Artful friendships

Hi all–I’m traveling, visiting with sisters, so  I asked my husband Mike to chip in a guest post — I’ll be back soon, in the meantime, I give you Mike. 

Me and Brad and Roy

by Mike Knezovich

Our favorite neighborhood watering hole and restaurant – Hackney’s Printers Row – draws us frequently (probably too frequently) because it also draws an eclectic, articulate, smart, accomplished and just-plain-nice group of folks from the neighborhood. Attorneys, artists, architects, research scientists, computer programmers, linguists, stock market mavens … you can learn a lot sipping a beer at Hack’s.

Two of my favorite people: Brad and, well, I think you recognize the other one.

One of the Hackney’s denizens Beth and I have learned a great deal from is Stephen Bradley Gillaugh, who goes simply by “Brad.” Brad moved to Printers Row – from Los Angeles – to retire after a long, illustrious career in the art world. He worked for decades in NYC – at the Museum of Modern Art and at the famed Leo Castelli Gallery. Later, in LA, he managed a big corporate art collection (when corporations used to have such things). Brad doesn’t brag, but over time (and libations) Beth and I have gotten lots of inside chatter about the likes of Rauschenberg and Warhol and even Truman Capote. (I’m not telling, so don’t even ask.)

We also learned that Brad has a fantastic art collection, displayed in his apartment, and that he has so much art that some of it has been left in boxes and shipping tubes because there is no room to display it. One evening Brad said he didn’t even remember what he had stored. Beth took exception to this and suggested he go through his stuff, get it framed, and then loan it to friends to hang.

As we know, Beth can be, err, persistent. And so Brad, one day, decided to go through his forgotten works. He found prints and drawings by Roy Lichtenstein, Roger Brown, and other notables. But instead of framing them, he’s gone on a generous donation campaign, giving them outright to friends in the neighborhood.

Thanks to Brad’s generosity, this hangs in our living room.

Including us. He had us over one evening to select from his overage. I took a fancy to the one he’d guessed I’d like — a print of a poster Lichtenstein did for the 1967 Aspen Winter Jazz Festival. It now hangs in our living room.

And I love it. So much so that it inspired me to visit the Art Institute of Chicago to take in the Lichtenstein Retrospective that runs through September 3. It turned out to be a terrific show—but it was all the better because I walked the gallery with Brad.

Along the way, I learned that Lichtenstein was a kind, even-tempered man, not the stereotypical high-maintenance hell-raising artist. He did drawings – studies – that became the basis of his paintings. He didn’t sell the drawings (many of which are in the retrospective), but “around the holidays,” Brad says, “he’d come into the gallery (Castelli) and give them to staff as gifts.” One of them – a study of entablatures – he gave to Brad, signed with a personal note.

I learned that Lichtenstein was easy to work with — as opposed to another prominent artist, who, Brad says “traveled with an entourage and would go through two bottles of Jack Daniels every time we set up a show.”

I learned that Brad had actually handled one of the sculptures in the Lichtenstein exhibit ( it’s a big, metal art-deco-ish piece called “Modern Sculpture with Glass Wave” if you take in the show). Brad pointed at it and groaned, saying only that it was “god-awful heavy” to move around.

The show is spectacular, especially if you – like I did – think only of the famous Pop-Art pieces for which Lichtenstein is known. He did a remarkably wide range of

She’s talking about a different Brad.

work, most all of which I found engaging and fascinating.  If you’re in Chicago, I hope you’ll go.

And for those of you who know Lichtenstein and may be thinking Brad…Brad…no our Brad is not THAT Brad. But I’m glad he’s our Brad, and I marvel at the people Beth and I are lucky enough to call our friends.

The Unsinkable Lindy Bergman

My friend Lindy Bergman was an art collector. Then macular degeneration set in.

When the disease became so severe that Lindy could no longer see the surrealist works on her apartment walls, she donated the collection to the Art Institute of Chicago. From a

The unsinkable Lindy Bergman

New York Times review of the Art Institute’s new modern wing:

…and a wonderful little tropical fantasy by Leonora Carrington. This last work is part of the museum’s extraordinary Bergman Collection of mostly Surrealist art, which forms a kind of cabinet of curiosities at the heart of the third-floor galleries.

The Bergman trove includes a phalanx of 30 boxes by Joseph Cornell, an American. That collection contains the only artists on this floor who developed outside Europe, primarily Arshile Gorky, Matta and Wifredo Lam. (The exception is the Parisian expatriate Man Ray, who is in the Bergman collection and elsewhere in these galleries.)

After donating her collection, Lindy took to writing. Out of Sight, Not Out of Mind chronicles Lindy’s journey with macular degeneration and offers suggestions on how to keep your head above water when vision loss is trying to pull you under. Lindy is the perfect role model. In her 90s now, she swims a quarter mile each day, works out with her trainer, attends meetings of organizations where she is a board member and goes to concerts and lectures. She is particularly enthusiastic about the audio cassette that comes along with her book — it features recordings of classical music as well as Lindy’s children and grandchildren. I recognized the voices of a few of the experts on the cassette — they are the same caring University of Chicago doctors that did my eye surgeries back in the 1980s. “I didn’t want it to just be my old voice droning on and on. Who’d want to listen to that?” she says with a self-deprecating laugh.”I wanted the book to be uplifting, not depressing!”

My friend Bonita has known Lindy a long time and was wise enough to introduce us when Mike and I moved to Chicago. On our first lunch date, I showed Lindy how to fix her talking watch so it’d quit announcing the time out loud every hour on the hour. We’ve been friends ever since.

The stories Lindy tells me about tracking down art with her late husband Ed sound like Hemingway novels to me. “Ed always was a collector of something or other,” Lindy says with a shrug, describing a sun porch full of aquariums when Ed was collecting tropical fish, or his enormous shell collection.

“Not just a few shells. We had a lot of them. So he really was always a collector, and I just went along with it.” They’d already been married about 10 years when she and Ed decided to take a course on the Great Books at University of Chicago. A teacher there recommended a book by the Museum of Modern Art called Masters in Modern Art. “We had a lot of books to read for class, but every night we would start reading about art. That’s how it all began. We really educated ourselves.” By the late 1950s, the Bergmans were established as Surrealist collectors. They met Wifredo Lam on a visit to Cuba in the mid-50s, and the painter met them again in Paris in 1959 to show them around. Aside from that Salvador Dali poster with the melting clocks we hung in our college dorm rooms,I don’t know a whole lot about surrealism. Lindy met a couple artists in Paris whose names I actually do recognize, though: Man Ray and Max Ernst. They met Dali on another trip to Europe.

Time flies when I’m with Lindy. She loves hearing stories about my travels with my Seeing Eye dogs, and delights when Hanni — and now, Harper — sneak away from me under the table to lie on her feet. “It keeps me warm!” she laughs. The Chicago Lighthouse for the Blind is honoring Lindy Bergman at a gala at The Four Seasons tonight, and Bonita is generously sponsoring me to attend. A description of Lindy from the invitation reads like this:

Lindy has been living with macular degeneration for nearly fifteen years and has become an exemplary benefactor of The Chicago Lighthouse. In 2009, she was among those who played a critical role in helping The Lighthouse realize its goal of a new building addition. Most recently, she has helped establish the Bergman Institute for Psychological Support, where our professional rehabilitation staff counsel people who are blind or are losing their sight. Finally, she has partnered with our professional rehabilitation staff on a second “Lighthouse” edition of her book on macular degeneration, Out of Sight, Not Out of Mind.

With all of Lindy’s accomplishments, the one area where she lacks confidence is…public speaking. At our last dinner together, and in subsequent phone calls, I’ve been coaching her for the short talk she’s been asked to give at tonight’s gala. I know she’s gonna wow them. She sure has wowed me!