A fading ad on 18th St. near Damen (ca.2014)

18th Street looking east, painted bread advertisement

Schulze, the Butter-Nut Bread company was started in 1893 by Paul. The company changed hands in the 1930's then continued on as something separately maintained under the Interstate Bakeries and Hostess Brands umbrella until '37. After a million miles of change, in November 2012 Hostess finally declared bankruptcy. At this time the newly appointed Chief Executive Officer, Greg cited union wages and pensions as key factors in the brand's liquidation. You go Greg...

The Schulze Baking Company factory is on Garfield at the left edge of Washington Park. The terracotta building eventually became the home for the Hostess Brands until 2004. The Illinois Historic Preservation Agency lists the site as an Industry/Processing/Extraction - processing site. It is not listed as having a golden hue with creamy highlights. It's also not listed as an aimless eyesore left to fuel damage and blight. But it's current owners are likely acquiring the means to sprinkle it with Christmas glitter and permanently bath it's eastern face in the warm soft glow of angel food.

Hello, we've moved on. Paul went on to form the Paul Schulze Biscuit Company later known as, Schulze and Burch. He and his son made a fortune baking Saltines for the war effort. The very first cracker ever ever rolled off one of their mechanized-auto-assembling-bakedoo's right in the heart of Bridgeport on 35th Street. The company still produces enough toaster strudel to cover all of Battle Creek with a crisp golden brown patina.

This is about a faded ad painted on the side of building in Pilsen. Once Schulze Butter-Nut Bread was a brand of staid ubiquity in Chicago. Now it's a footnote lingering between 2 buildings on a magical street searching for fresh purpose. Here's a toast for 18th St. Here's a proverb lovingly crafted for you and for this faded sign... Bread might rise but the baker can rise up.

Let's see you in May.

the highest standards...

Comments

The apologist and the appraiser have decided to stay put

dashed wet and grim Oh now, Reagan of steel glitter in pants with which to shake them on down. Oh now, I shit you not for these are the things. Yes in any order you should choose these are the things to please please me, Oh Yeah. - Unmarked letter signed, A to A They'll say to me that it's safe to say so much for ubiquity, for disenfranchisement, and the terrorism of privilege. They'll say to me, With all of the effects from these profoundly toxic effects, is the project of our shared humanity effectively being dismantled. Are these the idle thoughts and sad tidings of despots and the tyrant kings inside of their comfortable towers of raised muck. As I've said before, They're not so far gone as to be gone for the good of all. This is plain to be seen in a world of bent backs and gross hyperbole. I'll sit in any unused doorway. I'll be beside myself while every door is locked. I'll dream of the halls and listen as the curtains, the drinking, an...

Piles of leaves: Letters Campaign

Suddenly old but feeling perfect, my wet underwear is on the the floor. It's gathered round my ankle. Myko laughs, just as wet and full of piss as ever. The violence of our togethering already feels like more than something. I reach out, taking the back of her neck with my hand. She's stepping in as I lean over to write; Dear, Temperance, October, and Brine, You are more than a place to me. More than walls and simple chimes, but I'll write to you anyway. This you'll know as you read my words. From here beside the lark's buttered breast, from under the heavy lids and the bright side kettle where we'll hum. We'll hum together, Bunny. Dickens be damned, we're now brightly doomed. Soon enough we'll see, the forest within the trees. To you, Tigre PS. are more or only this bed, maybe the floor too. We spend the day in, ordering takeout and hiding under the sheets. I get up and pee while Katt is talking about Milton. Her mouth's open, it's as rou...

Not the Willem DeKooning Retrospective (Not Even Close)

Willem DeKooning, Excavation (1950) oil on canvas Yesterday at work I bumped into this piece by Donald Kuspit on DeKooning's retrospective over at Artnet . Then this morning I bumped into this one on L Magazine's site, by Paddy Johnson . I don't know that Paddy Johnson demystifies DeKooning as much as she takes issue with his pallet, declaring it repetitive and boorish en masse. By contrast, Donald Kuspit writes an article painting DeKooning as a sadistic brute inextricably tied to the modern tradition in general and Picasso specifically. Together they make for some interesting reading, particularly as Kuspit never addresses the show itself in favor of drawing his conclusions from individual works. While Johnson seems to wear the show like an imaginary wool shawl, noting it's uncomfortable, out of style, and the zipper is broken. But she doesn't seem to get to a place that addresses what was actually there either, only what she felt was missing or to her mind ...

stagnanTVowels

Search This Blog