Showing posts with label Chicago Children's Museum. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chicago Children's Museum. Show all posts

Sunday, September 6, 2020

Going Within: Part 2― Collecting

For all of us, whether we realize it or not, this COVID 19 has caused us to "go within" to discover new and interesting things about ourselves, our environment, our existence.

For me, part of the isolation has led me to revisit and strengthen some of my writing abilities, my collecting talents, and my love of solitude. In "Going Within Part 1",  I discussed my writing. In this blog, I will discuss my collecting. In a third blog, I will look at solitude.

If I had to sum up why collecting is so important to me, I would say that it is a way of preserving my youth and re-parenting myself. By re-parenting I mean re-creating my childhood in a way that gives me control over my experiences, memories, and fantasies. It allows me to remove the pain of growing up, the confusion of childhood, the frustration of becoming. It allows me to glorify and preserve the positive aspects of my youth. My collecting also allows me to share my joy of life with others.


I guess I have been collecting for my entire life. I remember as a little boy filling my pockets with various treasures. None of them were alive, like frogs or such, but rather small bits and pieces of things that caught my fancy. 


I remember sitting on the stairs in the hallway outside of a school friend’s second-floor apartment. We were maybe six or seven years old. He had a cigar box filled with “sparkly” things that his mother had given him. There were bits of broken jewelry: loose sequins, rhinestones, pearls, and silver and gold chains. I remember thinking that this was the most wonderful thing I had ever seen. To this day I can close my eyes and see (feel) the experience.


We lived in Chicago near the corner of Anslie and Broadway until I was nine years old. Yarnell Chevrolet was just around the corner. I used to set up a lemonade stand and sell drinks for 5¢ to the mechanics who worked there. The stand consisted of an upturned, tablecloth covered, wooden slatted orange crate. Oranges really came in wooden boxes during those years.


On one of my dime-store adventures, I bought some “First Place Award Pins.” They consisted of concentric circles of red and blue celluloid plastic with two white celluloid ribbons dangling down. There must have been a dozen of them attached to cardboard and sealed in a cellophane bag. One day, instead of setting up my lemonade stand, as usual, I did a “Museum Installation” on Broadway Avenue. I used the orange crate and the tablecloth and pinned the award pins around the parameter of the tablecloth. Then I set out a display of my favorite things, sat on a stool behind the display, and acted curator as people walked by.


To this day I love dime stores, although their number is almost extinct. I remember when they were called The Five and Dime, The 5¢ and 10¢ Store, Woolworth’s, Kresge's, Neisner’s, Ben Franklin. My parents used to call them “Gimme Shops.” As young children, whenever my sister and I would go into a dime store, we would see things we wanted to have. We would ask (or beg,) “Give me (Gimmie) this.” “Gimmie that, pleeeeeease!” Sometimes my mom and dad would “Gimmie.” Most often they would not. Now that I am a “grown-up” I can “Gimmie” whenever I want.


When we moved to our new house on Kedzie Avenue, I had my own bedroom. I decorated my bulletin board making shelves by suspending rows of rulers from string attached with tacks and then arranged my treasures neatly on each ruler. I displayed my metal cars on the windowsill along with to-scale traffic signs: STOP, YIELD, and ONE WAY.


To this day, I am always on the lookout for small, magical, interesting, romantic, and/or unique items where ever I shop; in neighborhood stores, at antique shops, or on my travels. I know exactly what I have in my various collections and this helps me as I scour the world for things to add to my treasures. Most often the larger the shop, the smaller the item I can find.


My collections consist of items that are small in scale. Many of them are reminiscent of the “olden days” of my childhood as well as items from as early as the 1930s.  I call the things in my collections “Discoverings” “Trinkets,” “Curiosities,” “Small Things” “Treasures.” and sometimes “Miniatures.”


When I visit a museum, I am especially drawn to the small things that represent cultures of the past. These small items are as significant in representing the achievements, beliefs, and day to day living as the true-to-life-size objects. 

Perhaps the small objects were carried around in a pocket or perhaps they were used as a toy meant to instruct a child, or as part of a religious ceremony.


Either way, I am overwhelmed with joy when I visit these wonderful museum collections. The only problem is that I WANT TO OWN THE OBJECTS! Obviously, I cannot afford to collect such rare museum-quality masterpieces, but I try to recreate some of that magic and romance in my collections. I do own a few precious, rare items.


I adore items that begin to lose their features. Finding a small statue of a man whose face is rubbed almost inarticulate because of having been played with gets me excited as does a worn-out Buddha or a greatly used child’s toy block.


I find that there is magic in numbers and if I can collect many of the same identical items, I do. Just as wonderful is to have two items that are the same except in their size. If I can collect the same object in threes I am happy. Don’t know why three, I just like the number.  If I can get one of each color, especially all of the colors of the rainbow, I am overjoyed.


My collection of collections began in earnest thirty years ago. Twenty years ago, in our first home, the collection was approximately half the size it became and was scattered throughout the house. When we moved into the loft building, my life partner Gregory had the idea to devote the third-floor guest room to housing my collections and it became “Michael’s Museum.” Individual glass cases were hung on the walls. Shelves and bookcases were added along with a “curators desk“ and we were "open for business." In five short years, the collections doubled in size.


The museum in our home was visited by family, friends, friends of friends, and neighbors. I had fantasies about finding an established museum in which to place my collections.


In May of 2011, Michael's Museum: A Curious Collection of Tiny Treasures opened as a permanent exhibit at Chicago Children's Museum on Navy Pier. Each year half a million or more people get to visit the museum and in turn spend some time in Michael's Museum.


Even though most of my collections were gifted to Chicago Children's Museum, I have continued collecting. I collect differently. First, I can afford to spend more on the items I purchase. Next, I look for really unique items since I had so many previously. Also, I used to "shop for my collections" based on my "there is magic in repetition" theory. For example, if I saw a set of tiny bowling pins, I would purchase them to add to my Bowling Pin Collection, which continued to grow and eventually filled its own case. I do not do that anymore.


Recently with the COVID 19 self-quarantine, I went through all my boxes of stuff collected since MM opened at CCM, displayed on my desk for a while, and then retired to a plastic shoe box and placed on a shelf in my closet. Most of the shelved items still brought me great joy and I could not bring myself to sell or give any of them away. 


Instead, I purchased display cases from Michael's Hobby Shops (not owned by me 😀). They are now neatly hung in the condo entrance hall, the hall to the guest bathroom, in my bedroom, and in the master bathroom. They are pictured below.


There are also collections on my desk, on other walls, on the kitchen island, in the guest room, and elsewhere. But my most recent attempt is shown below in the matching black, glass-fronted cabinets.


When the "world is back to normal" come visit and I will take you on a personal tour of my Home Collections!


 














Tuesday, June 9, 2020

Michael's Museum Memories

The original Michael's Museum as designed by Gregory and assembled by me in the guest room of our home in Evanston.

In some ways, looking back at these photographs makes me miss having the collection to myself and I am amazed at what a wonderful piece of "Folk Art" the room represented. Every collection, every item sat in the open available to be picked up, touched, admired. Even the tiny things in the unlocked cabinets were available to me and to the museum's few visitors: family, friends, neighbors. The museum was all about "playing!"

At the same time, I am so grateful to CCM and over the last ten years, the ability for millions of people to experience the collections.


















Wednesday, April 15, 2020

It Is Mostly in The Knowing

I wrote the poem below in 2005 as I was anticipating my father's death. He had a rare blood disease which was diagnosed when he was 60+ years old. The illness was described as "something that could kill you in a month or one with which you could live well for twenty years before it killed you."

Either way, it would kill you but there is quite a difference between "imminent" vs "in the future." Fast forward twenty or so years and after having lived very well, the disease once again took hold and more or less set its date for my father's soon to be passing at 88 years old.

There are so many things which can occur in this life we most often take for granted and in a moment they can turn your life around. We expect and live as though the details of our lives are "permanent" when in effect they are "impermanent," always changing. 

The change could be a car accident that would change your life forever or an illness that could end your life after months of suffering or in a few days or weeks with little or no notice. The change could be about you or about someone you love.

As I was pondering my father's impending death years ago, every time the phone rang, I realized that without the knowledge of an event that already happened, your life stays the same as does your level of happiness and fortitude in life.

Then a call comes in, information is shared, and with the knowledge imparted you cry, are sad, freak out, get depressed, or feel (or know) that your life is basically over (or the one of someone you love.) Also, the "knowing" could be good news!

I got to thinking about all of the situations in which the "not knowing" could be going on and then "knowing" arrives and changes everything. I reflected on the idea that some things in life change and you will never know about the change and therefore never have a negative (or positive) reaction to the change.

Just for example in a long shot, your favorite university professor which whom you have lost touch since you graduated many years ago has died. You have no way of knowing that he died so you do not grieve his death. In this situation and the end of the story: no knowledge, no reaction!

In thinking about the period of time between the "knowings vs not knowings" of my life I came up with waiting to hear about these good things: receiving a grant from the Chicago Council of Fine Arts for my Maybe the Clown performances, receiving a fellowship (two years in a row) from the State of Illinois in the area of Gifted Education, acceptance to a juried application for a residency in the area of creative non-fiction at the Ragdale Foundation, acceptance of Michael's Museum by Chicago Children's Museum.

On the difficult side: news of my mom's passing in 2010, my diagnosis of Lymphoma in 2003, my life partner Gregory's diagnosis of Dementia most likely Alzheimer's Disease in 2005, the news of Gregory's death in 2015, and others.

Recently I had several tests for some gastrointestinal problems I had been having. All tests returned no cancer and therefore I was relieved. Working on other possibilities of gluten and/or lactose intolerance I have been working on the problems with success.

Currently, with a lymph node in my neck swollen for approximately 6 weeks and no sight of its getting smaller (or larger for that matter,) I am keeping optimistic and positive knowing that "what is, is" and what is, is already going on. The only difference is that I am unaware of what the "it" is!

I received an e-mail announcing that my health organization has the results of the new tests so I logged into the site only to find that it is under maintenance until tomorrow at 2:00 AM. So again, the knowledge is there but unknown to me so I can be scared and depressed or happy and relieved, the decision for now of how to be is up to me. The power is there but the knowledge isn't. At least until 2:00 AM tomorrow morning! 

I was able to sign in sooner so bravely did so. Wishing, praying, hoping no longer were viable. The results were in and totally out of my control except how I might behave if the news was CANCER! And I am not sure that I would be able to control my behavior since the last time I had to deal with cancer was in 2003 when I had a Lymphoma and literally lost a year to Chemotherapy. At least then I had Gregory to be with me and to support me. Let me say I made it through but it was HELL and I do not know if I could do it again, especially without Gregory here to help.

And the news is: 

CASE: SHP-20-00210
PATIENT: MICHAEL HORVICH

Nature of Specimen: Neck Soft Tissue, Left, Ultrasound-guided Fine Needle Biopsy


Gross Description: Prepared 1 slide(s) fixed in alcohol, 2 air-dried slide(s) and a needle rinse. A core biopsy was collected and submitted for histologic processing. A cell block was prepared and submitted to surgical pathology for processing.

Clinical History: Solid left neck soft tissue mass (2 cm). Left supraclavicular enlarged lymph node. History of parotid lymphoma.


Total Number of Slides: 3 + core biopsy + cell block

DIAGNOSIS:
No malignant cells identified. No cancer! Looks like a benign lipoma - we will have you come back to the office after Covid 19 to follow up for minor removal process!


• • • • •

FEAR 2010

There is a fear
That lurks just behind
The awareness of your thinking
Hiding

The next moment
Will not be like this moment
Or the one before
Different

And with a comment
Or the ring of a phone
All will change
Forever

Wednesday, April 1, 2020

Michael's Museum: A Curious Collection of Tiny Treasures

On this date, April 1, 2007, an article appeared in the Chicago Tribune "Q" Section written by Barbara Mahany about her visit to Michael's Museum which at the time lived in my guest bedroom.

The article was the beginning of a long journey which ended up in May of 2011 with "Michael's Museum: A Curious Collection of Tiny Treasures" becoming a permanent exhibit at Chicago Children's Museum.

The exhibit is now in its 9th year and continues to be one of the favorites at CCM. Over half a million people (650,000 to be exact) visit the museum each year which translates to close to 6 million people who have visited or at least passed by Michael's Museum. Thank you Chicago Children's Museum!!!


(Photos at top from the Children's Museum 2011. Other photos from when the museum was in my guest room as featured in the Chicago Tribune 2007.)





Original Design by Jenny Schrider: Front of Exhibit


Original Design by Jenny Schrider: Inside of Exhibit



The exhibit as it is today at Chicago Children's Museum on Navy Pier


The Museum Mouse watches over Michael's Museum


The Tribune article in which it all began!


Chicago Tribune news: A world of beauty writ small
The wonder of childhood fits into one-room museum 04/01/2007 10:40 AM
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http://www.chicagotribune.com/services/site/premium/access-
registered.intercept
QUALITIES OF LIFE: SCENE
A world of beauty writ small
The wonder of childhood fits into one-room museum
page1image9458944 page1image9461632
By Barbara Mahany 

Tribune staff reporter April 1, 2007

Here's the drill, should you decide some otherwise ordinary day that you need a little, little thrill: You'll need to cut down an alley in north Evanston, just across from where the Metra trains rumble day and night. There, at an old framing factory at the back of a leafy lot, ring the bell marked "residence." Start climbing stairs and don't stop till you get to a wee room, a room with ceiling hung so low that you may have to bend your neck.

Once in that 26-by-10 room, a room that's stuffed with 25 cabinets, eight separate shelves, four ledges, a curator's desk, five chairs and a double bed, do not, whatever you do, exclaim: Oh my, what a fine miniatures museum.

It is a museum, all right. And it is full of little things. But the chap in charge of it decidedly does not go for the word miniatures.
"I find the term pejorative," says the man, who finds the word too cutesy, too often pegged with little things -- owls and butterflies and beer cans, he says -- that go in, then out of style. His things, he says, will not go out of style.

The name of the man, by the way, is Michael Horvich, and this is his museum. Michael's Museum. Not Michael's Miniatures Museum, though you would be sorely tempted to say that.

"I would say it's my interpretation of all the beauty in life reduced to what you can hold in your hand," says Horvich, 61.

It is a collection of collections that can only be termed in superlatives. "Astounding" is one of those terms. And to stand in the room, to turn like the hands of a clock, is to take in a sweep of things in small scale, the likes of which you might never have seen.
Every inch, covered. Every inch covered in things measured in fractions of inches.

"It started out, I tried to leave blank space because empty space is important as well," says the one-man curatorial staff, Horvich, a retired teacher and a supernumerary (who acts but does not sing) at Lyric Opera of Chicago. "But it was hopeless."

Ready for a museum tour? Well, take a breath, a deep one.
In dozens and hundreds and dozens of hundreds, there are chess pawns in small, smaller, smallest. Monopoly markers, metal and not. Croquet sets, with mallets the size of match sticks, balls you might think to pierce with a fork, thinking they were peas. Bingo cards, bingo markers and marbles.

Oh, the marbles. Marbles of glass, marbles ceramic, marbles of Bennington pottery. Marbles called steelies, and a marble of copper, heavy enough to break your big toe. Marbles opaque, transparent, translucent. One sports an onion-skin swirl.

There are fetishes, milagros, billikens and kachinas, all little objects to bring you good luck. There are Nativity scenes, 40 -- one in an ostrich egg, one in a walnut shell and, in one, a Mary and a Jesus, each the size of a rice grain.

There are Coke bottles as thin as two toothpicks and Coke cans the size of the nail of your pinkie. There is a Statue of Liberty half the size of a raisin. There are things in a bottle, four-leaf clovers, jumping beans, penny whistles, Oscar Mayer wiener whistles, a plastic Heinz pickle smaller than one elbow of macaroni.

Oh, and that's only the half of it. Or, more likely, the tenth of it. (Horvich hasn't a certifiable census of all his little things; must be somewhere in the millions, although he has never counted. "It would be too claustrophobic to know," he sighs.)

"It's a way of preserving my youth," he says, opening the glass case that holds the teeny blue flasks that hold leftover droplets of Evening in Paris. That was the perfume his mother wore all through his boyhood, growing up on Chicago's North Side.


"I guess I've been collecting all of my life. If I had, say, a favorite car, I'd stuff it in my pocket and carry it around all day." His front right pocket, he says, was always filled with things that caught his eye. Not typical boy things, like a frog or a pocketknife. Usually, a sparkly thing. A beautiful thing.

"I remember sitting on the stairs in the hallway outside of a school friend's second-floor apartment. We were maybe 6 or 7 years old. He had a cigar box of sparkly things that his mother had given him. There were bits of broken jewelry -- loose sequins, rhinestones, pearls and silver and gold chain. I remember thinking this was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen."

He started collecting his own bits of beauty. It wasn't long before he set up his first museum installation, as he calls it, on an upturned orange crate on Broadway at Ainslie Street. He'd bought some "first place award" pins at a dime store, pinned the pins to a tablecloth, sat on a stool and "presided as people walked by," he recalls.

Through the years, Horvich says, he couldn't help but collect in collections. "If I've got two of something, it's a collection."
Until five years ago, his collections were a bit, um, unruly. Stashed in a drawer here, on a tabletop there. But then, he and his partner, architect Gregory Maire, moved into a rehabbed industrial space, and Maire pointed up the stairs to the room at the top.

"'Oh, boy,' I said, 'it's Michael's room,'" recalled Maire, who rejoiced that all the scattered stuff could be harnessed in one place, "much like the inside of a sugar Easter egg."

The museum, by appointment only, has no entrance fee (though donations are not turned down). And it does have a gift shop: a wooden box, disguised as the book "Treasure Island." Inside, deaccessions of collections that have lost their pizzazz. Or, simply, duplicates. You come to the museum, you get to choose one thing, gratis.

Horvich wants you to leave with a little delight in your heart. He wants you to have reclaimed a bit of your childhood.
And most of all, he would like a real live museum to make a home for his not-miniatures museum.

"Just to share with everyone," he says. "Imagine the joy. Instead of 50 [people] a year getting to see it, maybe thousands. Can you imagine bringing your children to see all this stuff?

"And then the plaque might say, 'Imagine the magic. Experience the joy.'" A man who loves littles, dreaming quite largely in scale.
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bmahany@tribune.com
Should you find yourself hankering for a tour, check out www.michaelsmuseum.org.
Copyright © 2007, Chicago Tribune
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http://www.chicagotribune.com/features/lifestyle/q/chi-0703280528apr01,1,305926,print.story Page 5 of 5

A year-end follow-up in the Tribune

Michael's Museum in the guest room of Gegory and my home.
Photographs taken by Tribune Staff Photographer Chris Walker

Our cat, Mariah.












Monday, May 23, 2016

Michael's Museum Celebrates Five Years at Chicago Children's Museum

THANK YOU Chicago Children's Museum
for your amazing stewardship of the collections of Michael's Museum.

Spreading the JOY and MAGIC makes my heart swell!

Here's to another five years and more!









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