By the end of my trip to Madison, I started feeling a little lonely. On Friday night, after walking past adorable outdoor bars that didn’t feel ‘table for one’ appropriate and searching in vain for an post-6:30PM activity that didn’t involve college students, I got back to my Haunted Hotel feeling disheartened. Not quite “what have I done?” as much as “Oh… this is what I have done.”
For the first time on the trip, I dreaded getting up to write the next morning. One thing that I hadn’t quite put together about going on a ‘writing trip’ is that I would spending every single moment thinking about writing, actually writing, or wondering if I should be maybe be writing instead of doing whatever I’m doing. Sometimes the answer to that last one is no (taking a shower, eating, having nice conversations with bookstore owners) sometimes the answer is…. probably (drinking 4 beers on an empty stomach). So, after calling my husband to play a game of “Does this make sense for my mental health or am I just a lazy slog?” - I decided that Saturday would be my day off.
Part 1 - The Farmer’s Market
Another Hayley recommendation was the Dane County Farmer’s Market in Capitol Square. It was walking distance from my Haunted Hotel, and I headed over first thing in the morning. I perused the stalls, heard the squeak of cheese curds, bought a scone categorized *by the vendor* as ‘semi-healthy,’ and wished I could buy the gorgeous 10$ bouquets of wildflowers as a peace offering for the ghosts of my lodgings.
When it was finally coffee o’clock (I have to wait 45 min after taking my thyroid meds to eat or drink anything) I went to a place on the corner called Wonderstate Coffee and I… bought another bandana.
Then I sat outside in the gorgeous October weather, watching the people come and go (talking Brewers, not Michelangelo) and sipping on an iced latte that totally had cinnamon in it, so I probably stole someone else’s order. (oops!) Every so often, my breathing would start to get shallow, and I’d panic a little bit that I wasn’t working (or pretending to work), but I took a few deep breaths, reminded myself it was a recuperative day off, and quieted my racing heart.
Before heading off on the drive to Milwaukee, I wanted to stop into my Madison Indie Bookstore. So, after a lovely breakfast at a gas-station-turned-50s-diner called Monty’s Blue Plate Diner, I headed to a wonderful bookstore called Mystery to Me where I bought two books and this tote bag because how could I not.
Part 2 - The Drive
So, big news, got an AUX chord in a Madison Walgreens and could now assume control of my multi-hour listening experience!
I do not remember what I listened to.
Part 3 - Milwaukee!
I got to Milwaukee feeling a little down. I went to another lovely bookstore and drank my 4th espresso beverage of the day before it hit 2pm. I journaled for a little bit (doesn’t count as working) and then decided that I’d just go check into my hotel and maybe just mope for the rest of the day.
But on my drive to ‘watch New Girl and Feel Sorry for Yourself Land’, I happened on the magnificence that is the Milwaukee Art Museum and I semi-reluctantly pulled into the parking lot. "Fine,” I thought to myself, “I’ll try to ‘let art rejuvenate me’ or whatever the fuck. It’s not going to work, but at least I’ll feel like I put in the effort." And I climbed the stairs from the parking lot, paid my 19 dollars (!), and walked through the doors.
GUYS HAVE YOU EVER GONE TO AN ART MUSEUM WHEN YOU ARE SAD?!
HOLY. SHIT.
I could write volumes about the unique and incredible role that Midwestern art museums serve in this world, and I probably will! But for now, let me just say, that as a *member* of the Metropolitan Museum of Art (barf), the clarity + respect with which the Milwaukee Museum curates its exhibits and writes its informational copy is one of the most legitimately lovely things I’ve ever seen.
Every single description of a piece or summation of a gallery used clear, engaging prose and defined words that people don’t just walk around knowing like ‘chiaroscuro’ or ‘virtue’ (as it pertains to women in paintings…).
While I admit to doing a small little fist pump when I realized they didn’t have a Caravaggio (The Nelson-Atkins in Kansas City does), I spent every single moment in that museum in giddy awe of both their collection and the generosity and empathy with which they offered it to the visitors.
Throughout the galleries, they also featured a special exhibit called ‘American Memory’ which “examines how images shape our memories and understanding of historical and current events...[and] amplifies underrepresented voices and analyzes the impact of slanted narratives, employing social history to move beyond purely aesthetic readings of the works.” You can learn more about the exhibit here.
What struck me about ‘American Memory’ and, really, everything within the Milwaukee Art Museum, was how effectively and unapologetically they use their limited resources. They do not pretend to have all the art, artists, or art types from a certain period of art history, but they tell the story anyway. They don’t have the collection or influence to rename masterworks after their black subjects, but they’re doing what they can and examining their own place in the greater art world with honesty and authenticity. The knowledge and thought that they put into genuinely making the art they have legitimately accessible to everyone, both logistically and intellectually, made me proud to be from this part of the world.
I left the MAM rejuvenated but very *very* hungry. A quick google search returned ‘Brewery on the River’ and a quick me drive took me there where I ate fried cheese curds and drank a pilsner while looking out over the water and writing the first poem I’ve written in almost three years.
The next day, I woke up more excited to work than I had been this entire trip.
And I got more done, too.
This edition of the newsletter was sponsored by:
A Day Off
A Day Off: Fucking Take One
Love you guys!!!