bit. But it held on a little. Then when they released the first Sam Raimi Spider-Man movie in 2002 it signaled the beginning of an upswing of comics coming back into favor. How’s your store today? Yeah, business is good. People are like, “Hey, I’ve been watching Walking Dead but how’s the comic book?” “The comic’s great.” And you give them a comic and they get hooked on it and then it’s like a gateway. They’re like, “Oh! This is good. What else is there?” And you give them these other books that are really good. They discover this whole world of comics, it’s great. It’s like comics have always been this kind of thing that people who read them know about, people who don’t don’t quite get it, and when you can finally get them reading comics and you see that they realize, “Oh yeah, this is pretty awesome.” That’s always a cool thing.

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Illustrated by Emad Khan Written by David Hughes

The Effamorphosis

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Phew

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WE GOT YOUR YOUNG FOREVE VACATION, LOS TALK BACK, NE ON-THE-GO, BR DINNER, JOIN EARN A DEGRE SCHOOL OF HA EXPERIMENT, OF THE FAMILY GET UNCOMFO [ B ra c ke t]

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