Wednesday, September 20, 2006
DAY FIFTEEN: MILWAUKEE II
I was dreaming the dollar amount my citation in Oklahoma would be when Sonja walks in to the guest room and begins to talk about the lecture at MIAD I am to give on Friday as part of my work exchange. Do I have a write-up that describes my work? What should be included on the flyer? What time should it be? She wants answers.
We have a delightful breakfast of poached eggs and toast on her patio. It's cold and I begin thinking about autumn and its inevitable companion, winter. I haven't experienced east coast winter in four years and know there is no way to prepare for the winter that lies ahead of me in New York. Positive thoughts and a down jacket?
The day passes in chattering busy-ness, between MIAD, coffee, and Sonja's studio.
It's in an enormous defunct factory with cream-colored bricks—the color of all bricks natural to Milwaukee. The general feeling of Milwaukee reminds me of Providence and the accessible and intimate aesthetic of small cities. Sonja worries over and avoids an application for a show while I try to problem solve three things at once. We are a pair. During our conversations, I find myself articulate where I often fumble. Something about her ever-positive and flattering attention. It threatens to make me confident.
Loopy and snappy from hunger, we shop for dinner at one of those bougie multi-boutique markets. I learn about Wisconsin cheese curds and imitate the cheese guy all the way home. ("Ok, guys, here's how curds are made. When the whey rises to the top, guys, the curds settle to the bottom, guys.")
Sonja's mother and grandparents come over for dinner. I take pictures during the cheese course. It is uncompromisingly familial and pleasant, wholesome and mid-western. Cain's friend Jay and his girlfriend Lindsay arrive in time for dessert. I drink enough wine for Sonja to convince me to sing, but too much to be any good at it. I am full and grateful for a room of my own.
I was dreaming the dollar amount my citation in Oklahoma would be when Sonja walks in to the guest room and begins to talk about the lecture at MIAD I am to give on Friday as part of my work exchange. Do I have a write-up that describes my work? What should be included on the flyer? What time should it be? She wants answers.
We have a delightful breakfast of poached eggs and toast on her patio. It's cold and I begin thinking about autumn and its inevitable companion, winter. I haven't experienced east coast winter in four years and know there is no way to prepare for the winter that lies ahead of me in New York. Positive thoughts and a down jacket?
The day passes in chattering busy-ness, between MIAD, coffee, and Sonja's studio.
It's in an enormous defunct factory with cream-colored bricks—the color of all bricks natural to Milwaukee. The general feeling of Milwaukee reminds me of Providence and the accessible and intimate aesthetic of small cities. Sonja worries over and avoids an application for a show while I try to problem solve three things at once. We are a pair. During our conversations, I find myself articulate where I often fumble. Something about her ever-positive and flattering attention. It threatens to make me confident. Loopy and snappy from hunger, we shop for dinner at one of those bougie multi-boutique markets. I learn about Wisconsin cheese curds and imitate the cheese guy all the way home. ("Ok, guys, here's how curds are made. When the whey rises to the top, guys, the curds settle to the bottom, guys.")
Sonja's mother and grandparents come over for dinner. I take pictures during the cheese course. It is uncompromisingly familial and pleasant, wholesome and mid-western. Cain's friend Jay and his girlfriend Lindsay arrive in time for dessert. I drink enough wine for Sonja to convince me to sing, but too much to be any good at it. I am full and grateful for a room of my own.
