I went to Ravinia

Never Done: I went to Ravinia

When Karen invited me to visit, she actually built the invitation around Rufus Wainwright performing with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, at Ravinia. I have never been to Ravinia, although I have many friends who have played there, and certainly friends who have gone to hear music there.

It turns out to be the classiest outdoor music venue I've been at. People picnic on the lawn, under the trees, with actual little tables and tablecloths, and beautiful spreads of wine and cheese whatever else they are eating. Nobody checked our bags to keep out alcohol, because actually, you can bring in as much as you want -- as long as it's an excellent vintage and you drink it out of crystal. OK, not really, but it's sort of the feeling you get.

A diversion: I just came very close to being one of the people to go to Diner en Blanc -- Dinner in White -- a flash mob picnic dinner, where everyone wears white, and brings their own table, dishes, white tablecloth, and picnic, and gets to eat en masse at some beautiful location that is kept secret until just before hand. Due to massive technology failure (and then some pretty poor decisions that followed technology failure) I (and hundreds of other people who actually registered before other people who got in) will not be going. In fact, it was lined up to be my Never Done activity for August 25. (Now I am thinking about organizing a big counter-picnic, Diner en Jaune.) Why do I bring it up? Because Diner en Blanc is all about participants following a set of rules to create a unified aesthetic. And the people at Ravinia knew the rules of picnicking at Ravinia. These weren't people on blankets with sandwiches, no. They knew to bring a little table, and a table cloth for it. They wore pretty hats, they put out bottles of wine, silver, and sometimes even candles. It sort of reminded me of Sunday in the Park on the Island of the Grande Jatte, only different. (Ravinia is not on a river.)

We, however, didn't sit on the lawn. We had had pavilion seats -- comfy seats under an open amphitheater roof, with a view of the stage (which the lawn seats do not have.) The audience was friendly, the music was lush, the evening was still and clear, and I was with my close friends on the last night of vacation. This could be as good as it gets.

I put up art in public places

Never Done: Made art and hung it up for people to see or take

Such a simple thing -- make some art, and put it out in public for everyone to see. It's hard to believe I have never done this, but I can't actually think of a time that I did. Avia and Christian came over for dinner, and my original idea was to do go yarn bombing with Avia, but we were getting together on the late side, so that idea will have to wait to share with a local knitty friend.

Instead, we took out paper, Sharpies, scissors, and whatever magazines I had around (dozens of New Yorkers, New York, and New York Times Magazines, and one Vanity Fair) and we started cutting up images and making simple little collages. Actually, I think the art concept started with my telling the others that Rufus Wainwright and his husband just had a baby, and the mother is Lorca Cohen -- the daughter of Leonard Cohen. (She really is the mother, not just the surrogate or the birth mother; the three of them are all parents, and intend to raise their daughter, Viva Katherine, together.)

Anyhow, I told this news to Avia, who loves Leonard Cohen, and on cue, she swooned. I told her about the deal my friends Karen and Andy have -- a celebrity exclusion, let's call it -- whereby each of them can pre-name one famous person to whom, if they happened to knock on the door and make a carnal offer, it would be OK to say yes. (I believe that you can change celebrities as often as you like, but you can only take the offer of the currently-named celebrity. I also believe that Scarlett Johansson and Johnny Depp have had no recent challengers.)

On the mention of Johnny Depp, our art project was born. Avia took a card, and wrote Johnny Depp Loves You on it, with a big red heart. We each then started making cards with similar messages. Prince Loves You. Lady Gaga is Gaga Over You.

Then I made one that says Alice Walker wrote a book about you, and I decorated it with a little collage made of the color purple. And then I made one that says Oprah thinks you're smart. And Christian dazzled the table with Cezanne Painted Me, Europe Loves You, and the one that melted my heart the most: simply, I Love You.

I had hoped we would all go out together and hang them and photograph them, but it was both late and dark, so we split them up (without looking, so we could neither intentionally choose our own or our favorites) and decided to hang them and photograph them in the morning. To be honest, it was hard to let the art pieces go -- I wanted to chaperone them all into the world. I wasn't very gracious about this either, when I woke up and found that Josh had taken some to put up. I completely understood why he had -- because I hadn't had the time to tell him I hoped we could do it together. It was an opportunity to practice many of the mides (middot) -- patience, order, and equanimity come to mind -- but I don't think I did a good job with any of them. Instead, I can reflect on what was so hard for me, and hopefully be more relaxed the next time.

I feel like the blog has gotten away from a Mussar perspective lately -- and this Never Done activity has brought me back, because it was such a wonderful combination of self and other. I thoroughly enjoyed making the art, and sharing the art making process with others, and being influenced by their ideas (humility.) And when I did go out and chaperone some pieces into the world, putting them up allowed me to think about how others might encounter them and be moved by them. It was both a public gift and also a private gift -- public art speaks to individual people, and so I tried to place them where everyone could see them, but knowing that certain people would relate to them in a special way. The most successful of these was when I hung I Love You on the fire station door frame. I also liked thinking about how they might be left or taken -- that I was giving individuals the opportunity to leave the art there for others, or to take it for themselves. And that it really wasn't up to me to know what was the right thing for any individual to decide to do.